Reverse culture shock ~ getting reaquainted in a great british boozer

[somtamslap]

When I first returned to the UK after a protracted sabbatical on Siamese shores, I did what any self-respecting person with a pulse and a penchant for aerated alcoholic beverages would do: I went to the pub.

Battling through a thick fug of Sarsons vinegar and Fosters lager fumes I reached the bar, pulled a crisp 10 pound note out of my wallet and made to place my order:

“Beer Chang nueng quat.”

No, hang on…

“Kronenberg one pint.”

That’s not right…

“Pint one Kronenberg.”


That’s not right either, wait a minute…

“Kronenberg nueng gaew mai sai nam keang?”

Bollocks. I’d forgotten how to speak English.

And perhaps the most disturbing byproduct of this was my inability to order alcohol. This was a code red DEFCON one situation which needed rectifying right now.

I pointed to the Kronenberg tap and with equal amounts of shame and confusion, said “pint”.

It worked, and I got that glass of premium French lager beer and after appraising its fine, fine form, ended its existence in several ardent and impassioned gulps. And, my, how it hit the spot.

Of course, I hadn’t forgotten how to speak English, but after 14 years away from the country, a duration during which I would speak predominantly in another language, I was unable to recall how certain workaday social situations were conducted.

Clearly, “a pint of Kronenberg, please” isn’t advanced conversational English, but strike-a-bloomin’-light if it didn’t take the best part of a week to start thinking in my mother tongue again.

And if I had a quid for every time I’d said “kob jai” or “kob khun” instead of thank you… well, I might just be able to afford another pint — which brings me on to the next point.

Currency converter

I handed over my 10 pound note expecting enough change to continue reacquainting myself with the European hop industry for a further hour or two, but no.

I was presented with a light sprinkling of coins of varying shapes, colours and sizes which all but put paid to my grand plan of getting pissed for the day.

I sat there beaten and bereft, consoling myself with a packet of pork scratchings and seriously questioning my decision to move back to England.

Fortunately I had back-up in the form of a critically-ebbing balance on a debit card, and after ordering another glass of beer — this time a pint of Guinness, which set me back the equivalent value of a smallholdings on the outskirts of Ubon Ratchathani — I took hold of a nearby menu and scanned the entries with interest…

Food for thought

It’s a sad, sad day when you come to think of a plate of sausage and mash as uninspiring, but after a prolonged spell in what’s generally considered a foodie’s most wanton wet dream, you dolefully conclude that your palate has now changed and the humdrum flavours dished up in the West no longer cut it.

In an attempt to stimulate my taste buds I noted a menu option boasting an “authentic Thai prawn salad”.

Mmm mmm – Yam Kung, just what the doctor ordered.

But alas, my placemat was presently adorned with a bowl of seasonal salad items with a handful of shrimp and half a lemon sat on top.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t taste anything like Yam Kung; it actually tasted a bit more like a bowl of seasonal salad items with a handful of shrimp and half a lemon on top.

But I failed to inform the waitress about this. The waitress looked mean enough to wrestle a moving double decker bus to the floor and condense it into small cube.

She didn’t say “ka” either. Which is always disappointing.

The bottom line

In the midst of all of this disenchantment and turmoil, I reasoned it wise to seek solace in the lavatory.

Surely some semblance of civilisation could be found in the gents.

Aside from a selection of grammatically hopeless graffiti and a few suspect stains below the tissue paper dispenser, the bathroom in the main looked in fairly good nick. I went into a cubicle and locked the door.

Upon completion, however, my knee-jerk grab for the sacred bum-gun was rewarded with a fistful of thin air.

“Damn and blast!” (the English was coming back at least.)

Another endearing but often overlooked facet of life in Southeast Asia is the presence of the bum-gun, or the arse-blaster. This canny little contraption beats a bog roll hands down when it comes to conducting a post bowel-movement mop up.

So now, staring a bouncy roll of peach-coloured Andrex in the face, I’ll admit that I felt a little intimidated.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Chase it around the bathroom?

We are far too nannied, too pampered in the West: “Here you go, tend to your backside with these three-ply sheets of embroidered toilet tissue ”.

Meanwhile, in Asia: “Stick this hose up your arse and pull the fucking trigger”.

Crude, but devastatingly effective.

I can tell you, dear reader – that afternoon I believe I was responsible for felling several dozen hectares of rainforest. I suppose it just takes practice.

The sun always shines on GMTV

Back at the bar now and I looked out of the window to see that it was raining, Of course it was raining. A lacklustre drizzle that looked like it was there to stay for six months.

And it did…

But on the brightside the Good Morning Britain weather lady informs us that, nil desperandum, we should see some sunshine for a few hours in mid-July.

So that’s something to look forward to.

Dude, Where?s My Country? A Tale Of Reverse Culture Shock | What's On Sukhumvit

[AntRobertson]

Bollocks. I’d forgotten how to speak English.

[chassamui]

Are the prices indicative of loud mouthed southern braggarts constantly reminding everyone how much they are worth?
I'd be genuinely interested to know if the clientele darn sarf matches the seat warmers oop norf. Elderly red nose with a face like a deep pan pizza drinking cheap lager in Wetherspoons at 8am? (market town) Last time I saw this guy he was keeping warm reading free newspapers in the municipal library 7 years ago. That's progress for you.
Get thysen darn to Brighton agean.

[VocalNeal]

If it was a real pub they wouldn't have Kronenberg they would have had Brakspears double drop or...

If you used a sit down toilet I'm surprised they didn't find your frozen torso the next morning still in snake bait pose.

[somtamslap]

Last time I saw this guy he was keeping warm reading free newspapers in the municipal library 7 years ago. That's progress for you.

News just in. It's actually quite warm today. You might see the old boy feeding ducks in the local park for a week or two.

If it was a real pub they wouldn't have Kronenberg they would have had Brakspears double drop or...

Kronenberg may have been a bad example. That shite is closing in on double figures per pint. Well, closing in on a fiver. Personally I find the Spar do a fine line in polish lager - Tyskie is cheap and very fucking cheerful indeed.

[wasabi]

Weatherspoons is the cheapest Pub pint in town, has that changed?

[DrB0b]

Last time I saw this guy he was keeping warm reading free newspapers in the municipal library 7 years ago. That's progress for you.

News just in. It's actually quite warm today. You might see the old boy feeding ducks in the local park for a week or two.

If it was a real pub they wouldn't have Kronenberg they would have had Brakspears double drop or...

Kronenberg may have been a bad example. That shite is closing in on double figures per pint. Well, closing in on a fiver. Personally I find the Spar do a fine line in polish lager - Tyskie is cheap and very fucking cheerful indeed.

There's always Special Brew, 1.50 a can once you make friends with Aftab. They've reduced it to 8% now though. That's just pissing on Winston Churchill's, for whom it was first brewed, memory. Why aren't Britain First complaining about THAT!

BTW, 27 degrees C today in the sarf-east, I'm lying on the bed with a few cans of wife beater (4 for a fiver at Bargain Booze) with the fan blasting away on Number 3.

[somtamslap]

Weatherspoons is the cheapest Pub pint in town, has that changed?

Yes. It used to have some competition.

BTW, 27 degrees C today in the sarf-east,

I saw it out of the office window. Looked all shiny.

[stroller]

When the Foggy Islanders will leave the EU and the pound drops to 50 pence/Euro, a pint will be good value.

[hazz]

^^^I was thinking that whist looking through wire mesh of my office windows, nice sunny day, must pop down to borough market for a zebra burger, a nice rhubarb beer and a bank loan to pay for it.

[somtamslap]

Oops. Hold the press.

It's sunny again today. I make that, yep, two whole days on the bounce.

Keep ya tropical paradise.

And we've got wotsits.

[withnallstoke]

And we've got wotsits.

Shove yer wotsits up yer arse slaps.


We have Lao Kao.

[somtamslap]

We have meths and slim-line tonic water.

We also have piccalilli and twiglets.

[nidhogg]

We have meths and slim-line tonic water.

We also have piccalilli and twiglets.

[DJ Pat]

So now, staring a bouncy roll of peach-coloured Andrex

I'd seriously doubt any Uk pub would provide such silky stuff, more like that disintegrating upon contact white sandpaper which is on a heavy roll on a dispenser. Try for several sheets and one miserable one will just break off

Who in their right mind craps in a pub toilet anyway?

[somtamslap]

Who in their right mind craps in a pub toilet anyway

People who need a crap.

We also have pork pies and branston pickle, just in case anyone was wondering.

[withnallstoke]

We also have pork pies and branston pickle, just in case anyone was wondering.

We have fried insects, so fuck off fatboy.

[somtamslap]

You know when you people go into a 7/11 and peruse the sandwich selection - it's not up to much is it. Processed ham and plastic cheese, crab meat and mayo, sweet, fluffy pork and octopus innards and what-have-you... you know, fucking horrible shit.

I bought a sandwich yesterday: the filling of which was beef topside and long clawson stilton. This I washed down with a can of cherry coke, and to add a little girth to my lunch I purchased a bag of McCoys salt and vinegar crisps.

In fairness I ate this sitting on a park bench to a soundtrack of the words kunt, bruv, fam, and pussyhole - voiced, on this occasion, by a collection of Croydon's finest. They were big and scary and repulsive and smelly, and looked at me like I'd likened their parents to baboons when I cracked my can of fizzy pop. But I battled through the stares and the vulgar language and damn-well put paid to my lunch before dropping the rubbish in the bin next to them. It hit the bottom with a resonating clatter - the remnants of a four pound meal deal.

We exchanged stares one final time before one of them said: "Did you enjoy your lunch, fam?"

I replied: Yeh blood it was proper bo y'all.

And there concluded our postprandial tete a tete.

[nidhogg]

I bought a sandwich yesterday: the filling of which was beef topside and long clawson stilton. .

Bastard. I hate you.

[lom]

I bought a sandwich yesterday: the filling of which was beef topside and long clawson stilton. .

Bastard. I hate you.

He is only trying to talk himself into believing that he doesn't miss Thailand but we all know what the truth is.
Wait until September comes with rain and leaf slippery bicycle lanes.

[nidhogg]

I bought a sandwich yesterday: the filling of which was beef topside and long clawson stilton. .

Bastard. I hate you.

He is only trying to talk himself into believing that he doesn't miss Thailand but we all know what the truth is.
Wait until September comes with rain and leaf slippery bicycle lanes.

yeah. I know. But sandwiches was kind of a low blow. They do make good sarnies in UK.

OK. We still got this:

[stroller]

four pound meal deal

A sandwich & cherry coke... for that amount I prefer the buffet lunch for 2 at Nan's finest hotel, water, tea & coffee included. Attentive waitresses in tight dresses are an extra bonus, and no fat chavs effin it.

[somtamslap]

A nice crumbly mound of stilton and succulent slices of beef inside fluffy doorstep slices - mmm - mmmmmmmmm.

Do you know what - I might round today's lunch off with a toffee crisp.

My lunch trumps your uni chicks hands down.

[nidhogg]

A nice crumbly mound of stilton and succulent slices of beef inside fluffy doorstep slices - mmm - mmmmmmmmm.

Do you know what - I might round today's lunch off with a toffee crisp.

My lunch trumps your uni chicks hands down.

Sadly, you are probably right. My Uni chick days are long gone, and a good sandwich is for ever.

[Topper]

This I washed down with a can of cherry coke....

Drinking cherry coke and hanging out in a pub's toilet.....

Slap, are you catching for the other team now?