Unwanted visitor

Bloody Gary’s been around again. Sorry, I know I shouldn’t say that. But I don’t know why he keeps coming. He’s drunk all dad’s beer and still he comes.

He doesn’t bring Manchester with him, which is a blessing, but I still don’t like him being here. I bite him when I get the chance. He picks me up and says stupid things to me. “Goo, goo, goo,” he says, so I poke his eye and bite him.

Mum doesn’t like him being here either. He tries to get her to drink beer with him. I know she likes to drink beer, but only with my dad. She just lets it get warm in the glass and then pours it away when he’s gone.

I know dad’s in the monkey house making furniture. Everyone knows, but he tries to make out he doesn’t know. “How’s he doing? Have you heard from him? What’s the old bugger up to?” he’d say.

How dare he call my dad that. That’s what my dad calls me.

Mum tries to ignore him. She can’t be rude, it’s not her nature. But after he’s finally gone, she gets her own beer, pours it in the glass and cries.

Day number,,,who cares

I don’t now how many days it’s been now. I stopped counting after day five. Not because I’ve stopped caring, but that’s all I can count up to.

I used to try and remember my numbers. What I mean is; what order they come in. I know lots of numbers, I don’t know how many of course, but found it dicficult remembering what one comes after the next. Now I can’t care less really.

It’s a relief to know where he is at least. And that’s why he’s not phoned. Even if he had a phone I expect it would have been consifcated and sold to buy whiskey for the police.

I don’t know sometimes who is worse; the bad men or the police. Dad said that the only difference is; the police don’t have tattoos. He said it’s the same in England. “The police there don’t take money to buy whiskey. They take money and give it to Heir Hitler.” Heir Hitler, if you remember, is what he calls the government. “Then Heir Hitler uses the money to buy more police stuff, so’s they can get even more money. I’d shoot the bloody lot of them if I was in charge.” It’s a good thing he’s not.

One good thing is that I can go on dad’s ‘puter without him shouting at me. It’s good that I can go on his ‘puter, but I do miss him shouting at me. Somehow it’s not the same. “Oy! You little bugger, get off my ‘puter,” he’d say. “Good Girl,” I’d reply. He’d laugh. Sorry, but I think I’ll go now.

Still no call

It’s day five and still he hasn’t come home. I’ve not heard the phone ring and I’m so worried. Everyone else is doing ordinary things, even mum. My stupid brothers, who aren’t even my real brothers, and I wish they’d pissadeared and not my dad, are carrying on as if my dad doesn’t matter. They wake up, eat their breakfast, do a poo and go to school without a worry. I hate them.

Mum still wakes up, makes the breakfast, takes them to school, comes home and does the washing and ironing. But I don’t hate her.

The only good thing is; I get to go on her motor bike because she wouldn’t leave me at home on my own. I don’t care if she did. But I like the motor bike ride.

We go to the market and everyone says; “Hello farang noi.” (That is “Little foreigner”). I used to like being called that. Now it gets on my nerves and I wish they’d shut the bloody up.

I keep hoping someone would ask where my dad is, and mum would have to tell them and then I’d know.

But she wouldn’t tell them if the mafia men had kidnapped him. His beer mat collection is still in the big box, so they haven’t asked for that. Unless it’s so val’able my mum won’t swap it for my dad. No, I can’t believe that.

She wouldn’t tell anyone if he’d been arrested and taken to the monkey house. But she wouldn’t have to. Everyone would know if that was true. Maybe it is. That’s why they don’t ask where he is. Oh my God! That must be it.

He’s been arrested and thrown in the monkey house with all the bad men. But for what? He hasn’t got any tattoos. All the bad men in the monkey house have lots of tattoos. I saw them once when dad took me there to buy a new bed.

I thought it strange that we didn’t go to the bed shop. Dad said that all the good stuff is made in the monkey house.

He said that the police arrest bad men who cut down all the good trees. They consifcate the wood and tell them to make furniture with it, or else.

Or else what? I don’t know, but they looked happy doing the furniture, so maybe they don’t know ‘or else’ either. The things they made were pretty amazing, we’ve got loads of stuff made by the bad men. Dad said that he wanted to make his own furniture, but you can’t get the good wood.

Well, he can make lots of furniture now that he’s in the monkey house. It’s nice knowing where he is. It’s nice to know he’s happy making things with the good wood. I only hope he doesn’t have to get a tattoo.

Where's my dad?

I woke the day before yesterday and went to my dad’s bed for a cuddle and he wasn’t there. Now I can’t find him and don’t know where he is. I remember he was extra cuddly before I went to sleep. But I couldn’t understand what he said as I was super sleepy.

I looked everywhere for him and waited all yesterday and today, but he hasn’t come back home. And I don't know where he is
.
He doesn’t have a phone. He says they’re silly. I think he’s silly for not having a phone so I can call him and know that he’s ok.

Maybe he’s been kidnapped by the mafia people and they want his collection of beer mats for a ransom. Everybody says his beer mats are smashing and they wish they had as many. They must be very val’able, ‘specially the clean ones.

I don’t think he’s been arrested. Not this time. He told me he doesn’t do bad things anymore. Not since he rebounded onto my mum and had me, and has only been arrested one time since I was born.

I remember, the police went away very wobbly legged after drinking all dad’s whiskey and soda, and dad saying; “Ten thousand Baht! Bloody disgusting! They should be arrested.”

Maybe he’s had to go away on business. But he doesn’t work so I can’t imagine what business he’s had to go away on. All he does is write his stupid books. He’s always saying that he will have to go away to get some peace and quiet so he can write better. Even on top of a mountain, in the middle of a desert, surrounded by an ocean, there wouldn’t be enough peace and quite for that.

Oh, it’s so ‘strating not knowing where he is. You will tell me if you know, won’t you. I won't mind if he's having a love affair somewhere, but he shouldn't forget me. I'm missing him so much. Please tell him to phone me.

All the fun of the fair

We've had a great weekend, it's been majestic. For three days, that's Friday, Sunday and yesterday, the town has been very busy with loads of people here to see the 'long boat' racing on the River Mekong, here in Bueng Kan.

They are called 'long boats' because that is what they are. dad told me how many men there is in each boat, but I forget. It's the number five, with another number five sitting next to it.

They race with each other and go very fast. Everyone shouts and screams for their boat to win. They are very happy when they do, but others just say rude words. I could tell you what the words are, but they are Thai words. You won't understand, so I won't bother.

The best bit for me was the bump cars. Dad wouldn't let me go on my own, but I sat with him and he let me drive. I tried to bump everybody but no one tried to bump me. I think they were scared to try and bump my dad.

I know I would have been scared to try and bump my dad. He's bad enough when he drives his Mitsubishi and they don't even bump him. Only nearly bump him.

He let me go on other rides that go round and round but they were too slow and boring. My brothers who aren't my real brothers went on the bouncy castle blow up air bag. I couldn't because I was an inch too short. I hope I can grow another inch before next year.

They had such a great time that they were sick. Dad said it was because of all the shit they ate, and the Coca Cola. I don't think it was that. I think it was because they had such a majestic time. I sometimes get sick when I'm all excited and I don't eat shit, Or drink Coca Cola.

LINGER FICKIN' GOOD

Now that I'm getting big and have loads of teeth, I can eat anything. Well nearly anything, not chilli and pepper though. I tried a chilli once. I thought it was a piece of plastic. I can't describe what it was like. Don't try to find out for yourself will you. My tongue was on fire and wouldn't go away, no matter how much I spitted. Mum gave me some yoghurt that helped a bit. Now I don't eat any plastic if it looks like a chilli.

Dad says that it's easy for me to learn to feed myself because everybody in Thailand sits on the floor to eat, and they all use their fingers.

I have my dinner on my own plate, the same as dad does. Everyone else eats off the same plate. It always looks better than what I get. Dad says it's the same, but he's such a liar. I try to take their dinner and they all shout"Oy!" It's great fun.

I can say "Good Girl" now. Every time I do something naughty, I say "Good Girl". Everyone laughs instead of yak me. It's great fun and I want to say more words and make everyone laugh.