Two Pints and an Existential DNA Crisis: Skin Colour Don’t Lie, Mate!

[Lewie London]

Right then lads, here is another bloke's unrequested whinge fest about family woes from the trenches. 

 

Yesterday, I’m sittin’ at me usual sundown perch along Beach Road, front-row seat to the sea, cold Singha in hand, breeze just kissin’ me neck, and that golden hour glow makin’ even the scruffiest punters look like George Clooney. One of them rare Pattaya moments when the chaos takes a breather, the motorbike engines fade, and the world pretends to be normal for just five minutes, yeah.

 

Then just as the sky’s doin’ its slow striptease from orange to navy and the bar signs start winkin’ to life like Soho on payday, bang. This geezer plonks himself down next to me like a Labrador who’s just found his owner after a week in the pound. Pasty as uncooked pastry, full pint but he's not drinkin' any, lookin’ like someone’s told him his missus just ran off with his cousin. I thought he wanted to soak in the orange sky with a bit of peaceful, blokeish silence. But nah. Not my luck.

 

He goes, “Matey, you ever gone look at a baby and just know?” I’m thinkin’, oh here we fekkin’ go again. Turns out he’s been proudly paradin’ round the moo-bahn with a toddler he thought was his own flesh and blood, only the kid’s come out lookin’ like he’s done just been pulled out a mud slide in Cameroon, and our mate’s so white he could get third-degree burns from starin’ at a toaster too long.

 

He’s babblin’ on, sayin’ how everyone reckons the kid’s got his wife’s face but her “brother’s” skin tone, and how this so-called wife's sibling just happens to stay over his gaff three nights a week, always when our man’s out “playin’ snooker,” but which we all know is code for popping out for a quick rub and a tug.

 

I’m sat there noddin’, tryin’ not to piss meself laughin’, watchin’ him put the pieces together like a chimp doin’ sudoku. Says he finally confronted her, yeah, and she just looked him dead in the eye and went, “Nose same same you, nah tirac.” Truth be told, the kid ain't got no mountain peaks between the eyes. Lad says his stomach dropped faster than a bar tart's knickers when a punter hands her 50K for sick buffalo repairs.

 

And me? I’m just there tryin’ to enjoy the bloody peaceful view, maybe get half a pint down me gob before the ladyboys start cacklin' like horny chickens, and now I’m stuck shoulder-to-shoulder with a lad havin’ a full-blown paternity panic in technicolour.

 

That’s Patts for ya, innit mates. One minute you’re raisin’ a glass to the sea, next minute you’re raisin’ doubts about your own sanity, all before happy hour’s even kicked in. Lewie out!

[Will B Good]

I tried.

 

Can't do it.

[newbee2022]

11 minutes ago, Lewie London said:

Right then lads, here is another bloke's unrequested whinge fest about family woes from the trenches. 

 

Yesterday, I’m sittin’ at me usual sundown perch along Beach Road, front-row seat to the sea, cold Singha in hand, breeze just kissin’ me neck, and that golden hour glow makin’ even the scruffiest punters look like George Clooney. One of them rare Pattaya moments when the chaos takes a breather, the motorbike engines fade, and the world pretends to be normal for just five minutes, yeah.

 

Then just as the sky’s doin’ its slow striptease from orange to navy and the bar signs start winkin’ to life like Soho on payday, bang. This geezer plonks himself down next to me like a Labrador who’s just found his owner after a week in the pound. Pasty as uncooked pastry, full pint but he's not drinkin' any, lookin’ like someone’s told him his missus just ran off with his cousin. I thought he wanted to soak in the orange sky with a bit of peaceful, blokeish silence. But nah. Not my luck.

 

He goes, “Matey, you ever gone look at a baby and just know?” I’m thinkin’, oh here we fekkin’ go again. Turns out he’s been proudly paradin’ round the moo-bahn with a toddler he thought was his own flesh and blood, only the kid’s come out lookin’ like he’s done just been pulled out a mud slide in Cameroon, and our mate’s so white he could get third-degree burns from starin’ at a toaster too long.

 

He’s babblin’ on, sayin’ how everyone reckons the kid’s got his wife’s face but her “brother’s” skin tone, and how this so-called wife's sibling just happens to stay over his gaff three nights a week, always when our man’s out “playin’ snooker,” but which we all know is code for popping out for a quick rub and a tug.

 

I’m sat there noddin’, tryin’ not to piss meself laughin’, watchin’ him put the pieces together like a chimp doin’ sudoku. Says he finally confronted her, yeah, and she just looked him dead in the eye and went, “Nose same same you, nah tirac.” Truth be told, the kid ain't got no mountain peaks between the eyes. Lad says his stomach dropped faster than a bar tart's knickers when a punter hands her 50K of dosh for sick buffalo repairs.

 

And me? I’m just there tryin’ to enjoy the bloody peaceful view, maybe get half a pint down me gob before the ladyboys start cacklin' like horny chickens, and now I’m stuck shoulder-to-shoulder with a lad havin’ a full-blown paternity panic in technicolour.

 

That’s Patts for ya, innit mates. One minute you’re raisin’ a glass to the sea, next minute you’re raisin’ doubts about your own sanity, all before happy hour’s even kicked in. Lewie out!

Thanks, after a day with nonsense threads and comments your story is refreshing and will make my day coming to a smooth sun downer.❤️

Thank you

[Keeps]

I thought this one was up there with the best from LL. A most enjoyable read.

[Lacessit]

4 hours ago, Keeps said:

I thought this one was up there with the best from LL. A most enjoyable read.

He can't possibly top the line about Hilary farting in the direction of freedom, but the bit about getting third degree burns from staring at a toaster too long comes close.

 

Seen plenty of that Brit complexion in Australia. It's like wall paste gets slathered over all the new-borns.

[kwak250]

I will enjoy this one tomorrow when i dont have to close 1 eye to read it

[chickenslegs]

[BangkokHank]

A DNA test would solve the mystery.

[mikebell]

Some cracking imagery.  More applause; keep 'em coming.

[Hamus Yaigh]

Reminds me of the song "Two Pints Of Lager And A Packet Of Crisps Please".

[FolkGuitar]

Simply brilliant!

I saved this one until breakfast this morning. (It was hard to resist, but I wanted to read it over a good cup of tea.)
Lewie, you did it again! I love the color and tone of this episode. Some of the adjectives were nothing short of delightful, and I even found myself applauding a few!
Please, do keep them coming, Lewie. They are a great way to begin my day.

[ronnie50]

Yeah, the toaster image is hard to beat. I had a boss once decades ago who told me that he and his wife had been to the local hospital maternity ward to visit a friend and her newborn. As they were walking past the other rooms, a door was open and a woman was in labour and they heard her yell 'don't let in be Chinese!'

[Elkski]

Very well written.  I'm jealous.  It was entertaining.   Those last boy voices are the worst. 

[SAFETY FIRST]

On 7/24/2025 at 4:50 PM, Lewie London said:

That’s Patts for ya, innit mates

Could be worse, you could be shaging Sarah. 

 

Perhaps, living in a council estate back home, sat in the cold hoping for one of those fat, smelly, ugly chicks to talk to who is living in a council house.