17.11.12
We slowly rose at 10am, chucked on some clothes and headed
straight to Milano the tailors to meet Sanjay. On the way there I was stopped
by a plump Indian fellow who wore a blue turban and we started talking whilst
Sarah was checking out some dresses at a market stall. He told me that he was a
fortune teller and could see into my future. I’d wanted to see a fortune teller
for quite some time now but had yet to get the chance, so I gave him a few
minutes of my time and listened carefully to what he had to say, sceptically
seeking signs of fraudulence. He first asked me to think of a colour and
guessed blue correctly, probably quite easy to implant, if you know what you’re
doing. He told me that December 21st 2012 (the date of the supposed
end of the world) would be lucky for me, and that my aura would be cleansed. He
asked my date of birth and told me that I wasn’t born on a good day for me, but
I’d live a long and healthy life until I’m eighty eight years old. Jesus. He
told me various other things, like I’d soon have a new job, I’m a peaceful,
happy man and I have a clear temple but I think too much. No shit. He told me
that I have good karma and would become successful and famous. He was trying to
get me to pay him about £20 for a full reading, however, my funds were all but
spent and I doubted Sarah was willing to fund it and then wait, so I thanked
the man and went to meet Sanjay. We walked in to see a maroon pair of trousers
hanging there, in the same colour I’d chosen for in the jacket, however we’d
asked for black trousers and this little error worried us slightly. Sanjay
apologised and I ended up saying I’d take both colours as they looked nice and
I got them cheaply. The jacket was dropped off shortly after, but I was in no
rush, talking football with my new homie until it arrived. I tried it on and he
marked out the exact fit and length I wanted, and then off we went to grab a
quick bite before returning to our hotel for the beautifully alliterated combination
of sex, shower and spliff.
We jumped into a cab full of creepy crawlies which took us back to Chatuchak
market, where I’d been twice before, once with my hostel crew and once with
Sarah. We spent a few hours running around, spotting so many things which we
wanted for our imaginary future home and haggling our way around, getting lots
of nice bits and pieces at knock-down prices. The pick of the litter was a
carved wooden elephants head with a lamp light framed above it, which shines
down upon the dark brown head and the elephants on either side. Sarah also
bought a traditional puppet to go with the ones we’d bought in India and we
also got more little gifts for friends and family. With our money now
drastically disappearing and the night sky settling, we headed back to Khao San
road, went into our room to try and pack everything we had into our bags, and
sparked up a cannon as the Arsenal match kicked off on the TV. Tottenham scored
within a few minutes, our former player and general scumbag Emmanuel Adebayor
putting one in, but unlike last time, he didn’t run the whole length of the
pitch to celebrate in front of his former clubs fans. In a fantastic turn of
events, he was swiftly sent off after a horrendous tackle on our genial
midfield man Santi Cazorla, and we got a goal back shortly after. Sarah and I
had to go and meet Sanjay for the final fitting, so we made our way out and
down in the elevator. As we walked along the alley there was a guy standing at
the end, eyes closed and hands to the skies in a salute to whichever God he worshipped.
I smiled at him as he came back to Earth and he looked up and said “Ping pong
show?” I laughed at the contrast between his actions, and gratefully declined.
He said “Are you London?” In a sporting mood I replied “Arsenal” and he said
“Ahhh, 1-1” referencing the score which I was unsure how he was aware of.
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Sanjay said the jacket was coming and took us to the outdoor
bar nearby, ordering pints for the three of us. We sat chatting, watching the
score-line increase as the ten men of our Tottenham rivals struggled to deal
with the constant attacks, and then he shot off back to his shop, which was
still open and attracting customers, leaving us there awaiting his return. The
game finished 5-2, a perfectly happy ending to the trip on the footballing
front, now all that was left was my suit. It was getting really late but I
trusted Sanjay, and I was right to, because despite the delay, my tuxedo style
maroon jacket with black lapels and black trousers both came back looking and
fitting like a dream. He was a little more expensive than the original guy in
Phuket, but worth every penny of the still minimal price for a tailor-made,
bespoke suit. We both thanked our new friend and bid him farewell, returning to
the gauntlet for one last stroll. Sarah’s remaining money was burning a hole in
my pocket and when I came across another elephants head, this time a bejewelled
version which had been painted red, I told her I had to have it. The salesman
was deaf, but it didn’t stop him from whacking huge sums into his calculator,
and me replying with low-ball amounts at the other end of the spectrum. I think
I got it for around a quarter of what he started on, my final haggle of the
holiday. We got a couple cheap shopping bags to take as hand luggage and
returned to fill them with the last bits which our cases couldn’t take, and
stuff for the flight home. Sarah fell asleep with ease as usual, but I
struggled, it was too early for me. I rolled around on the bed trying to get
comfortable and as the bottom sheet rode upwards I realised that it wasn’t just
the pillow which was covered in a leathery feeling plastic, but the mattress
too, which left me slightly puzzled. I heard footsteps in the hallway and the
slam of the door next to ours, then within a few minutes strange noises. At
first I thought it was a couple fighting, but a few moans and multiple pained groans
later had me left with little doubt that there was some hardcore fucking going on.
As furniture banged and screams rang out along the corridor, the purpose of the
plastic pillow and bed finally made sense, the room was spunk proof, and the
hotel was in all likeliness probably a low price haven for whore-mongers, who
had no care where they sprayed their jizz, as long as it was being sprayed. The
bed grew even less comfortable, but thankfully it didn’t last forever. Once my
neighbour had seemingly stopped smashing his lady to pieces, I was happy to get
a couple of hours shut-eye before our van to the airport arrived. I guess at
least my day ended with a bang.
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