Get real.
Sometimes I'm winning the race, other times I'm losing. But on those occasions I also fantasize that I have a little trick up my sleeve. A short cut perhaps, or just a reliance on my ability to take corners quicker than the other competitors. Either way, I fall asleep quietly confident.
I think the catalyst for this particular fantasy was the little red bulb beside the reading lamp. As everyone knows, space ships aren't space ships without little red bulbs. Everything else — the clever compartments, the rushing noise of the train's engine/warp drive, the sense of adventure - was a happy complement.
By the time I fell asleep, my scanners were detecting life-forms on the surface of a distant planet. Could have been Jupiter. It had the same kind of cloud patterns, like a tie-dye T-shirt.
The warm security of my space-ship capsule slipped away. I was back on my bed on the Khao San Road, looking up at the ceiling fan. A mosquito was buzzing in the room. I couldn't see it but its wings pulsed like a helicopter's when it flew near. Sitting beside me was Mister Duck, the sheets around him red and wet.
'Would you sort this out for me, Rich?' Mister Duck said, passing me a half-rolled joint. 'I can't do it. My hands are too sticky. The Rizla... The Rizla keeps falling apart.'
He laughed apologetically as I took the joint.
'It's my wrists. Slit them all over and now they won't stop bleeding.' He lifted up his arm and a squirt of blood arced across the Formica wall. 'See what I mean? What a fucking mess.'
I rolled the joint but didn't lick it. On the strip of gum was a red fingerprint.
'Oh. You don't want to worry about that, Rich. I'm clean.' Mister Duck looked down at his sodden clothes. 'Well, not clean...'
I licked the Rizla.
'So spark it up. I'll only make it wet.'
He held out a light and I sat up on the bed. My weight sunk the mattress and a stream of blood ran down the slope, soaking into my shorts.
'Now how's that? Hits the fucking spot, huh? But you want to try it through a rifle barrel. That's a serious hit, Rich.'
'Blow my mind.'
'Yeah,' said Mister Duck. 'That's the boy. That's the kid...'
He lay back on the bed with his hands above his head, wrists facing upwards. I took another drag. Blood ran along the blades of the fan and fell around me like rain.
KO SAMUI
R&R
The journey from the train station at Surat Thani to Ko Samui passed in a sleep-fogged blur. I vaguely remember following Étienne and Françoise on to the bus to Don Sak, and my only memory of the ferry ride was of Étienne shouting in my ear over the noise of the boat's engines. 'There, Richard!' he yelled, pointing towards the horizon. 'That's the marine park!' A cluster of blue-green shapes was just visible in the distance. I nodded obligingly. I was more interested in finding a soft spot on my backpack to use as a pillow.
Our jeep from the Ko Samui port to the Chaweng beach resort was a big open-top Isuzu. On the left the sea lay blue between rows of coconut palms, and on the right a jungle-covered slope rose steeply. Ten travellers sat behind the driver's cabin, our bags clamped between our knees, our heads rolling with the corners. One had a baseball bat resting against his shoulder, another held a camera on his lap. Brown faces flashed past us through the green. 'Delta One-Niner,' I muttered. 'This is Alpha patrol.' The jeep left us outside a decent-looking bunch of beach huts, but backpacker protocol demanded we check out the competition. After half an hour of slogging across the hot sand, we returned to the huts we'd first seen.
Private showers, a bedside fan, a nice restaurant that looked on to the sea. Our huts faced each other over a gravel path lined with flowers. It was très beau, Françoise said with a happy sigh, and I agreed.
The first thing I did after shutting the door behind me was to go to the bathroom mirror and examine my face. I hadn't seen my reflection for a couple of days and wanted to check things were OK.
It was a bit
Sometimes I'm winning the race, other times I'm losing. But on those occasions I also fantasize that I have a little trick up my sleeve. A short cut perhaps, or just a reliance on my ability to take corners quicker than the other competitors. Either way, I fall asleep quietly confident.
I think the catalyst for this particular fantasy was the little red bulb beside the reading lamp. As everyone knows, space ships aren't space ships without little red bulbs. Everything else — the clever compartments, the rushing noise of the train's engine/warp drive, the sense of adventure - was a happy complement.
By the time I fell asleep, my scanners were detecting life-forms on the surface of a distant planet. Could have been Jupiter. It had the same kind of cloud patterns, like a tie-dye T-shirt.
The warm security of my space-ship capsule slipped away. I was back on my bed on the Khao San Road, looking up at the ceiling fan. A mosquito was buzzing in the room. I couldn't see it but its wings pulsed like a helicopter's when it flew near. Sitting beside me was Mister Duck, the sheets around him red and wet.
'Would you sort this out for me, Rich?' Mister Duck said, passing me a half-rolled joint. 'I can't do it. My hands are too sticky. The Rizla... The Rizla keeps falling apart.'
He laughed apologetically as I took the joint.
'It's my wrists. Slit them all over and now they won't stop bleeding.' He lifted up his arm and a squirt of blood arced across the Formica wall. 'See what I mean? What a fucking mess.'
I rolled the joint but didn't lick it. On the strip of gum was a red fingerprint.
'Oh. You don't want to worry about that, Rich. I'm clean.' Mister Duck looked down at his sodden clothes. 'Well, not clean...'
I licked the Rizla.
'So spark it up. I'll only make it wet.'
He held out a light and I sat up on the bed. My weight sunk the mattress and a stream of blood ran down the slope, soaking into my shorts.
'Now how's that? Hits the fucking spot, huh? But you want to try it through a rifle barrel. That's a serious hit, Rich.'
'Blow my mind.'
'Yeah,' said Mister Duck. 'That's the boy. That's the kid...'
He lay back on the bed with his hands above his head, wrists facing upwards. I took another drag. Blood ran along the blades of the fan and fell around me like rain.
KO SAMUI
R&R
The journey from the train station at Surat Thani to Ko Samui passed in a sleep-fogged blur. I vaguely remember following Étienne and Françoise on to the bus to Don Sak, and my only memory of the ferry ride was of Étienne shouting in my ear over the noise of the boat's engines. 'There, Richard!' he yelled, pointing towards the horizon. 'That's the marine park!' A cluster of blue-green shapes was just visible in the distance. I nodded obligingly. I was more interested in finding a soft spot on my backpack to use as a pillow.
Our jeep from the Ko Samui port to the Chaweng beach resort was a big open-top Isuzu. On the left the sea lay blue between rows of coconut palms, and on the right a jungle-covered slope rose steeply. Ten travellers sat behind the driver's cabin, our bags clamped between our knees, our heads rolling with the corners. One had a baseball bat resting against his shoulder, another held a camera on his lap. Brown faces flashed past us through the green. 'Delta One-Niner,' I muttered. 'This is Alpha patrol.' The jeep left us outside a decent-looking bunch of beach huts, but backpacker protocol demanded we check out the competition. After half an hour of slogging across the hot sand, we returned to the huts we'd first seen.
Private showers, a bedside fan, a nice restaurant that looked on to the sea. Our huts faced each other over a gravel path lined with flowers. It was très beau, Françoise said with a happy sigh, and I agreed.
The first thing I did after shutting the door behind me was to go to the bathroom mirror and examine my face. I hadn't seen my reflection for a couple of days and wanted to check things were OK.
It was a bit
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