So there I was on the beach yesterday, late afternoon, sittin’ by the wall up the north end of Beach Road, right where North meets Beach, you know the spot, lads. Sun droppin’ low, sky lookin’ like it’d been painted by a drunk artist with too much orange on his brush, tide comin' in tappin’ the sand like lazy applause. I decide to skip me usual sunset pint and spark up a little spliff, gifted to me from my mate Alistair (bless him), just to mellow me out and let the world slow down for once. Two-thirds through, I’m floatin’ like a sailor on extended shore leave, thinkin’ maybe I’ve cracked the code of life, when out of nowhere this bird appears and starts chattin’ me up.

 

Bit older than my usual selections from the Pattaya buffet, mind you, more cougar than kitten, but she’s got that confident sway and a lower half that could stop a motorbike in traffic. Cracking smile too, the kind that says she’s trouble in heels but fun in flip-flops. She reckons she remembers me from up on Buakhao and why she popped over for a chat. Says I’d been a proper gent one night, bought her a few beers at the outdoor food court. Can’t say I recall, but let’s be honest, most of my nightlife memories have been filed under “missing, presumed drunk,” so who am I to argue?

 

Anyway, she says she wants to repay the favor by cookin’ me dinner at her condo over in Cozy Beach. And me? I had nothin’ planned except a half-finished buzz and a dodgy conscience, so off we went. Turns out the bird could cook, mates, proper spicy green curry, ice-cold beers, lights dimmed just enough to make me look (twenty percent) even more handsome. Music hummin’ low, bit of banter, one thing leads to another, and soon enough, I’m givin’ her me five-star one hand on the dumper and the other on the short-curlies treatment. No complaints, she had the experience, the stamina, and the enthusiasm of a karaoke gal with a rent payment due.

 

Then this mornin’, sunlight sneakin’ through the blinds, I’m pullin’ on me jeans, tryin’ not to trip over her large shoe collection, while she’s scribblin’ something on a scrap of paper. “Here’s my number and my LINE ID,” she says, voice all sweet and early-morning soft. Then she leans in, plants one on me cheek, and goes, “Bob, that was the greatest night I’ve had in a long time.”

 

Bob???

 

I nearly choked on me hangover. I just stood there, smirkin’, wonderin’ if I should tell her or just let this unknown Bob bloke take the win. Figured there’s no harm in leavin’ her happy thinkin' she's repaid the favor, after all, who am I to ruin another man’s legend? So I pocketed the paper, gave her a wink, and strutted out like Bob the Bronco of Love, fixin’ hearts one condo at a time.

 

Thailand, innit. Where you can lose your name, your gob, and your sense of direction, but still somehow come out the hero in someone else’s memory-lane story.

Long live Bob.

A quick visit to the local soapy or home delivery in the hotel room for a massage treat goes much faster, costs less, no hassles, and much safer then bringing over to one's own house. 

Did she ask you why you were missing your Rolex ??  

7 minutes ago, SingAPorn said:

much safer then bringing over to one's own house. 

Is that what he did? Doesn’t sound like it. Seems he went to hers. 

I thought that was what they call all the beach pickups: Bum On Beach

1 hour ago, EVENKEEL said:

Long live Bob.

How many Email addresses does Bob have?

If she knows bob, then more likely she was a he. Lola, Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo-Lola , Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo-Lola. 

Congrats Bob, you did it!

Surprisingly enough, there actually was a moderate 2.4 metre high-tide at 17:07 on Thursday. 

Met the same lass several times over the years...did she sleep with her teeth in or put them in a jam jar at the side of the bed as per usual?

A shorter version, thanks to Grok AI:

"Yesterday, a guy was chilling on a Pattaya beach, smoking a spliff and enjoying the sunset, when an older, confident woman approached him. She claimed he’d been a gentleman to her one night at a food court, though he couldn’t remember. She invited him to her Cozy Beach condo for dinner as a thank-you. There, she cooked a spicy green curry, they shared beers, and things escalated to a passionate night. The next morning, as he was leaving, she gave him her number and LINE ID, calling him “Bob” and saying it was her best night in a while. Amused, he realized she mistook him for someone else but decided to let her keep the happy memory. He left, embracing the mix-up, feeling like a hero in her story, as Thailand’s chaotic charm worked its magic."

10 hours ago, LL 2.0 said:

let’s be honest,

Why let honesty get in the way of a great fictional story. 

 

 

Is this what's called AI ? ...

 

regards worgeordie

Tedious.

Sure, Bob....we all believe in your Story

On 10/10/2025 at 7:04 AM, LL 2.0 said:

So there I was on the beach yesterday, late afternoon, sittin’ by the wall up the north end of Beach Road, right where North meets Beach, you know the spot, lads. Sun droppin’ low, sky lookin’ like it’d been painted by a drunk artist with too much orange on his brush, tide comin' in tappin’ the sand like lazy applause. I decide to skip me usual sunset pint and spark up a little spliff, gifted to me from my mate Alistair (bless him), just to mellow me out and let the world slow down for once. Two-thirds through, I’m floatin’ like a sailor on extended shore leave, thinkin’ maybe I’ve cracked the code of life, when out of nowhere this bird appears and starts chattin’ me up.

 

Bit older than my usual selections from the Pattaya buffet, mind you, more cougar than kitten, but she’s got that confident sway and a lower half that could stop a motorbike in traffic. Cracking smile too, the kind that says she’s trouble in heels but fun in flip-flops. She reckons she remembers me from up on Buakhao and why she popped over for a chat. Says I’d been a proper gent one night, bought her a few beers at the outdoor food court. Can’t say I recall, but let’s be honest, most of my nightlife memories have been filed under “missing, presumed drunk,” so who am I to argue?

 

Anyway, she says she wants to repay the favor by cookin’ me dinner at her condo over in Cozy Beach. And me? I had nothin’ planned except a half-finished buzz and a dodgy conscience, so off we went. Turns out the bird could cook, mates, proper spicy green curry, ice-cold beers, lights dimmed just enough to make me look (twenty percent) even more handsome. Music hummin’ low, bit of banter, one thing leads to another, and soon enough, I’m givin’ her me five-star one hand on the dumper and the other on the short-curlies treatment. No complaints, she had the experience, the stamina, and the enthusiasm of a karaoke gal with a rent payment due.

 

Then this mornin’, sunlight sneakin’ through the blinds, I’m pullin’ on me jeans, tryin’ not to trip over her large shoe collection, while she’s scribblin’ something on a scrap of paper. “Here’s my number and my LINE ID,” she says, voice all sweet and early-morning soft. Then she leans in, plants one on me cheek, and goes, “Bob, that was the greatest night I’ve had in a long time.”

 

Bob???

 

I nearly choked on me hangover. I just stood there, smirkin’, wonderin’ if I should tell her or just let this unknown Bob bloke take the win. Figured there’s no harm in leavin’ her happy thinkin' she's repaid the favor, after all, who am I to ruin another man’s legend? So I pocketed the paper, gave her a wink, and strutted out like Bob the Bronco of Love, fixin’ hearts one condo at a time.

 

Thailand, innit. Where you can lose your name, your gob, and your sense of direction, but still somehow come out the hero in someone else’s memory-lane story.

Welcome back London. It has been a while..:):)

On 10/10/2025 at 9:04 PM, LL 2.0 said:

So there I was on the beach yesterday, late afternoon, sittin’ by the wall up the north end of Beach Road, right where North meets Beach, you know the spot, lads. Sun droppin’ low, sky lookin’ like it’d been painted by a drunk artist with too much orange on his brush, tide comin' in tappin’ the sand like lazy applause. I decide to skip me usual sunset pint and spark up a little spliff, gifted to me from my mate Alistair (bless him), just to mellow me out and let the world slow down for once. Two-thirds through, I’m floatin’ like a sailor on extended shore leave, thinkin’ maybe I’ve cracked the code of life, when out of nowhere this bird appears and starts chattin’ me up.

 

Bit older than my usual selections from the Pattaya buffet, mind you, more cougar than kitten, but she’s got that confident sway and a lower half that could stop a motorbike in traffic. Cracking smile too, the kind that says she’s trouble in heels but fun in flip-flops. She reckons she remembers me from up on Buakhao and why she popped over for a chat. Says I’d been a proper gent one night, bought her a few beers at the outdoor food court. Can’t say I recall, but let’s be honest, most of my nightlife memories have been filed under “missing, presumed drunk,” so who am I to argue?

 

Anyway, she says she wants to repay the favor by cookin’ me dinner at her condo over in Cozy Beach. And me? I had nothin’ planned except a half-finished buzz and a dodgy conscience, so off we went. Turns out the bird could cook, mates, proper spicy green curry, ice-cold beers, lights dimmed just enough to make me look (twenty percent) even more handsome. Music hummin’ low, bit of banter, one thing leads to another, and soon enough, I’m givin’ her me five-star one hand on the dumper and the other on the short-curlies treatment. No complaints, she had the experience, the stamina, and the enthusiasm of a karaoke gal with a rent payment due.

 

Then this mornin’, sunlight sneakin’ through the blinds, I’m pullin’ on me jeans, tryin’ not to trip over her large shoe collection, while she’s scribblin’ something on a scrap of paper. “Here’s my number and my LINE ID,” she says, voice all sweet and early-morning soft. Then she leans in, plants one on me cheek, and goes, “Bob, that was the greatest night I’ve had in a long time.”

 

Bob???

 

I nearly choked on me hangover. I just stood there, smirkin’, wonderin’ if I should tell her or just let this unknown Bob bloke take the win. Figured there’s no harm in leavin’ her happy thinkin' she's repaid the favor, after all, who am I to ruin another man’s legend? So I pocketed the paper, gave her a wink, and strutted out like Bob the Bronco of Love, fixin’ hearts one condo at a time.

 

Thailand, innit. Where you can lose your name, your gob, and your sense of direction, but still somehow come out the hero in someone else’s memory-lane story.

Are you from Yorkshire? Why can't you say my instead of me?

On 10/10/2025 at 6:23 PM, short-Timer said:

If she knows bob, then more likely she was a he. Lola, Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo-Lola , Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo-Lola. 

Kinky!  😎

(Some people will get that, others the wrong idea 😉)

Let's face it 'Bob' - you went home and had a w*nk!

On 10/10/2025 at 11:01 PM, EVENKEEL said:

Long live Bob.

Under 20 different names