Although charming, beautiful and bursting with all manner of interesting and wonderful characteristics, I’m not sure when I’ll next be as close to Warburton as I was this week.
For those who hadn’t twigged by about the third word, this post is, of course, about Warburton, Dave, not Warburton, Victoria.
After two weeks with barely a white in sight, or even a foreigner who could speak English properly, it was a very welcome relief to come to a city full of tourists, including one who’s an actual friend. The fact that he was kind enough to sort out my accommodation, be my tour guide and generally impart his learned wisdom to me was greatly appreciated.
Dave’s now gone to Cambodia for about half an hour (some sort of visa swindle, I expect) before heading north (unless his border-crossing bus is late and he missed the last part of his journey) as our all-too-briefly crossed paths veer off in different directions again.
We spent a lot of our time together walking the streets (I’m not sure which streets exactly, but that’s not important), turning down tuk-tuks, listening to a man from Coventry speak in great lengths about many aspects of his life, enjoying a ridiculously crammed tuk-tuk ride, turning down various offers of pingpong shows, seeing a fancy golden temple, forgetting to get a tattoo (even from the salesmen on the street hoping we’d get one on impulse) and going to a snake farm.
If we meet again, and I hope we do at some point not too far away, I hope we get matching tattoos similar to the one the guy at the Indian restaurant had — the word ‘EVIL’ tattooed across his throat. Let’s not forget next time. Yeah?
Oliver is... 
You suspect correctly. But you ain’t done with me yet! As if Thailand bus schedules are reliable.
Damn, now I have to beat this post.
I was slightly disappointed to find you weren’t still here when I got back today. Who am I going to play the spot-the-old-foreigner-with-his-blatantly-paid-for-wife game with now? Mary’s gone too so I have no one to speak about periods with either.
Speaking of ping pong shows: a few weeks ago a group of us were drinking down The Shore. The usual suspects (Links, James, Colin Asquith, and myself) and we were joined by a certain bigmouth manager. The five of us went to an Italian restaurant and said manager began treating us like a group of girl scouts, telling us not to swear or fool around in front of the waiting staff. A few glasses of wine were had, and then the manager stared Colin straight in the eye and shouted “they shoot ping pong balls out of their vaginas.”
Awwwwwwwww! This is such a sweet post for a friend. The EVIL tattoo would be nice on both of you two and if you guys get it, I would do my best to see you again for that!