Jump to content

Support our Sponsors >> Thai Friendly | Luxury Pattaya Condo Rentals | Le Pub Soi Diamond | Pattaya Investigations | Dollhouse XXX | Pattaya News | Pattaya Bars | The Night Wish Group | Add your Text or Event here

Daveo

Canterbury Tales Bookshop

Recommended Posts

joe q

How much is the NEW Jimmy White book,signed & unsigned please.Do i have to wait until 20th Dec.or have you any copies in stock. P.S. Can i trade in my Steve'Boring'Davies book ?

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

How much is the NEW Jimmy White book,signed & unsigned please.Do i have to wait until 20th Dec.or have you any copies in stock. P.S. Can i trade in my Steve'Boring'Davies book ?

 

The books are 400 baht, 7.99 quid in UK, same signed, a few have been sold to guys bringing them back on the day Jimmy is here in case we sell out, yes they are available now from Canterbury Tales Bookshop.

Bring your camera for a photo with Jimmy.

 

ps, yes you can trade your Steve Davies book

Edited by Daveo

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

Now on sale in the bookshop, exclusive in Pattaya and only available online The Paultain Experience, confessions of a whore Monger.

Read some of it here. http://www.blurb.com/books/1200741

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

Some old and some new books in today.539-1.jpg5331367954_0f89ee9d54_z.jpgBangkokBob.jpg

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
layow

some nice new selections there

 

have few myself i should bring in

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

Yes mate please do, always looking for more stock, some good savings on new books too.Picture 067.jpgPicture 068.jpgPicture 069.jpgPicture 070.jpgPicture 071.jpgWar 3.JPG

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

4 Things you may not know about mobile phones, can come in handy.

 

There are a few things that can be done in times of grave

emergencies. Your mobile phone can actually

be a life saver or an emergency tool for survival.

Check out the things that you can do with it:

 

FIRST

The Emergency Number worldwide for all Mobile Phones

is 112. If you find yourself out of the coverage area of your

mobile network and there is an emergency, dial 112

and your mobile will search any existing network in your area to establish the emergency

number for you, and interestingly this number 112 can be dialed even

if the keypad is locked. This works on all phones worldwide and is free. It is the equivalent of 000.

 

SECOND

Have you locked your keys in the car?

Does your car have remote keyless entry? This may come in handy someday. Good

reason to own a cell phone:

If you lock your keys in the car and the spare keys are at home, call

someone at home on their mobile phone from your cell phone.

 

Hold your cell phone about a foot from

your car door and have the person at your home press the unlock

button, holding it near the mobile phone on their end.

Your car will unlock. Saves someone from having to drive

your keys to you. Distance is no object. You could be thousands of miles away,

and if you can reach someone who has the other 'remote' for your car, you can

unlock the doors (or the trunk).

Editor’s Note: I didn’t believe this when I heard about it! I rang my daughter in Sydney from Perth when we went on holiday. She had the spare car key. We tried it out and it unlocked our car over a mobile phone!'

 

THIRD Hidden Battery Power

 

To activate, press the keys *3370# (remember the asterisk). Do this when the phone is almost dead.

Your mobile will restart in a special way with this new reserve and the instrument will show a 50%

increase in battery life. This reserve will get re charged when you charge your mobile next time.

This secret is in the fine print in most phone manuals. Most people however skip this information without realizing.

 

FOURTH

How to disable a STOLEN mobile phone?

 

To check your Mobile phone's serial

number, key in the following digits on your phone: * # 0 6 #

Ensure you put an asterisk BEFORE the #06# sequence.

 

A 15 digit code will appear on the screen. This number is unique to

your handset. Write it down and keep it somewhere safe. If your

phone ever gets stolen, you can phone your service provider and give them

this code. They will then be able to block your handset so even if

the thief changes the SIM card, your phone will be totally useless.

You probably won't get your phone back,

but at least you know that whoever stole it can't use/sell it either. If

everybody done this, there would be no point in people

stealing mobile phones.

This secret is also in the fine print of most mobile phone manuals. It was created for the very purpose of trying to prevent phones from being stolen.

 

Also -ATM PIN Number Reversal - Good to Know!!

 

If you should ever be forced by a robber to withdraw money from an ATM

machine, you can notify the police by entering your PIN # in

reverse. For example, if your pin number is 1234, then you would put

in 4321. The ATM system recognizes that your PIN number is backwards

from the ATM card you placed in the machine. The machine will still

give you the money you requested, but unknown to the robber, the

police will be immediately dispatched to the location.

All ATM’s carry this emergency sequencer by law.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
PepeLePew

Also -ATM PIN Number Reversal - Good to Know!!

 

If you should ever be forced by a robber to withdraw money from an ATM

machine, you can notify the police by entering your PIN # in

reverse. For example, if your pin number is 1234, then you would put

in 4321. The ATM system recognizes that your PIN number is backwards

from the ATM card you placed in the machine. The machine will still

give you the money you requested, but unknown to the robber, the

police will be immediately dispatched to the location.

All ATM’s carry this emergency sequencer by law.

 

What if your PIN is 7227?

 

Sorry Dave but I have to mythbust the last one. The tech exists but so far has not been implemented. Well at least not here (UK) or the US as yet.

 

http://en.wikipedia....etyPIN_software

 

http://www.hoax-slay...e-pin-ATM.shtml

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

Fair play mate, yes I just found this online and found it useful and thought to share it on, I see what you mean about the pin, maybe there is not enough of this sort of crime to implement it ?

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
leadpencil

SECOND

Have you locked your keys in the car?

Does your car have remote keyless entry? This may come in handy someday. Good

reason to own a cell phone:

If you lock your keys in the car and the spare keys are at home, call

someone at home on their mobile phone from your cell phone.

 

Hold your cell phone about a foot from

your car door and have the person at your home press the unlock

button, holding it near the mobile phone on their end.

Your car will unlock. Saves someone from having to drive

your keys to you. Distance is no object. You could be thousands of miles away,

and if you can reach someone who has the other 'remote' for your car, you can

unlock the doors (or the trunk).

Editor’s Note: I didn’t believe this when I heard about it! I rang my daughter in Sydney from Perth when we went on holiday. She had the spare car key. We tried it out and it unlocked our car over a mobile phone!'

 

I am going to try this later, I am curious to see if it works!

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

Yes good idea, please let us know if it does.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

Still looking for more stock so if you have any unwanted books please bring them in.

I will pay cash or will give credit for them.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

The latest book about to hit the shevles at Canterbury Tales Bookshop,

 

It's monsoon season on the east coast. The days are hot and full of sun until late afternoon when, like clockwork, the sky takes on the hue of a deep tissue bruise. The wind picks up and the palms arc, the horizon becomes black and starts to growl. The water comes up, choppy at first then in little troughs, then with white caps that beat the shore in ten second intervals. The wind cranks all the way up to gale force. Thatch covered huts disintegrate, huge dead palm fronds are blown from their trees slicing through the air like some half-assed nineteenth century invention ‘the autoroto scythe.’ Coconuts are torn from trees, dropping forty feet, ten pound death bombs falling with tremendous force. Gray cloud banks like battleships roll across a thousand miles of China Sea towing with them anchors of fierce storm pockets charged with lighting, littering hail the size of billiard balls across the minor continent.

 

 

When the world goes this way you want to be hunkered down in a secure room with all of the good whiskey, fine literature and crude films you’ll need in a month. There is no good reason to be driving on a dirt track road when a ninety mile an hour wind blows in five inches of rain in twenty minutes.

 

 

But old Terry’s not worried, he’s purring away over the din on the other side of his tinted windshield, giggling softly to himself and muttering “oh dear oh dear oh dear.” His two and a half ton four wheel drive, 1976 Range Rover Rhino ‘Kitty’ is churning up the already badly rutted access road making it impassable to the local population on their one hundred cc scooters.

 

 

Flumes of mud water flow from Kitty’s wheel wells soaking any poor bastard walking on either side. Chubby Checker is playing on the stereo and Terry’s drumming along on the steering wheel, giggling “you evil fuckers, there’s some of it for you, init?” as he shifts on the fly from low two to drive.

 

 

Minutes later Terry parks the huge vehicle on the tiny street in front of ‘Thaes’, slides out of the cab and into the warmly lit open interior; rolls past the locals eating rice and noodle dishes to the table in the rear where six other foreigners sit.

“Jee-sus Christ you Ok Terry, heh?” Jack reaches out with a hand the size and color of an under cooked steak. “Be careful with that thing.” Terry stops and looks at his arm where Jack had seized him. “He’s a fine looking man, isn’t he boys? Look at the lines on him.” Mark sits back and crosses his arms as Terry slides his hands over and down his bulbous, distended stomach, letting his fingers come to rest on the knob created by his naval, forced to the out position by the thousands of gallons of beer he drinks each year. “You wankers laugh but it’s not all silly pennies with a body like this. Oh the women won’t leave me alone, always on me to do dirty things with them. Terrible these women are, wanting me to put my little thing in all types of places. Tch, Tch. Such business is that. And you know, you have to wash afterwards or there’s a smell.” “That, that’s right Terry, but I’m here fou…five months and I can’t get a shag.” Milton stammers through his jagged yellow teeth snubbing out one cigarette in order to light another. “Women are all right but there’s nothing like the real thing.” Jack starts but the howl of the in-coming train blots out all conversation. Only the vibrato of the pounding rain on the corrugated metal roof is audible.

 

 

Another meeting of the Niggers Club begins. Seven men of the former British empire. Four English, one Scots, one welsh, one Irish. Ex-patrioted here in one of the few countries in Asia never colonized. Each came on their own path. Through Africa, the Middle East, the Caribbean, Malta, Australia, New Zealand. Hobbling through the vast outposts of the once mighty empire, come to rest here in this little restaurant on the side of the rail station on a night of soaking rain, lit by the occasional bolt of white light.

 

 

Here each night they meet to eat fish and chips ‘in a praper badder’ as the sign reads, swill large amounts of local beer and exchange well trod quips and stories in between complaining bitterly about the evils of the Thais and of course ridiculing any member of the group not present.

 

 

“So how did your kitty get on in this foul weather, Terry?” Lloyd wheezed and squeaked. “Oh she was like a dream she was, burrowed right up to her wheel wells, I believe I had a small orgasm there with my hand on her shift.” “Now how’re those others gonna git in an out with you tearin up that god damned road?” Jack, his head falling between his great shoulders, like a water buffalo, speaking between clenched teeth, his beery smile, his watery old Irish eyes grinning behind his glasses. Terry sits up straight “fuck those people, right tossers they are.” He rolls a cigarette, his middle and index fingers stained a deep ochre, using his belly as a work bench.

 

A feral dog quietly slips beneath the table, its’ oversized head stooped low, sniffing for scraps.

 

 

“So I got this Lebanese up in the cab and I’m feelin’ her all the way up her leg, she’s a beautiful girl this bird and I’m lookin’ for a place to pull over.” Jacks telling the story again. Those that can remember pretend not to. It’s a way to pass time. “Jack, these Lebanese, they’re um Moslem if you like aren’t they?” Stan asks again. “Some of them but there’s all kinds of Christians there, all different kinds, this is where the feckin’ Bible comes from. There’s a town there called Bible, it’s the longest continually inhabited place in the world they say.” “I doubt that.” Brian interrupts again. “Who’s ‘at then?” Lloyd wheezes through his puzzling accent.

 

 

A tall thin young man dressed in a gray shirt and casual trousers holding a small grip stands in the entrance streaming with rainwater squinting into the restaurant.

 

 

“He might be a tourist.” Terry sneers. “Feckin hell tourists, we want no part of them do we Terr?” Jack imitates Terry’s sneer through his smile. Then he’s there standing above them. Bemused grin on his innocently handsome face, water dripping from his chin, thoroughly and calmly soaked. His blonde hair plastered across his forehead.

Seven faces, forty and over peer up at him ranging from the bloated bulldog rolls of Terry with his comb over, his too small eyes and wobbly sneer, to the small insipid face of Lloyd, with the appearance of a long time postal clerk, shirt tucked into shorts worn high over his little pot belly. The hulking mass of Jack crumpled in front of the table. Milton, rake thin, parchment white, with the skin of a chain smoker. Brian in a pressed football Jersey and gold chain, still in athletic trim at forty. Mark capped and upending a large bottle of Heineken.

 

 

“This is it then is it, Thea’s?” The stranger asks rhetorically. “What’s that, where’s it?” “Oh I don’t think it’s here.” “I eeh uh en.” “All right mate take a seat, did you just come on the train?” Brian answers the question over the chiding of the group. “Yes, thank you, I will.”

 

 

“Down from Bangkok then, eh?” Jack aims his big head over his drooping shoulder at the new comer. “Yes I’ve just arrived, to and from Bangkok.” “Where are you staying, here in town?” “I am not sure, how far is the beach? I have a strong desire to stay by the water.” “Its not close mate, four or five K’s, there’s a few places there.” “Back packers like, no good for the proper man, are you a proper man?” Terry asks. “He looks it, none of them dread locks there on ‘im, actually he’s a good looking boy.” Jack laughs, scrutinizing the young man. “Don’t mind him mate, be good Jack, actually old Terry here has a luxury complex of chalets there on the beach, if you can afford them.”

 

Luxury, as in; whirlpool bath, air conditioning, sunken living room, DSL, satellite television, convection oven?” “Fuck off, we have tastefully done chalets, comfortable for the right people at six hundred, for people with manners, people who aren’t going to molest the wildlife or wipe their bums on me expensive bloody towels.” Terry stressed this as if it had happened more than once. “That sounds all right, for the time, but I’m looking for a place long term, say six months, on the beach, a small house, fairly private with a fence, preferably. And I’m going to need a vehicle, anything at first.” “Six months? Are you here with the steel company if you don’t mind me asking, it’s not a big place here, mind I’m quite happy.” Stan, fifty, big in the shoulders, going to fat, trimmed mustache, polite, smiling. “I’m just having a look around, don’t worry I’m not planning on staying any longer.” “Oh no mate, we’re always glad to have some other farangs about, the more the merrier.” “Speak for yourself.” Jack adds, grinning over his clamped teeth. “Your all right mate we’ll settle you down at the chalet, Jack’s missus rents bikes on a monthly basis, where’s your luggage?” The new man nodded at his single grip then ordered a salad with iced tea.

 

My name is Crispas he says.

 

 

The rain continued for several hours. The Niggers Club went through their nightly routine matching quip with quip, insult for insult pursuing inside jokes to new limits. Crispas nodded and laughed and studied the dynamics of the group. The last vestige of a bygone era. The old British club moved to a track side diner. All of the stereo types were present and active.

As the night wound down the members of the club took their leave with departing insults and promises to see one another the next day. As they left each picked up his wife or attending female from the table behind where they formed

their own ‘wife’s of the Niggers Club.’ Reading newspapers, discussing lucky numbers, comparing cell phones and eating nonstop from bowls and plates scattered across the table’s surface watching intermittingly a silent TV broadcasting a local drama. Crispas wondered if they were telling the same stories from an inverted point of view. Horrible farang husbands that had mis-treated, cheated and cheapened their lives. Alienated in their own homes by the strange, un-hygienic behavior of their undesirable if relatively wealthy other half’s.

 

When Terry had enough he led Crispas to his ‘Kitty.’ Warning him to wipe his feet and make sure that the seat of his pants was clean. They rode through the night to the sea. Street lights ended a kilometer out of town, houses and shops became thinner until it was just darkness through the window.

 

Terry kept up his lilting conversation, drumming on the steering wheel to the oldies rock on the stereo. “You don’t want to trust these cunts, they steal from each other. They don’t even know what the truth is. I told this last woman I was with, I told her, I was born a Christian, now I’m not a very good one but my god taught me not to lie. Did your Buddha tell you that? She said ‘oh yes, yes Buddha teach us not lie’ so I said, then why do you always fuckin lie to me? Oh I had her there she couldn’t even answer.”

 

Crispas just let it wash over him. They left the paved roads to negotiate a series of small dirt tracks. Kitty in low gear pulling hard in the mud, Terry still giggling and laughing.

 

Crispas settled into his chalet, he chose the one furthest from Terry’s house, declined the offer of a drink and began to unpack. He opened his small bag, lifted out a leather bound note book, a silver pencil, a swimming suite, a pair of goggles, a shaving kit, a long finely honed rubber tapping knife, four packets of Indonesian cigarettes and a bottle of bottom shelf bourbon. He set each item on a shelf in the main room equally spaced from one another. He looked each item over, carefully leafed through the pages of the notebook, paused to read a passage of the writing and replaced it, undressed, showered and laid in bed smoking cigarette after cigarette watching a local television show fade in and out to static. Sleep came over him, when he woke in the early morning he reminded himself - my name is Crispas.

 

 

At nine Terry stepped out on his veranda to smoke his days first Samson and taste the day’s first beer. He peered carefully from the shade of the porch into the bright light of the morning. Across the blazing green of his imported grass, finally coming alive with the rain, over the beach to where the grey, greenish, blue water of the monsoon was leaving a dirty yellow froth to mark the shore line then to the last bungalow for signs of life.

 

 

“Nung, have you seen this bloke, the one staying at the end, the only bloody one here?” He tilted his head for an answer

muddled by its own volume, sat down and rubbed his huge belly appreciatively, thinking what kind of a man orders a salad and tea, fucking tea at ten o’clock.

 

 

The sun was getting hot; the sand was loose under his feet, digging in to get traction. He hadn’t eaten yet despite the fact that he had been awake for hours. He was satisfied already with the house and the owner. He wasn’t hungry and he wasn’t tired he was ready to start. He wanted only to get his little bag and its contents and begin work. He ducked around the side of the chalet, keeping out of view of the main house. He leapt deftly from the ground onto the raised veranda. Quickly unlocked the door and slipped inside. Packing his bag exactly the way it was the night before, he then emptied the ashtray into the toilet, flushed several times looking closely for any cindery residue clinging around the edge of the bowl. When he was satisfied the bowl was traceless he furiously scrubbed the shell. He was finished in five minutes. Leaving the cool room for the heat of the morning he met Terry face to face on the steps.

 

 

The two stood silent for a long second, Terry patting the overhang of his stomach. “What’s this then, you doing a runner?” Crispas grinned a not completely pleasant grin and turned his eyebrows down in a questioning gesture. “I’ve already paid, last night.” Terry looked at the bag and at Crispas face, he held his smile. The sea reflected the sun harshly into his eyes. “So you’re leaving?” “Yes, actually the room stinks of smoke, I could barely sleep, besides.” He let his grin widen. “I was lucky enough to find a house this morning, just what I was looking for.” Terry’s face became a series of rippling wrinkles “Where?” He asked incredulously. “Down the beach, four Kilometers or so.” Terry mentally ticked off the properties judging them against Crispas description from the night before then smiled and shook his head. “No mate, not the little wooden place, not bloody Piesons place.” “Yes that’s right Piesons, I met him on the beach this morning, we set the terms already and it’s perfect.” “Mate that house has been under construction for ten years, there’s no roof on most of it and the toilet’s nothing but a shack with a hole in the ground. Pieson’s a drunk, hooked on the ole lao kao, bloody methyl alcohol and speaks no English.” Crispas grinned and shrugged “I had time to study my Thai last night; I’m not marrying the man just renting his property. I inspected it thoroughly and think it would suite me fine.” “Listen mate come up to the house and have some coffee, some breakfast if you like, I have real English ham, besides I didn’t get your passport number.” Crispas put on a harder look and then tried to soften it “I need to go, thanks for the offer but I don’t eat pork, I’ve a million things to do today, thanks again.” He leapt over the veranda rail and walked off without looking back. He could hear Terry complaining all the way to the water’s edge. ‘I have a million things to do today.’ Crispas imitated himself in a twee voice and laughed. ‘There’s all the time in the world.’

 

 

The house had been started many times with varying plans in various frames of mind. Pieson was an excellent carpenter, having built wooden fishing boats his entire life. The joinery was water tight. The boards planed smooth and true. Angles flush and plumb.

 

 

Pieson is also staggering drunk by ten in the morning and apt to change the floor plan on a whim. The front of the house with its wide veranda faced the sea and caught the breeze all day and well into the night. From the beach, jungle enclosed the entire perimeter of a four foot cement and stone wall which itself enclosed a small lawn of scrub grass. There had been an attempt at landscaping once, but now the plants blended with the weeds to form another mini jungle. From the front of the house it became confusing. The original plan seemed to include just one large room and a bathroom. But where the rear wall should have been an attempt to create two smaller rooms was made. The frame and partial floor of these rooms joined together after a few feet in the shape of a large L that ended only because it ran into the stone wall. The original bathroom was turned into a shed after the original floor plan ran amok. The new bathroom was a low brick enclosure with a dirt floor, some exposed pipe, a bucket, and a pit covered with a cast off piece of chip board.

 

 

Crispas returned to find Pieson sleeping heavily and covered with red ants in the shade of a tarpaulin stretched from the frame of the bedroom. He smiled at the comatose figure, set his bag down, undressed and went for a long swim in the slate gray waves of the storm. There was much to do before he could get comfortable enough to work. He needed to eventually let Pieson know that he was no longer welcome, indeed permitted, within the walls of the house. He needed to complete certain parts of the place. He would have to contract someone for the stone and tile work, the rest he would do himself. He let the warm water of the sea buoy him along the surface, he would need some speed.

 

 

His first week at the beach Crispas slept very little. He set up a mosquito net over a thin pad on the bare floor of the main room of which the roof only half-covered. He didn’t want anything comfortable. It’s easy to deny one’s self sleep while working twenty hours a day on little food for a couple of days, but for a week, a month - one must remain in the proper conditions.

 

 

He was eating whatever came down the access road. Motorized food carts selling sum tom pla or roti with dried cuddle fish. Old pickups with barbeque grills mounted in the beds offering roasted chicken or pork with sticky rice. When the vendors came around he would buy several portions and consume them in a slow gorging process. When they didn’t come he thought nothing of food, working single mindedly.

 

 

He had used Pieson’s old truck that first afternoon to procure everything necessary for the transformation of the ramshackle structure into a space appropriate for his particular needs.

Crispas’ arrival in town corresponded with the arrival of the traveling market. Once a month it visited for four days. Within the market grounds a person could find an imitation of almost anything in the world- from soft ware to hard ware, produced in China and sold to its poorer neighbors as modernity.

 

 

It offered the cheap festivity of a depression era state fair. Children ran at the bright lights in fits of unfathomable glee while sullen men smoked cigarettes and spat at the ground waiting for their wives to finish gossiping.

When he had finished shopping he led a group of young men to the truck where they loaded and stacked parcels and bales, equipment and tools, strapped down under a huge plastic sheet.

 

 

A hundred meters of insect gauge plastic screen, two hundred meters of outdoor electric cable, the full ‘expert builders tool chest with special caliper free as promotion’, an emergency diesel fuel generator, a propane gas stove with grilling deck. Cool max refrigerator, ninety square meters of ceramic tile, grout, adhesive, rechargeable twenty one volt portable screw gun, circular saw, router combination package, trouble lights, indoor lights, stereo equipment, a six foot teak wood bench. Two swing chairs, three sixty-inch oscillating fans, fourteen Siamese fighting fish. Ten pairs of plain blue cotton shorts and ten plain white T-shirts. Nails, screws, rope, twine, paint, shellac, shovels, hand planes and carpenters squares. Gimcracks and Gee-gaws all.

 

 

By the time Pieson came around early that evening the goods had been unloaded and stacked inside the house. The truck parked outside with the key in the ignition and a full tank of gas. Pieson drove the half kilometer to his shack where his wife waited indifferently each night with his cold dinner. The gate to the house was locked behind him that night with a tempered steel lock on a three-quarters inch sliding bolt. Crispas inside, began the process.

 

 

Now over the walls of the house that had been dormant for so long the whine of electric tools was heard at all hours, punctuated by hammering and loud music. Night lights glowed from the bare rafters of the various expansion rooms. The little community that lined the dirt road was in a state of agitated curiosity. Old Pieson was continually stopped and questioned about the activity but could offer no answer. As far as he knew he had rented the place to a foreigner with one bag for six months. There had been no discussion of renovation, no permission asked or granted. The neighbors wouldn’t be satisfied by this unlikely explanation from the drunken old man, worse off than ever with the huge cash deposit paid up front fueling his ever present need for drink. No foreigner was allowed under law to carry on this work and though the enforcement of such laws in the small town was lax, the fact that the people were kept from inspecting the process screwed their natural jealousy up to the level of feeling as if they had been personally wronged.

The morning a van from the small town in the south was let through the gate became an outrage to the neighbors. Not only was he doing all of this in secrecy, he was hiring inferior work men to come in. This couldn’t stand.

 

The Nigger’s Club of Trong Suan had gathered at the normal time at the back table of Thaes. Premier league football was on and the talk bounced between commentary of the game and the normal rounds of insult and baiting. The restaurant was packed with locals, hurriedly eating simple dishes dressed in pajamas. Their necks and faces smeared with white powder, prepared for sleep as soon as they were finished eating. But the Niggers would stay well into the night. There were no jobs in the morning, no children to get into bed. There was football and beer and gossip.

 

 

“What did he say his name was Ter?” “Oh, something like Christian wanin’t?” “Nee thought it was Caspan.” Lloyd wheezed and sputtered. “Could be feckin cat scan for all I fecking care, shut up and watch the football!” Jack bellowed up from his lolled head hanging an inch over his beer glass. “So what your missus say about it Stan?” “She’s talked with the family down at the bottom, they say he hasn’t come out since the day he rented the silly place, no one’s seen him and they’ve all got the shits because they don’t know what he’s doing in there.” “He fucking what? Hasn’t been out in over a week? What can he be into in that old fuckin wreck of a place, without a proper toilet or electric and that? They live like animals these people.” “What people Terry, he’s a white man just like us.” Brian cast an eye over from the television. “Not like me he aint, I know how to live proper like, not locked up in some shack.” “By the way he’s had electric put in, and it seems he’s had some masons in from Noi, tillers- plasterers, that sort of thing.” “Oh dear me, those jungle people will hang him for that, taking food out of their mouths, that’s how they’ll see it, not that they would do the work if it was offered to them. You know that boy I had in for my foundation?” “Fecks sake Terry, the football.” Jack cut into the well known complaint. “They say he went into market that first day and spent a bloody fortune, mostly construction material and the like, as if he was setting up to live there forever.” Stan leaned back and let Terry absorb this. The old man’s face shifted through a pantomime of thought and expression. Finally he lit the cigarette he had been worrying with his right hand and moaned. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear” stared off for a second and blurted in a falsetto voice, “I’ll have a salad with iced tea.” Looking at each of the other members who remained staring intently at the television. “Where’s young Milton then?”

 

Down at the beach people were holding similar conversations. What was going on behind the walls of the house? In the previous years of neglect the jungle inside and out of the compound had grown so dense that there was no clear vantage point to the grounds.

 

 

Fishermen who had lived their entire lives on this stretch of sand suddenly started to take long slow walks in front of the house at dusk listening intently for clues until the nightly barrage of music drowned out the sharp whine of hand tools.

House wives normally loathe getting up from their hammocks for anything other than cooking spent long hours in groups outside of the gate hoping for a glimpse of either the farang or the house only to be met with a ceaseless concussion of hammer blows.

 

 

For the first time in years Local boys were making forays into the jungle, away from video games and television to try and breach the wall, to be the first with news. None of them succeeded but all had some outrageous lie to tell when they came back, the stench of cigarette smoke hanging about them.

 

 

The girls wondered what he looked like and how rich he was. Rumors started that he was tall and blonde, He was short and dark; he had shocking red hair and huge muscles, even that he was a black African with a massive penis. They all looked to the gates and jungle strewn walls with curiosity, hope, jealousy, rage, lust, contempt.

 

 

‘How easy it is to upset a small community.’ Thought Crispas looking out over the wall at the little groups of gossips from the roof header he was perched on. The music powering up, another handful of speed. ‘They don’t know when to leave well enough alone.’ Beneath him on the beach dogs chased back and forth, shadows in the dark, yelping and snapping their teeth at one another.

 

Crispas stood a long time on the crest of the house studying his progress. The rooms now sealed from insects with mesh. The half-roof completed and in full repair, outfitted with rain gutters attached to the eaves.

The toilet/shower had been tiled and grouted. The walls completed. The top an open frame work of reclaimed teak sealed with mesh as well.

 

His kitchen nearly complete. The generator on an emergency relay to the unpredictable town power. Motion detectors set to trigger flood lights. Very nearly there, he grinned with satisfaction as he shook his last Indonesian cigarette from the last pack and smoked it balanced on the crest of this house of concern staring into the deep black of the sky, not one prick of light, not one visible star.

 

On the tenth morning after his arrival in town Crispas opened the gate and walked out of the compound. He set off on foot up the hill to the highway. Ten days of hard labor, day and night, left him thinner than when he arrived, but hard and lithe. His skin was deeply burnt, the same reddish brown as the local muddy tap water. He had clipped his hair close to the skull so that his head glowed with a blond fuzz. His face was haggard from lack of sleep and the necessary reliance on amphetamines. His eyes were set far back, and looked visibly dry. The lines of his cheek bones were like knife wounds on the sides of his face. His hands seemed to have increased in size by half and shook in quick tremors.

He walked on the shoulder of the road towards town. Cars and trucks passed close by at speed each sounding its horn, not in warning or greeting but it seemed in rebuke for walking.

 

 

He paid no attention. After a kilometer his throat was dry and his head was spinning, dehydrated and severely missing the speed pills he had finished the night before. The repetition of horns was irritating, again and again they sounded. He stepped further and further from the side of the road until he was on the dirt sloping into the drainage when he noticed the lights flashing as well. He turned to see Terry’s giant truck idling beside him.

 

 

“What do you want with walking out in this heat?” The old man inquired through the crack in the driver’s side window. “Mad dogs and Englishmen, get in I’ll ride you to town.” Crispas thought about refusing but the sweat in his eyes and the dry ache in his throat overpowered his desire to forego the questions he knew were coming. The interior of the truck was icy.

Terry said nothing at first as Crispas thanked him for stopping. Buddy Holly was playing on the stereo and Terry’s fingers were parading over the wheel keeping time as he jiggled his bloated torso back and forth to the music. “You getting on alright down there in that shack eh, boy?” He said with a type of disgust. “Yes, fine thanks, I’ve made great progress.” Terry’s face made its bulldog expression. “At what?” He demanded. “Oh, making it livable, basics, that kind of thing.”

Terry kept up his normal banter about the locals, the weather and the state of the food. Crispas kept his mouth tight. Nodding to be polite, the effects of the speed showing by the muscle spasms leaping under his skin. When they arrived at the single flashing light of town Crispas slipped out mumbling thanks to Terry and quickly slammed the door to accelerate his retreat.

 

No time for these kinds of discussions, not yet he thought. He paused for a moment as the truck moved by. All by the book, old Terry, disgust - mad dogs and Englishmen. Then he went looking for a bike.

No time for these kinds of discussions, not yet he thought. He paused for a moment as the truck moved by. All by the book, old Terry, disgust - mad dogs and Englishmen. Then he went looking for a bike. moment as the truck moved by. All by the book, old Terry, disgust - mad dogs and Englishmen. Then he went looking for a bike.

 

 

At the shop the boys criticized his choice. It was an old machine. The black frame was badly oxidized, the chrome tank was peeling, marred, dented and missing both original side panels. It lacked any lights or gauges and what wiring showed was knotted and patched together piece-meal with tape and odd remnants. It sat on two flat tires and when the engine finally caught after ten minutes of kicking it over, it did so with a sick rattle, exhaling a plume of pale blue smoke.

 

 

The workers were straining to pay attention. One was counting off all the problems the old bike suffered. Crispas looked softly at the manager, the four thousand in his hand, easy grin on his face, then spoke up in Thai, “It leaks oil, ask the mechanic, he seems to think it’s almost worthless.”

 

 

The manager darted a quick furious side glance at his staff, shook his head and smiled again, “ah poot Thai chat” and typed 15,000. Crispas looked down at the four bills, then again at the manager. “ I have to leave in two minutes.” “Salowly, you buy how much?” The manager ignored the fact that Crispas was speaking Thai, holding the calculator out to him. Crispas typed four thousand. The manager shook his head, “Cannot, you, good price for you and good price for me.” Desperately pointing to himself and pointing with his calculator. Crispas heard the mechanic moan, “we will never sell it to anyone else.” “Hen duay.” Crispas agreed.

 

 

The manager turned as if he were walking away. Crispas shrugged and rolled the four thousand and put it back in his waist band. The manager spun and held the calculator out to him again, “You pay?” Crispas typed 4,000. “I have one minute twenty seconds left.” The manager shook his head again and walked away saying nothing, he was losing face. Crispas waited a pause, thin grinning at the staff who were watching anxiously for the manager to make the sale, to turn the tide, to perform his coup du grace, then turned to go.

 

 

 

Crispas motored along the highway keeping the bike at sixty, let them think it is what it should be. Small putty, put, put. Get home, not to draw attention now. Close the gate and finally open the bourbon, forget the speed; it’s done its job.

FINAL_COVERweb.jpg

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

Canterbury Tales wifi speedtest.

My link

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

I just had a lovely fish and chip meal cooked for me by the cook in the cafe with mushy peas and thick bread and butter for a chip butty

 

A poor homeless looking bedraggled man with one leg dragged himself up and said 'I' no eat for 3 days'

 

I said I wish I had your will power.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

Website is being revamped as we speak but soon ready, any details can be had by emailing me at canterburytalescafe@hotmail.com

 

12A available from 22nd April, to 10th May, then from 17th May to 18th June then from5th July onwards.

 

This large apartment with separate bedroom and lounge has Free wifi, large balcony, in room safe, A/C, 2 ceiling fans, 2 TV's 2 DVD players, large free DVD library, tea/coffee maker, large fridge, microwave, large shower room, 4 poster bed, sofa and recliner.

Available at 600 per night and longer term deals, 12,500 per month plus electric at 6 baht per unit, the meters are outside each room, no water charge.12A .0.jpg12A .3.jpg12A .5.jpg12A .6.jpg12A .7.jpg12A .8.jpg12A.1.jpg12A.2.jpg12A.4.jpg

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

Books and more bookskane-abel.jpgprison3.jpg9781602851672.gifcrow flies archer.jpgSMITH.jpgAAA (1).JPGAAA (2).JPGFooty.2.jpgPUZO.jpg

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

This room works out at 400 baht per night on a monthly deal + electric and is available from 26th April to 28th May 2011.

can be booked for 550 per night and longer deals and has a separate bedroom and lounge, shower room, balcony, A/C, 2 ceiling fans, 2 TV's 2 DVD players, sofa/sofa bed, recliner, in room safe, free wifi, dining table and chairs, large fridge, tea/coffee maker.4A (1) copy.jpg4A (2) copy copy.jpg4A (3).jpg4A (5) copy copy.jpg4A (7) copy.jpg4A (8) copy.jpg4A (9) copy.jpg4A copy copy.jpg91_0600ba16.jpgDetailed Mat small copy.jpgCrime 4.JPG

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

finally arriving and will be at Canterbury Tales Cafe & Bookshop on Friday 25th March at about 2pm to sign his book, Behind the white ball available in the Bookshop.

Also a great opportunity to get a photo with Jimmy and the chance to win a VIP evening with Jimmy at Megabreak Pattaya.

Jimmy will also be appearing at the Pig & Whistle soi 7.

Jimmy Poster 2.jpg

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

6B on the rooms pages of the website, In room safe, large flat screen TV DVD player, many free DVD's to watch, table & chairs, Tea/Coffee maker, fridge, balcony, A/C fan, en-suite,

Available from 16th June 2011 @ 550 baht per night and longer stay deals, monthly 10,500 which works out at 350 baht per night on this room with separate bedroom & Lounge.

FLAT er vsmall copy copy.jpg6A Small copy.jpg6B AAAAAsmall.jpgbedRoom 6B C copy copy.jpg

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
alan1946

How much is the jimmy white book and how long will he be at canterbury tales signing his book.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

It is 400baht and is here for about 2 hours.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

Some great titles in stock.

March Books (7).jpgMarch Books (14).jpgMarch Books (46).jpgMarch Books (2).A.jpgMarch Books (3).jpg

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Daveo

Just got home from the Saphire club Addicts party night and although enjoyed sitting on stage getting molested by a hot chick I was ousted after 2 turns of the sit on your face musical chairs contest, gutted.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.
Note: Your post will require moderator approval before it will be visible.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.


×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Terms of Use.