So there I am, today, late afternoon, sat at this beer bar halfway down the quiet side of Soi 6 as you do, perched on one of them wobbly stools with a Chang in me hand, enjoyin’ the early evening like a retired dock worker from Liverpool. Front row seat to the shabbiest theatre on Earth; drunk sexpats, confused tourists, and working girls layin’ it on thicker than a brickie’s trowel. Life’s grand, innit.

 

Next to me there’s this old geezer, proper sunburnt, the kind of red where you don’t know if he’s been on the beach or shoved in a tumble dryer. Retired MAGA military type, red cap, lapel full of badges like he’s off to war against a salad. Looks like he’s sweated through three polo shirts already. And he’s got this bird draped all over him like she’s auditioning for Love Island but forgot her dignity at the airport.

 

She’s givin’ it the full greatest hits. “My buffalo sick, darling, need money for medicine.” Dead serious, too, like she’s got livestock on speed dial. Then it’s, “My brother, he have moto-cy accident yesterday… hospital expensive mahk mahk.” And then the absolute banger — “Mama need surgery, too mutt pain she now, I cry every night.”

 

Meanwhile, behind his back, she’s textin’ away on an iPhone 16 Pro Max that costs more than his pension. Probably lining up the next mug before this one’s even coughed up for the hospital bill of this imaginary buffalo with long Covid.

 

I’m sittin’ there watchin’ it all unfold, sip of beer, just thinkin’, Mate, you’ve got more chance of Meghan Markle makin’ you a bacon sandwich than this one bein’ your soulmate. But he’s sittin’ there lappin’ it up, noddin’ like he’s about to drop to one knee and propose. Might as well hand over the keys to his bungalow and the PIN to his life savings while he’s at it.

 

No fights, no drama, just that slow-motion car crash of delusion you see every night down here. Blokes comin’ to Thailand thinkin’ they’ve found romance when really they’ve just paid for front row seats to their own financial demolition.

 

Finished me beer, gave the poor sod a sympathetic nod, and sauntered off before she started tellin’ him the family dog’s got gout and needs a GoFundMe. Just another bog standard Monday in Patts, mates.

wind up

"LOL"-Great Narratives!

5 hours ago, Lewie London said:

So there I am, today, late afternoon, sat at this beer bar halfway down the quiet side of Soi 6 as you do, perched on one of them wobbly stools with a Chang in me hand, enjoyin’ the early evening like a retired dock worker from Liverpool. Front row seat to the shabbiest theatre on Earth; drunk sexpats, confused tourists, and working girls layin’ it on thicker than a brickie’s trowel. Life’s grand, innit.

 

Next to me there’s this old geezer, proper sunburnt, the kind of red where you don’t know if he’s been on the beach or shoved in a tumble dryer. Retired MAGA military type, red cap, lapel full of badges like he’s off to war against a salad. Looks like he’s sweated through three polo shirts already. And he’s got this bird draped all over him like she’s auditioning for Love Island but forgot her dignity at the airport.

 

She’s givin’ it the full greatest hits. “My buffalo sick, darling, need money for medicine.” Dead serious, too, like she’s got livestock on speed dial. Then it’s, “My brother, he have moto-cy accident yesterday… hospital expensive mahk mahk.” And then the absolute banger — “Mama need surgery, too mutt pain she now, I cry every night.”

 

Meanwhile, behind his back, she’s textin’ away on an iPhone 16 Pro Max that costs more than his pension. Probably lining up the next mug before this one’s even coughed up for the hospital bill of this imaginary buffalo with long Covid.

 

I’m sittin’ there watchin’ it all unfold, sip of beer, just thinkin’, Mate, you’ve got more chance of Meghan Markle makin’ you a bacon sandwich than this one bein’ your soulmate. But he’s sittin’ there lappin’ it up, noddin’ like he’s about to drop to one knee and propose. Might as well hand over the keys to his bungalow and the PIN to his life savings while he’s at it.

 

No fights, no drama, just that slow-motion car crash of delusion you see every night down here. Blokes comin’ to Thailand thinkin’ they’ve found romance when really they’ve just paid for front row seats to their own financial demolition.

 

Finished me beer, gave the poor sod a sympathetic nod, and sauntered off before she started tellin’ him the family dog’s got gout and needs a GoFundMe. Just another bog standard Monday in Patts, mates.

Wonderful description of daily Pattaya business.

Thank you

My question is how did you acquire a place to sit? Usually the cows are all sitting down on the front row perches, with another row of the third stringers on the street.

2 minutes ago, EVENKEEL said:

My question is how did you acquire a place to sit? Usually the cows are all sitting down on the front row perches, with another row of the third stringers on the street.

Maybe he is one of them cows. 😀

4 minutes ago, daveAustin said:

Maybe he is one of them cows. 😀

Nah, you know what I mean. Most of the ladies should be home watching the grand kids. 

Delightful read over my morning tea!

Keep it up!

7 hours ago, mogandave said:

wind up

 

what gave it away ?

Lewie you are a glimmer of hope, for this forum...

Another bog standard imaginary tale of Pattaya including most of the oft repeated stories.