How to avoid marinating in ones own filth

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Greetings from Thailand, where the atmosphere is humid and conditions are perfect for dugonging around a lake-like resort pool. It is so large and lagoon like, that if one was to fall and hit ones head, I suspect that it might take weeks to find your body.

I am travelling with a school mum mate and her daughter, who happens to be one of Jack’s best mates, so he came along as well. The resort is large, and according to a staff member here, it is the “Number one wedding factory in Thailand” so there is always superior opportunities for people watching, which is my favourite pastime.

There is not much to fault about this joint. I have been travelling all over the world since I was 22, an age in which saw me and Mr. Woog wave goodbye to our parents at Sydney airport with a one way ticket and a backpack filled with hopes and dreams.

It became quickly apparent that Mr. Woog preferred to travel on the far left scale of the budget options, and I found myself seeking shelter in places that may have once housed farm animals. But I didn’t complain BECAUSE I DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT LATEX TOPPED LUXURY MATTRESSES WITH DOWN FILLED DOONAS AND PILLOWS ENCASED WITH 1000 THREAD COUNT EGYPTIAN COTTON.

So an old horse blanket and a bale of straw was a perfectly acceptable option. There was one memory, however that I will never forget.

We had arrived in Dahab, a small town on the southeast coast on the Sinai Peninsula in Egypt. I opted to mind the bags in a local bar while Mr. Woog went to seek out accommodation. He returned not long later, beaming with the deal that he had struck. I followed him for a few blocks and turned into a little lane, and then into another before we came across what looked like a small but thriving bantam farm.

The keeper of the chooks then showed us the two rooms he had to offer.

Made of concrete, the room was very much cell like, complete with an open window encased with bars, a concrete floor and two camp beds that looked like they had come from the days when Pharoah’s ruled the land.

I literally turned on my heels, shooed the chickens from my belongings and found an alternate shelter to rest my weary bones.

But here, at this resort in Hua Hin, I don’t have too much to complain about. Apart from one thing. And when that one thing is affecting my slumber, I go to the top.

Straight to the big cheese, who doesn’t know me from a bar of soap. And so I wrote, expecting no reply.

Dear Bruce

I hope this email finds you well and I am sorry to disturb you on a Sunday.

I am currently enjoying a holiday at your resort.

My only issue Bruce, may seem such a trivial one, perhaps one that might only apply to a lady of a certain age, which is what I firmly might suspect to be the case.

I wish to enquire whether it may be possible to request a set of cotton sheets. Allow me to explain.

I am currently operating at about fifteen degrees hotter than your normal punter, due to my age and status as a peri-menopausal woman, neither of these things can be avoided sadly.

The polyester sheeting on my bed is acting as some sort of sauna, which in turn is making me cook in my own juices. These factors are making for long, unpleasant evenings.

Do you have any cotton or other natural based fibre sheets?

Thank you for your time

Mrs Woog

I had written this in the wee small hours on a Sunday morning, delirious with fatigue and sweat. The heat can do strange things to a gal, don’t you agree. What I was not expecting was any response of any kind.

But then….

Dear Mrs. Woog:

I am not in the hotel this morning but have already contacted my rooms division manager Khun Jo. She will contact you this morning to change the sheets to cotton.

Please let her know of you would like to have a standing fan placed in your room.

I hope this will help and you can enjoy the rest of your vacation.

Regards,

Bruce

AND THEN THE CLOUDS PARTED WHILE THE SKIES FILLED WITH RAINBOWS! THE SURROUNDING JUNGLE EMITTED A SCREECHING CACOPHONY AS ALL OF THE WILD ANIMALS AND VICIOUS SNAKES REACTED TO THE NEWS WITH RAPTUROUS SPLENDOUR. KHUN JO, GOOD TO HER WORD, SENT SOMEONE DOWN TO ENCASE MY BED IN WHITE COTTON SHEETS AND ALL WAS RIGHT IN THE WORLD.

Some may brand me a diva, a spoilt failed trophy wife, complaining that my diamond sandals are too tight, but I slept the sleep of a thousand dead, and didn’t wake up marinated in my own filth.

So I raise this glass of Singa Beer to you Bruce, on behalf of over-heated women the world over. Because you get it, and didn’t question it.

In a world of Donald’s, don’t you agree, we need more Bruce’s?

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