StreetCowboy

That's a bit extreme. Cremation - that would be mainstream. Decomposition as fertiliser - a bit more radically green, reduce, reuse, recycle. But barbecue at the local Wat? I am not sure I would want to live in that community. I am not sure I would want to hitch-hike through it...

I am sat here watching "The Hell of the North" in dismal, wet, rainy conditions, and recollecting some of my own experiences on rough roads. We'd been up on some dubious construction roads in the new housing estates and we had been looking for a shortcut through a Chinese cemetery. In retrospect, I can see where and how we went wrong, but we ended up in a plantation, and then, misunderstanding the answers to our misinterpreted questions, we found ourselves most definitely in the boondocks, on paths that were not an easy walk, let alone rideable on road bikes. Some wrong turnings, an accidental loop back on ourselves, a second attempt at directions, and we found ourselves on a tarmac road through a little orang asli village. You can imagine my relief on reaching tarmac. There are two things I know about tarmac... tarmac roads are connected to other tarmac roads, and one of them leads past Sid's pub. You can imagine my dismay when the road reverted to gravel. I would hate to suffer that disappointment 30 or 40 times in one afternoon as each tarmac stage turned back into cobbled farm tracks, with a vision of dying of thirst and never tasting cider again. Yesterday evening I was out on local roads that have been severely damaged by concrete trucks. Coming down the hill I'd flitted through what I had taken to be a muddy stream - perhaps a blocked drain, and thought no more about it. On the way home, perhaps much worse on that side of the road, I realised it was a big slab of freshly spilled wet concrete across the full width of the lane. A scrubbing brush wasn't sufficient to get it all off, while a wire brush was just scuffing the paintwork something dreadful. The worst of the concrete splashes are off now, but I might take the bike into work tomorrow and get the car wash guys to put the pressure jets on the residual concrete spots. SC

Desperate times, desperate measures…

Welcome to the Cycling Forum edit: Oops, wrong thread

I don't believe in spirits

I am reassured that no posters have commented “the last time I spoke to a Farang he said incomprehensibly ‘hahaythairjimmyhowyedain’ iIt seems my greetings are well received. I just hope that possible earlier publicised misjudgements might result in disagreement, so I will stick to the advice I gave earlier; duck and expect the worst

I think most people cry out to the god of their earlier education. I don't know, having never sat with anyone in their death throes. I don't think that the last-minute mortal pleas of the dearly-departing have any relevance to the existence of a God or not, but they may have some bearing on their entry through the pearly gates, should He exist. There's a fair point about which god, but I am sure They all have guidelines on cross-acceptance.

No need to go around striking up conversations with passing strangers. A brief “good morning” (or afternoon, or evening, depending on the hour) is all that you require to accompany a firm shake of the hand and exchange of business cards. Be sure to check your supply of cards if you are going on the BTS

I don't think that sort of attitude is going to help you get in. Regardless of whether you believe that there are such gates, when we arrive there, I am sure that we will all be as keen as the next man to get in - especially if my theory about the fiery back gates for letting in slappers and tarts is true...

Spats protect the opening at the top of the shoe or boot through which debris might find its way. A dashed inconvenience for the gentleman about town, potential severe discomfort to the trooper on the march, and a distinct hazard to foundrymen.

I'm not sure why he's wearing a tea-towel for a cravat, though. I guess it was cotton country. I wanted to revisit the film "The woman who married Clark Gable" but I couldn't find it - perhaps others will have more success.

respect or bury, one way or another it will be sorted. Are you quite an accomplished gangster?

I was told I had a year to live in Thailand, but my contract was extended and I was able to renew my work permit.

Maybe you should have chosen a different forum, where people did not have the sense of humour that we have here. Anyway, I think your opening line is not the best. A cheery "Hawaythair, Jimmy! Howyedaen'?" Would be far more likely to elicit a positive response from anyone that understands you, and he'll know which town you're from by your accent.

Was he your brother? Is this the start of a long and tangled tale of amnesia, confusion and ultimate family reunion? Shakespeare would have had you identical twins, with one dressed as the maidservant of a lady with whom the other was totally infatuated. I'm still looking forward to what transpired after your initial suspicious assumption... Will you be serialising the story in episodes?

I don't think he's the bloke to whom I might owe an apology, but maybe I would deck him, just in case he was, and was using this casual greeting to take me off my guard. To improve my chances beyond 50-50, I might want to capture the element of surprise, from behind, before he's noticed me...

I think he looks like the ugliest Bond of them all - he would not have cut it as a male model, although could perhaps have served as a funeral director's assistant or milkman. Nonetheless, one of the best, his jacket seems to have been tailored for a less muscular gentleman - perhaps Piers Brosnan or Timothy Dalton, his handkerchief is neatly stowed in his breast pocket, not flamboyantly standing out in a triangle, and his tie is knotted for neatness rather than comfort. He does have quite a severe haircut, and tremendous sticky-out lugs.

How do you explain the Wakefield Trinity?

As I mentioned earlier, I think it would stand you in good stead to turn up at the Pearly Gates with a book of scripture in your hand - preferably a dog-eared one, such as you might get in some of the charity shops, and if you knew a couple of lines out of it, for sure your path would be easier. I am guessing that there are two entrances to heaven - the pearly gates for the self-righteous, and devestatingly tedious, like me, and fiery ones at back for slappers and tarts.

That would be irony filings.

This post is useless without pictures

I would call the government decrees ironic rather than sarcastic.

I had a post deleted for discussing misquotations - tread carefully, my friend

Bangkok has a great public transport system, and getting better all the time. If you prefer not to live close to it, then that is a choice made practical by cheap private transport, but don’t complain about the traffic jams you cause. We were lucky that we had a choice where to live, so the kids walked to school or took a short taxi journey, and I took a taxi to the station or to work. I never complained about traffic, because there are choices, and if you don’t like it, you don’t need to cause it. Lorry drivers, bus drivers, pedestrians, have grounds for complaint, but not people in cars who have legs.

Keep telling yourself, but don’t complain about the traffic jams you form.