Nearly 60 tonnes of suspect smuggled pork impounded in Nakhon Pathom
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17
UK Corbyn and Sultana Launch New Hard-Left Party to Challenge Labour
Or at least that’s the way you tell it. -
14
Report Parking Row Turns Ugly as Benz Driver Slaps Student in Bangkok
Would he have slapped a man? -
77
ATM fee now 250bt
Actually, if you have the right home country bank, its NOT expensive at all... In fact, it can still be among the best way to access foreign funds here, and more economical than international wire transfers..... if you have the correct setup with your home bank. What's the correct setup: 1. a home country bank that charges NO foreign currency exchange fee on foreign purchases or ATM withdrawls, meaning you get the full regular VISA or MC networks rates. 2. a home country bank that fully reimburses you for other banks' foreign ATM charges incurred when using their card, whether those are from a different bank in your home country or a foreign bank when abroad. 3. a home country bank that allows you to make up to $1000 USD in daily ATM withdrawals from their card, meaning you can take advantage of the maximum 30,000 THB withdrawals allowed by Thai Krungsri and TMB ATM machines. -
12
The New F1 season. 🏁
Well, if you're still into F1 then this weekends race at Silverstone is definitely one of the best on the calendar. Plenty of overtaking opportunities thankfully. Hoping it's not just a battle between the two McLarens. We'll soon find out. Young rookie driver for Red Bull too. 🏁 -
5
Report Thai Air Force Helicopter Makes Emergency Landing at Roi Et School
Hm, wise decision from the crew. "Better safe than sorry" !! -
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Squeals and Straps: When Riding Shotgun Turns into Front-Row Seats to Absurdity
Got a call yesterday afternoon from Rupert again. Bloke’s voice cracklin’ with excitement like a kid on the mornin’ of the TT races. Turns out it’s gonna be his last night in Pattaya before he’s off back to Blighty until who knows when, and he wants to tick somethin’ off his bucket list; a proper soapy, two birds at once, the full sudsy experience he’s never dared try. Says he needs a wingman to tag along though, moral support like. I tells him straight, mate, I ain’t climbin’ in any tubs tonight, but I’ll ride shotgun if you like. So we rock up to this soapy joint out on Second Road by the Big-C, you know the one, neon signs brighter than a UFO landing, giant fishbowl with two dozen tarts sittin’ behind glass like goldfish in gowns. Rupert’s eyes light up like he’s found Willy Wonka’s golden ticket. He points at two cuties sittin’ close together, then hands over a stack of big white notes to the gal in charge, and they’re off to the races before I’ve even had time to order meself a cold bevy. Next thing, I’m sittin’ there in the lounge with a Coke and a big ol’ grin, watchin’ footy on the big telly, and lettin' the world go by. Few punters shufflin’ in and out, staff flittin’ about with cold neck towels, the usual soapy ballet. Then a couple of the jockeys who run the floor, the blokes who mainly cheer for the salad dodgers sufferin’ from involuntary celibacy, suddenly saunter over for a chinwag with the solo Londoner sittin’ by his lonesome. Proper friendly lads, laughin’ their arses off, practicin’ their English on me. One thing leads to another and they start gigglin’ like naughty schoolboys, askin’ if Rupert’s me mate upstairs. I nod, tell ’em he’s treatin’ himself before headin’ back home. That’s when they drop the bomb. Turns out the two girls Rupert picked are a bit of a famous duo. Let’s just call them “Squeals and Straps.” One’s notorious for squealin’ like a piglet soon as the action starts, makin’ noises that could wake a dead soi dog. The other’s got a habit of whippin’ out a strap-on halfway through the business then havin’ a slash and takin’ punters for a spin that includes a golden splash in the eyes that they didn’t see comin’. I near spit me Coke all over the floor. Rupert thinks he’s on cloud nine, two stunners all to himself, and he’s about to find himself in a stereo squeal session with a side order of peggin’ and a surprise rinse. And the best bit? He’ll probably never breathe a word about it to me when he debriefs me on the caper. He’ll just sit there starin’ into his drink, rememberin’ the night he tried to leave Pattaya with a bang but nearly left with a limp. About an hour and a half later, Rupert staggers down lookin’ like he’s been chased through a steam room by a pack of angry Kimotos, hair stickin’ up, shirt clingin’ like clingfilm, eyes dartin’ about like he’s seen the end of days. He drops into the chair next to me, gaspin’ for breath, and croaks, “Mate… that was mental… but I’m not sure if I’m proud of it or if I need a shrink.” I just slid him over me Coke cause he looked proper trollied. I kept me poker face, and tried not to choke laughin’ as I pictured him squealin’ along with his new best mates upstairs. Just another day in Land of the Smurfs, lads. Even when you’re not playin’, Pattaya finds a way to give you a memory that sends you home with a cheeky grin.
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