So I’m down the local laundry gaff yesterday afternoon, just droppin’ off me soiled gear like always. Nice little place, proper family run, sweet old bird behind the counter, always gives me a cheeky smile like I’m her long lost nephew. They’ve never shrunk me shorts or turned me whites pink, so I stick with ‘em. Loyalty, innit.

 

Anyway, I’m standin’ there sortin’ out me pants when this bird storms in, flappin’ her arms about like she’s landin’ a bloody B52. Proper fit too, tall, slim, very late twenties I reckon, bit of light makeup, nice bum huggin’ jeans, and one of them tight little tops. Classy that. Thai, but looked like she weren’t from round here. Turns out I weren’t wrong.

 

She’s shoutin’ at the lady behind the counter, pointin’ at this orange T-shirt of hers, reckonin’ they’ve ruined it with bleach. And not just a splash either, nah lads, big old handprint right across the chest. No hidin’ that, innit. Looked like the Hulk tried to fold her laundry and gave up halfway through. Proper drama, voices raised, tourists peepin’ through the windows like they’re watchin’ the latest season of Coronation Street.

 

Now I don’t know what it is, maybe I’d had too much M-150 at lunch, maybe I was just feelin’ charitable, but I thought I’d step in before someone ends up throwin’ everything out the pram. So I tells her, calm like, “Listen love, how much was the top? I’ll gladly buy you a new one, no worries yeah, alright? Ain’t worth kickin’ off about and that.”

 

She stops, looks me up and down, eyes like she’s weighin’ up if I’m takin’ the piss or not. Then, out of nowhere, her whole mood flips. Says she don’t care about the shirt anymore, but she wouldn’t mind a bite to eat next door. One of them weird moments where you think, right, hold on, what the fark just happened here?

 

Next thing I know we’re sat at a wobbly plastic table in that little Thai joint next to the laundry, fans spinning like broken helicopter blades, two plates of pork fried rice with proper chili in fish sauce appear in front of us, ice in the water tastes slightly off, but you ignore it, to be polite, as you do.

 

Turns out she’s from Ayutthaya, been in Pattaya about nine months, works evenings at a pricey but proper seafood restaurant down South Patts. Decent chat, good laugh, funny gal, not one of them types always starin’ at their phone or takin’ selfies. Just a normal bird havin’ a moan about laundry disasters and Sukhumvit Highway traffic. God bless her. Respect.

 

After we finish, she scribbles her number on a serviette, folds it up all neat, and says maybe we could grab another meal sometime. Nice gesture I reckoned. I’m not really in the market for real romance right now though. I’m likin’ me little afternoon tickle under the hood up at the massage joint too much these days to be messin’ with me program. Told her I’d give her a call. Might. Might not.

 

Pattaya’s a funny place, yeah. Sometimes you meet nutters, sometimes you meet decent ones, and sometimes you just wanted to pick up your shorts, but you end up at an early dinner with a stranger from Ayutthaya.

 

Life in SE Asia, eh. Never just a quiet one over here.

6 minutes ago, Lewie London said:

So I’m down the local laundry gaff yesterday afternoon, just droppin’ off me soiled gear like always. Nice little place, proper family run, sweet old bird behind the counter, always gives me a cheeky smile like I’m her long lost nephew. They’ve never shrunk me shorts or turned me whites pink, so I stick with ‘em. Loyalty, innit.

 

Anyway, I’m standin’ there sortin’ out me pants when this bird storms in, flappin’ her arms about like she’s landin’ a bloody B52. Proper fit too, tall, slim, very late twenties I reckon, bit of light makeup, nice bum huggin’ jeans, and one of them tight little tops. Classy that. Thai, but looked like she weren’t from round here. Turns out I weren’t wrong.

 

She’s shoutin’ at the lady behind the counter, pointin’ at this orange T-shirt of hers, reckonin’ they’ve ruined it with bleach. And not just a splash either, nah lads, big old handprint right across the chest. No hidin’ that, innit. Looked like the Hulk tried to fold her laundry and gave up halfway through. Proper drama, voices raised, tourists peepin’ through the windows like they’re watchin’ the latest season of Coronation Street.

 

Now I don’t know what it is, maybe I’d had too much M-150 at lunch, maybe I was just feelin’ charitable, but I thought I’d step in before someone ends up throwin’ everything out the pram. So I tells her, calm like, “Listen love, how much was the top? I’ll gladly buy you a new one, no worries yeah, alright? Ain’t worth kickin’ off about and that.”

 

She stops, looks me up and down, eyes like she’s weighin’ up if I’m takin’ the piss or not. Then, out of nowhere, her whole mood flips. Says she don’t care about the shirt anymore, but she wouldn’t mind a bite to eat next door. One of them weird moments where you think, right, hold on, what the fark just happened here?

 

Next thing I know we’re sat at a wobbly plastic table in that little Thai joint next to the laundry, fans spinning like broken helicopter blades, two plates of pork fried rice with proper chili in fish sauce appear in front of us, ice in the water tastes slightly off, but you ignore it, to be polite, as you do.

 

Turns out she’s from Ayutthaya, been in Pattaya about nine months, works evenings at a pricey but proper seafood restaurant down South Patts. Decent chat, good laugh, funny gal, not one of them types always starin’ at their phone or takin’ selfies. Just a normal bird havin’ a moan about laundry disasters and Sukhumvit Highway traffic. God bless her. Respect.

 

After we finish, she scribbles her number on a serviette, folds it up all neat, and says maybe we could grab another meal sometime. Nice gesture I reckoned. I’m not really in the market for real romance right now though. I’m likin’ me little afternoon tickle under the hood up at the massage joint too much these days to be messin’ with me program. Told her I’d give her a call. Might. Might not.

 

Pattaya’s a funny place, yeah. Sometimes you meet nutters, sometimes you meet decent ones, and sometimes you just wanted to pick up your shorts, but you end up at an early dinner with a stranger from Ayutthaya.

 

Life in SE Asia, eh. Never just a quiet one over here.

Yer sounds like a typical Irons fan. When I read this I got proper homesick. Brought back memories of evenings down the Robin Hood. Talking nonsense, and downing pints like tomorrow aint gonna appen.

''Saw a nice bit of stuff down the Barking Road today. Proper fit she was.''

"Yers'. What do yer reckon, belly button up or belly button down?"

"She was pushing a pram, so I reckon her bristols was fit. I'll have the top half."

"That's great. What's yer poision?"

sounds like a great laundry.

 

Google maps link to location please.

Yet more crap

9 minutes ago, proton said:

Yet more crap

I don't think so. The girl was probably looking for a steady geezer. To his credit, the OP, didn't get greedy with her. Just offered help. She sounds like a nice bit of stuff. Could make a decent wife.

Sounds great!  I love these random meetings.  Similar has happened to me recently, in a Metro station in the middle of a random Chinese city I happened to be passing through.  No stress, nice chat, bit of a laugh (her laughing at my Mandarin), nice food; a couple o' hours well spent.

 

Anyhow, back to Patts, I wonder which bloke dipped his hand in bleach then groped her chest?

 

More made up daily lies.

4 minutes ago, theshu25 said:

More made up daily lies.

What lies? Laundry? Eating?

1 hour ago, Terrance8812 said:

What lies? Laundry? Eating?

 

These posts are 100% bs

12 minutes ago, proton said:

 

These posts are 100% bs

Irons fans tell it as it is.

14 minutes ago, proton said:

 

These posts are 100% bs

They are entertaining BS.

 

What have you produced lately that is worth reading?

53 minutes ago, proton said:

These posts are 100% bs

 

Of course they are - anyone who believes these are not simply stories made up by AI with minimal input are sorely mistaken...  Below is a perfect example of just how simple it is to replicate, even the tone, the prose, that breezy, laddish patter... 

In tomorrow's story we'll see Lewie throw in a tuk-tuk crash, a misunderstanding over a ladyboy, and a soi dog stealing someone's flip-flop....

 

--------------

 

Here..... simple replication.... 

 

So I’m leggin’ it down Sukhumvit the other night, just mindin’ me own, lookin’ for a pad Thai stall that don’t try to mug you off with four prawns and a squirt of fish sauce. Bit steamy, traffic crawlin’, neon everywhere, and the usual mob of tuk-tuk lads shoutin’ sweet nothings at anyone with legs. Then I spot her - tall bird, legs like a giraffe in high heels, designer handbag that probably costs more than me motorbike. Looked fresh outta some rooftop champagne lounge, all high-society but with that edge, you know? Bit of trouble wrapped in a Gucci belt.

 

She’s leanin’ against the pole by Soi 11 like she owns it, drink in one hand, the other scrollin’ her phone like she’s tryin’ to summon a Ferrari. I clock the Red Bull bottle wobblin’ in her fingers, barely hangin’ on. So I give her the old smile-nod combo, thinkin’ she’ll ignore me like the others do. But nah - she locks eyes, struts over like she’s on a Milan catwalk, and says, dead serious, “You look like you know where fun is.” Now I’m halfway through sayin’ something vaguely clever when she lurches forward, Red Bull slips, and boom - right on me crotch. Ice cold, sugary, sticky - straight through me decent shorts. Felt like me <deleted> were doin’ the breaststroke in battery acid.

 

She gasps, hand to her mouth, but instead of panickin’ she bursts out laughin’ like it’s the best thing she’s seen all week. Starts dabbing me with tissues from that designer bag like she’s tryna polish a trophy. Next thing I know, we’re sat on a plastic stool outside a cart, me still half-soaked, her orderin’ grilled chicken skewers like nothin’ happened. Says her name’s May, grew up in Chiang Rai, came down to Bangkok for “better things”, works in one of them bars that looks like a cocktail menu threw up. Smart, sassy, bit mad - but in the way that keeps you grinnin’. Gave me her Line with a wink and told me to wear darker shorts next time. Can’t lie - might actually listen.

43 minutes ago, Lacessit said:

They are entertaining BS.

 

What have you produced lately that is worth reading?

Life must be boring if you think that daily dribble is worth reading

Just now, proton said:

Life must be boring if you think that daily dribble is worth reading

Not as boring as your posts.

6 minutes ago, Lacessit said:

Not as boring as your posts.

 

My dad's bigger than you're dad 😁

3 hours ago, proton said:

 

My dad's bigger than you're dad 😁

Obviously more stupid, he did not teach you the difference between you're and your.

54 minutes ago, Lacessit said:

Obviously more stupid, he did not teach you the difference between you're and your.

I don't care if it's all BS.

 

I love souf London Jack-the-Lad geezer talk. 'er indoors. Trouble and strife (the wife). Apples and pairs, up the stairs. He's havin a laugh.

 

'Oi mate, can you spare a fag?'

20 hours ago, proton said:

Yet more crap

I believe there's a way of blanking certain contributors; do it or just ignore & don't read crap: it's self-inflicted.  Me, I actively seek out the writer and enjoy.

3 hours ago, mikebell said:

I believe there's a way of blanking certain contributors; do it or just ignore & don't read crap: it's self-inflicted.  Me, I actively seek out the writer and enjoy.

I agree! It's like those old 'Two Minute Mysteries' that used to be in the newspapers every day!  2-3 minute read and fun to think about.
(By the way, those 2-minute mysteries are still available online for mystery buffs to solve. )

I could be wrong, but I sense it is primarily the Americans on this forum that don't find Lewie's stories funny - even if they think they are completely made up BS. Maybe some overtly-serious mainland Europeans fall into that category too.

 

For Americans and others who've never been to ol' Blighty, or have only visited briefly to central London and Windsor Castle, they probably aren't aware of how the accents and lingo can change just by crossing the river in London, or venturing a bit further into Essex. Drive north and within two hours or so you are in the Midlands with a slightly different accent to London (and lingo), then Manchester (watch out for the 'bizzies' - the cops), head West from there to Liverpool and you probably wouldn't understand half of what was being said.  Same goes for Newcastle in "the North" and it changes again abruptly when you cross into Scotland - where Edinburgh and Glasgow are just a couple of hours apart by train, but completely different accents and lingo. If someone in the pub is talking about giving you a Glasgow Kiss - make a hasty departure!

On 6/22/2025 at 11:22 AM, Stiddle Mump said:

I don't think so. The girl was probably looking for a steady geezer. To his credit, the OP, didn't get greedy with her. Just offered help. She sounds like a nice bit of stuff. Could make a decent wife.

...if it wasn't 100% made up nonsense.

56 minutes ago, Liverpool Lou said:

On 6/22/2025 at 11:22 AM, Stiddle Mump said:

I don't think so. The girl was probably looking for a steady geezer. To his credit, the OP, didn't get greedy with her. Just offered help. She sounds like a nice bit of stuff. Could make a decent wife.

...if it wasn't 100% made up nonsense.

 

So is ALL the bumf Stiddle posts in the 'off the beaten path sub-forum - anti-vaxx' threads...    he certainly doesn't let truth or reality get in the way of any information he consumes..... 

 

 

On 6/21/2025 at 11:24 PM, Watawattana said:

I wonder which bloke dipped his hand in bleach then groped her chest?

 

papa confesses...

Hey, I want the phone number she wrote on that napkin!!!!!!

On 6/22/2025 at 10:58 AM, Stiddle Mump said:

"What's yer poision?"

Copious and continuous amounts of.... electricity.  This is AI-generated content.