THE LOLA BOYS ABROAD !

Lamphu House lay secreted down a hot, concrete, flip-flop clad alley.  If one didn’t have a map it might never be found. It was what might be termed as old school. A hippy hideaway in the centre of Bangkok without  the hip prices. 

The place was certainly authentic.  

The cackling of the girls and boys and others at reception.  

The banging and drilling in the early hours rattling the religious-esque courtyard, itself cooly sheltered by some venerable leafy giants quite oblivious to the life kicking beneath them, their shade providing verdant relief from the cruel monsoon heat.

An assortment of guests abounded – quite worthy of a lesser Agatha Christie novel. 

A talkative Australian family comprising of two dim-witted, if jolly, parents; an overbearing plaid-clad grandpa and three boisterous and bored kids who swung their legs under the table and tore labels off of condiments.  Paul caught one of them gazing enviously at  his mobile phone one night as the poor teen was forced into yet another hand of ‘Happy Families” by Grandad Bully. The Bully’s son! 

Paul had got the message the boys were not allowed electronic items. He would have hated that as a child.

Imagine no hairdryer! 

One of the kids was a teenager who appeared to have lost some of his hair, the middle child was around ten and numb-looking and the youngest indulged in bouts of solo wrestling amidst the pebbles of the Japanese-ish garden which had once been a feature of the hotel. Until he came along!  Sometimes he’d attempt to play  a frustrated game of ‘British bulldog’ with one of the Banyan trees with his mother looking on.

It was a strange dynamic. 

An ancient man, as thin as a chopstick, creaked down the staircase occasionally and made his way to the bookshelf which the establishment had kindly stocked with a few paperbacks bequeathed by former guests.  Paul had spectated as the old gentleman took an aeon to approach the library, book to swap in hand, only to watch him stand for a lengthy cogitation before reading the back of the title he was already holding. He then nodded with approval and started the interminable return journey.  For some reason the poor old pensioner was housed on the third floor.  Being so equatorial there were not enough hours in the Bangkok day for him to make the return journey more than once.  Paul wondered why the crew at reception had thought it a good idea to put such a frail creature in the attic.  Then, one day he heard a bellowing breaking the usually languid and sultry afternoon somnolence which clung heavily to the guest house as the heat rose.  It seemed somebody’s temper was on the rise too, the shouting got stronger and quite blue. 

‘What have I fucking told you?” The man’s voice screeched.

Paul couldn’t help but rubber neck from his seat hidden behind a giant Monstera in the courtyard. He was appalled at such vulgarity, as were the Thais who laughed in an embarrassed way but Paul suspected they’d like to knife the git. He then recognised the rude bastard as the tortoise like humanoid he’d seen at the ‘library’.  Perhaps, thought Paul, the poor old soul hadn’t liked the book after all. Old soul? More like Arsehole! 

No wonder he roomed at the top. 

Paul laughed. 

Served him right!

His own room was on the second floor on the corner of a landing where three corridors combined to create something from Alice In Wonderland.  Paul invariably went the wrong way every time he left his room.  And this was without ingesting anything interesting like naughty Alice. Sometimes he forced his key into other guests keyholes thinking they were his.  On one occasion he even entered the room of an arguing Israeli couple under the same misapprehension.  He’d actually collapsed sweatily onto their bed before the squabbling pair made an astonished entrance from their balcony. Their row abated for a moment. There was a brief peace as they eyed him, ruddy and sodden atop their sheets.  

Some awkward laughter. 

A quick ‘Shalom’ from Paul and the pair parted quicker than the Red Sea to let him pass over. 

Or rather – get out!

Well, Lamphu House  was a confusing settlement.

A ubiquitous cleaner was always lurking in one of the corridors. Squeaky trolleys ferried almost clean towels and clinking mop buckets between rooms.  But, to Paul’s eyes, there seemed to very little cleaning actually done.  Mostly lurking from what he had witnessed.  Sometimes a door would be wedged open with a broom handle and an inscrutable Eastern flurry of excitement would echo along the hallways.  Some tinny pop music could usually be heard and the party could go on for quite a while before anyone exited.  

He only wished Andrew was there to share it with him.  It had a vibe -Lamphu House – and that wasn’t always the case in Thailand’s brash ‘City Of Angels’. Sometimes the tropical metropolis could feel icy and impersonal. Especially amid the wintry blast of a mega-mall or a ‘Seven-Eleven’ store. 

At the little hotel there was a warmth.  Something familial.  Unfortunately, Paul’s partner was not with him to experience the comings and goings of the shabby yet amiable establishment. Instead it was a solo trip.. 

Paul was sad to be all alone in the world!  

Except he wasn’t!  

He was rather glad.  

After nearly three weeks cooped up on the nineteenth floor together he and Andrew were tee’totalling and toe-teetering over the brink.  Paul felt that if he didn’t put some distance between himself and his husband one of them would be moving down to the ground floor. 

And not via the elevator!  

There was no-one to blame.  Sometimes it was good to be alone – to re-gain oneself.  

And NOT drinking together had been a very large measure.  After all, when it came to a Dirty Martini, Paul and Andrew were partners in Brine!

So Paul was kind of glad to be all alone in the world.  

Even as he stared unconsciously at the miserable Thai wife, who always seemed to have wet hair, as her Mohican- sporting, grey and grizzled partner eyeballed her – taciturn and stoney- faced.  Paul smiled at them unnecessarily. The unhappy wife swished her dripping locks away abruptly spraying the Aussie family playing cards nearby with a plume of hair product!. Paul felt himself laugh and was glad the swift night had just fallen to cloak his amusement. He needn’t have worried as just at that moment the vivacious couple from Tel Aviv, with whom he’d briefly shared a room, took the spotlight as they swept through the compound. Him ashen faced and downcast- his yamaka leading the way as he made his escape from the viciously charged harridan pursuing him.  

The volatile couple had obviously packed quite a few dirty items in their rucksacks and it seemed they were more than happy to wash them in front of the other guests. The yelling could be heard even after they were well clear of the flip flops.

Still, no-one batted an eyelid.  

It was too hot.  There was no breeze. The residents of Lamphu House had just enough energy to breathe.  

And exist beneath the emerald arbour. 

It really was an oasis.  

Not of complete calm and utter tranquility, yet compared to it’s lurid surroundings and the infamous Khao San Road, it was a semi precious gem.

Paul noticed the spotty French lad, who always seemed desolate to be all alone ‘dans le monde!’ He had collapsed across a rotten rattan settee in the reading room.  Heavily stoned and reeking of La bier. His trainer-clad foot wedged into the English language section of the bookcase. That, Paul thought, will  piss off the old pipe-cleaner git when he next comes back to not change his reading material.  

The staff at reception giggled loudly. 

A Thai soap opera screeched from a TV in the kitchen. A waft of semi- legal Marijuana smoke coiled across the courtyard and danced around Paul’s nostrils. And the evening heat made one soporific and somewhat listless.

Paul had sat down to attempt to write the story of his long lost sister Caroline. She had been discovered abandoned at a hospital in Tottenham over fifty years previously. Someone who had most definitely been sad to be all alone in the world.  But  he had veered off course and had ended up musing on his surroundings instead. He blamed the second hand smoke! Besides, he thought, his new sister’s story deserved far more concentration.  He would write it another time. When he was far away from Lamphu House and it’s cast of misfits and distractions.

He was making his way south soon to meet Andrew.  His husband had checked into a guest house on the ground floor, so it was now a much safer option for them to co-exist.

They were then planning to make their way by train into Malaysia and who knew what.

But whatever they did and wherever they went they were gonna get through it together.

Just like the song!