101 Challenges:

Location: Bangkok, Thailand

After spending more time than ever needed on the East Coast of Indja, we finally headed off to Chennai – destination airport. Lee wasn’t too bothered – he had grown to love the laid-back attitude of the locals and the amazing friendliness of the peep’s we’ve met along the way. Lindsay, who had become sickened by the food, the days of nothing-dom and the tens-upon-thousands of Hippies and Swedes was simply happy to be leaving an inevitable jail sentence for mass Hippy/Swede genocide.

 
We were finally off on to the next stage of our little adventure.

Arriving at the airport at around about 23:00, we then faced 40 minutes of excruciating negotiating and pleading before we were eventually handed two tickets to board our intended flight. Note-to-ourselves… buy tickets in real-life. Not online. Indjan’s haven’t yet grasped the technological advances of their own webernet capabilities and so, we had to explain to at least 14 different airport “managers” that an e-ticket wasn’t a drug.

We were scheduled to fly from Chennai at midnight on the 2nd of February. This was much to the delight of Lee, what with Lindsay being petrified of flying and getting all anxious about that particular time of night when he must have thought the plane might turn into a pumpkin and fall from the sky.

That particular theory was unjust and Lee did tell him that he was being stupid (comforting as always). Lindsay refused to wear his glass slippers – much to Lee’s kinky disappointment.

6 diazepam (prescribed by his own Doctor) later, Lindsay painfully and slowly walks on to our nice little 737. By this time, he’s already consumed copious amounts of alcohol. Not his choice – Lee’s. Nevertheless, the seat was grabbed tightly, knuckles whitening and whimpers fleetingly escaping from his mouth.

Until you have the misfortune of sitting on the same flight as Lindsay, you can never fully and truly understand or experience the torture of his constant squeals, screams, “oh my God’s”, “what the f*ck was that”, “Jesus, we’re going to die” and crying.

If you haven’t walked off the plane by this point, you’ll then face take-off. His petrified fear of flying then worsens to the extent that you’ll have to further endure the sounds of a middle-aged-man crying and squealing like a 4 year old pig being taken to slaughter.

Surprisingly, the flight turned out to be rather nice (for Lee). He fell asleep within seconds after lift-off. He obviously refused to carry on comforting his terrified little brother. The energy it took him to constantly remind Lindsay to “shut the f*ck up” must have drained him. Nevertheless, there were other passengers who could, in turn, be relied upon to absorb Lindsay’s aviation anxieties.

4 hours later (which felt like 14 hours for Lindsay) oh, we’ll put another comment here (which felt like 176 hours for the other 287 passengers) and we finally arrive in Thailand in the very early hours of the morning.

Frank’s obviously overspent on his budget (most likely on whores and liquor) and so, after a very short text message to our mobile, we agreed to meet him on the conveyor belt. The three of us then headed out of the terminal to get a taxi.

Lindsay, at this point, was still on writers-strike and last night Lee must have crossed the invisible picket line. He saw no placards, no physical line, no Arthur Scargill, but a picket line was none-the-less crossed (more about this later).

We then headed towards the exit and inquired at the indoor taxi rank as to how much a cab to our hotel would be. 750 Bhat (about £12.50) was the desired amount and so, with a base figure which would be used for comparison now in our heads, we continued on 25 meters and out through the exit.

No more than 4 foot-steps out of the terminal doors and we found another taxi rank who offered us to take us to our hotel for a mere 450 Bhat. We don’t know what quite makes that first part of the journey cost 300 Bhat for 25 meters but we were glad we walked on. Proving that Thai’s are crap at un-haggling the Scots. Scotland 1 – Thailand 0.

A rather pleasantly smooth ride later, and on reaching the hotel we passed out instantly. Lee awoke a few hours later as Lindsay was very ill suffering from PFPD (Post Traumatic Flight Disorder) and (as he explained) Leprosy.

He actually had a bad chest infection and was on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medicine (as per Dr Lee’s experienced diagnosis – how naive)

Lindsay remained in bed, dying, and so Lee headed of to the San Road to purchase the Bangkok Post and relax in a restaurant.

After some time catching up with the Thai and International news he got talking to two girls. These girls had the names Gemma and Alicia bestowed upon them and how they would get the two of us into all sorts of states later that night was blatantly and foolishly unexpected of them.

Yes girls. Lee blames you. He thinks that they may have pushed him over the writer’s picket line. He had arranged to meet them later that night for dinner and perhaps a beer or two - at a push.

Lee chose a beautiful restaurant that he had once dined at on a previous trip to Bangkok. He explained to them (via his advanced knowledge of the Michelin Man) that it would be an excellent choice due to the marriage of exquisite ambience and mouth watering food that would be on offer.

Well that’s what he told them. It was simply a good choice due to the price. He then headed back to the hotel and collected his stricken writer of a brother.

With Lindsay perking up at the (ever so) slight chance of getting laid, we met the ladies and did in fact enjoy a beautiful meal, before they dragged us out of the classy establishment and onto the San Road.

Here they made us sit on plastic seats beside a dingy market stall where buckets of alcohol were ordered. We literally mean buckets. These things consisted of a bottle of Thai whiskey, Red Bull and a drip of Coke with, on this occasion 4 straws poking out.

Trying to refrain from the barbaric nature of this outdoor drinking establishment we put up a struggle and refused to down the mad potion. It was at this point we watched the two girls drink like women possessed and we quickly realised that the bill would be getting split four ways. Financially relaxed, we quickly sucked harder and faster than ever witnessed by mankind before (and remember, we were on the San Road – that’s quite a feat).

Foolishly, we underestimated the power of the alcohol content in these buckets and so, the next day, we were emailed some pictures taken by the girls. Apparently, we were out of our faces (see Lindsay's gazed expression below) and decided to grab price boards from the owner of the little stall and then proceed to parade up and down the Kho San Road like those girls in between rounds at boxing matches (but much less sexier - maybe more so to the sex tourists - who knows?). Allegedly, our end result was deterring potential customers than enticing them. Still, nice Stevie Wonder impressions compensated lovely enough;

More buckets were duly ordered and then, if truth be told, they were enjoyed (we think) before we headed to a club. The club was great craic and after more alcohol passed less and less wearier though our lips, we headed home to our hotel in separate tuc-tucs, after leaving Gemma and Alicia at there place. Gentlemen we are!

It was at this point Lee must have crossed the picket line, as on arrival back at the hotel Lindsay lost the plot.

Perhaps he lost the plot due to the fact that he was on strike and, as every writer knows, if you don’t keep up with the old writing, you can get writers block - succumbing to plot loss (think of Happy Days, Baywatch, Heroes – Season Two, and/or Neighbours)

A huge fight erupted, with us drunkenly falling against a wall or two and Lindsay shouting hurtful things such as “You’re not my favourite brother” and “Yes it was me who cut your Barbie’s hair off 10 years ago”.

Obviously, the words exchanged between the two of us were much more manly and harder than that – but we don’t want to encourage fighting or bad language. This was a huge fall-out. The first proper verbal and physical argument we've had in years. We're not proud - but looking back, the scars left on each of our throats are quite a funny talking point.

The two of us, having lived in each others pockets for the past 30 or so days, had reached breaking point (we never really liked each other in the first place) and the night ended in fisty-cuffs. Both of us at one point, having the other brother by the throat. Luckily (for Lee) no punches were thrown, and so, he’s still gorgeously perfect.

Lee decided enough was enough and so, he duly packed his bags and left for another hotel. Lindsay just passed out on the bed. Obviously though, Lee took the lap top - Lindsay wasn’t writing at that time anyway - more importantly, Lee knew it would p*ss him off.

Today Lee awaits an apology and in the meantime continues to cuddle into his own personal lap top with as much smug satisfaction as Lindsay must have had cutting all his elder brothers Barbie’s hair all those years ago.

Being the new chief writer is (was) great. I promise (promised) to bring you warts and all in my (our) entries.

As you may have realised - Lindsay now has control of the laptop again and so, journal entries have resumed on a more equal basis (equal being the amount of words Lee writes and the amount of speeling kurrektions Lindsay has to make).