23 April
This morning, I did my washing and then sorted out my mobile phone contract on the internet.

In the afternoon, I taught my Harrow student. During the lesson the sky grew dark and threatening. In fact, it was more than threatening – it looked rather violent. It was the kind of I’m-gonna-soak-you-to-the-skin-then-kill-you-with-lightning sky that you only get in the tropics. Thunder crashed, lightning flashed and then rain started to pour down. We sat by the window and laughed at it. Amy’s dog was terrified though. After the lesson, Amy’s mum came in.

“Mr Ben, do you hurry to return home?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said. It was too late to do anything now and, although the sky had vented most of its rage, it was still raining.

Amy’s mum looked pleased and produced a sheaf of papers.

“I want to buy a flat in London,” she said. “But I don’t understand which is better, Freehold or Leasehold. And there are so many other taxes, Band F? What is Band F? Council Tax – do you know Council Tax? And Ground Rent and Service Charge…”

She put the papers down on the table in front of me. “See here,” she pointed to the photo of a rather nice looking flat. “St. John’s Wood. Two bedrooms. Six hundred and ninety-five thousand pounds. Ground Rent – four hundred pounds per annum. Service Charge – three thousand, nine hundred and forty seven pounds per annum. Council Tax – one thousand, nine hundred and fifty three pounds per annum…”

“Well,” I said. “Ground Rent and Service Charge – I believe you have the same here in Thailand. I think you pay that to the landlord. As for Band F, that refers to the Council Tax band. You pay that to the local government.”

She looked bewildered. “But why? Why should we pay money to the local government? I thought they already paid high taxes in England. Why should we pay Council Tax as well?”

“Yes,” I said. “A good question. I guess the simple answer is if we don’t pay our Council Tax then they will put us in jail.”

“Oh,” said Amy’s mum. “Look here, West Hampstead. Three hundred thousand. Very cheap! And it is near the Underground and Sainsburys.”

“Yes, but West Hampstead is not as good as St. John’s Wood.”

She sighed.

“A few years ago, my partner in my Spanish restaurant wanted to sell his flat in Soho to me for 300,000. At the time I didn’t want to buy a place in London and I thought it was expensive. But now…! It is the same price as a Ferrari here in Thailand! A flat in Soho for the price of a Ferrari!”

19 April
Today I received a call from an unknown number. When I answered it, it was Nong Oom.

“Pi Ben, this my new number na,” she said. “I change it again. Pi Ben! I go to Pattaya for Songkran. Yes! Full of big farang with tattoo. Very hi-so mark mark! Now I have a tattoo on my shoulder. It is animal – just like Angelina Jolie. Hi-so na. Eminem…”

16 March
My first day back at work today. I took along a change of clothes with me but, thankfully, the Songkran celebrations seem to be over.

I taught at Thong Lor. During the class, thunder crashed dramatically overhead and torrential rain started to fall.
“Thank god,” I thought. “Now the air ought to be a little cooler.”

I finished the class and then stepped out to the relatively cool and clean air on the street after the rain. But I knew it wouldn’t last long. Heat and dirt are never far away in Bangkok. I took a taxi to my next destination – my Harrow student Nong Amy.

I arrived at her house to find her mother watching Desperate Housewives on the huge screen television in the front room.

“Mr Ben, this program I like soooo very much!” she smiled. “Would you like hot coffee? I have new espresso machine. I will borrow this dvd to you after I have to finish watching. Or maybe I copy it for you. Something like that. I like the character Bree so much. She is perfect wife, perfect mother, always dress so nice and everything – I feel that she is just like me…”

15 March
Today is the third day of the Songkran Festival. It is still very hot here in Bangkok. One cannot set a foot outside without getting soaked and powdered. The street urchins in the soi have been happily squirting water at each other and passerbys for three days. Silom Road has been closed and is a watery battleground. I met the Essex Boy in the soi. He was bedraggled and looked fed up.

“Fuck it,” he said. “A couple of hours of this is fun – but three whole fucking days and nights of water fights! I tell you, I’m getting pissed off of being covered in this powder shit. Trouble with the Thais is that they never know when to stop – and they don’t know when to start.”

3 April
Today I taught my 8 year old student at Thong Lor. He is obsessed with soldiers, guns and night vision binoculars. Today I brought him a present of two big maps, one of Thailand and the other of the world. He was delighted.

“For me?” he asked as he spread out the world on his table.

“Yes, for you,” I said.

His eyes lit up. “I know!” he said and rummaged in his box of toys. He dug out two plastic counters, one red and one yellow and a dice.

“Me red, you yellow,” he said and put the counters on the map. “Where is Canada?”

I showed him where Canada was. He put his red counter there.

“Me in Canada. Now you go to Melbourne,” he ordered. “Where is Melbourne?”

I showed him where it was and placed my yellow counter there. He nodded happily.

“Wait!” he said and went off to his bedroom. He came back carrying a large arsenal of plastic toy guns of various types and sizes. He dumped them on the floor and started sorting them out.

“Me this,” he said and started putting pistols into the pockets of his cargo pants. “You this.”

And he gave me a plastic M-16 rifle.

He threw the dice and then turned it so that it was showing six. He smiled happily.

“Six!” he exclaimed and moved his plastic counter rapidly north. “Now I in North Pole. You cannot see me. You come to Canada looking for me but cannot see me, ok?”

“Ok,” I agreed and picked up my rifle. He moved away from the table and surveyed the room.

“This Canada,” he said and pointed to the sofa. “Here North Pole, (a corner to the right of the sofa), cannot see me here. You here (he pointed to the table) here Melbourne.”

“Me,” (he crouched behind a chair in the North Pole) “Me here and you come to Canada looking for me but cannot see me. Then me ambush you,ok?”

“Ok,” I agreed and wandered over to Canada, my M-16 held loosely in my left hand. I looked closely at the sofa but could see no sign of its population.

“Hmmm,” I mused aloud. “Nobody home, eh? Seems like a nice kinda empty country for somebody with colonial aspirations like myself! I think I’ll take it…”

There was a sudden loud “Hey!” and I looked up to see a small ferocious looking boy bearing down on me from the North Pole. He held a gun in each hand and more weapons were protruding from his pockets.

I lifted my M-16 and gave him a short burst but he gestured to his small chest and smiled triumphantly.

“Seur ying curn mai dai,” he said.

“Oh, you mean a bullet proof vest?” I said.

“Yes, bullet proof vest,” he repeated, frowning slightly with concentration as he practiced saying the unfamiliar word. “Bullet proof vest!”

It was obvious that I was outgunned and had inferior armour here. My student took swift command.

“Put your hands up!” he barked. “Put your weapon on the floor!”

I did as he requested.

“Now stand against the wall! Feet up against the wall too!”

His accent was perfect. I smiled contentedly to myself. Even the most hardened cynic would have had to admit that I had taught him well.

Classic BMW at the Bangkok Motorshow