Bleach Stains and Unexpected Dinner Dates, Only in Patts, Lads.

[Lewie London]

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.

[Stiddle Mump]

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?"

[Ralf001]

sounds like a great laundry.

 

Google maps link to location please.

[proton]

Yet more crap

[Stiddle Mump]

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.

[Watawattana]

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?

 

[theshu25]

More made up daily lies.

[Terrance8812]

4 minutes ago, theshu25 said:

More made up daily lies.

What lies? Laundry? Eating?

[proton]

1 hour ago, Terrance8812 said:

What lies? Laundry? Eating?

 

These posts are 100% bs

[Stiddle Mump]

12 minutes ago, proton said:

 

These posts are 100% bs

Irons fans tell it as it is.

[Lacessit]

14 minutes ago, proton said:

 

These posts are 100% bs

They are entertaining BS.

 

What have you produced lately that is worth reading?