Originally Posted by
somtamslap
Word has reached me of a tale of derring do, straight from the outer reaches of Southeast Asia.
The protagonist, as always, was Por.
It's been five years since we last clinked shot glasses and spent the evening shouting gibberish at one another, but his memory remains fresh - a bit like a gaping wound that refuses to heal.
Despite his rustic facade and dubious personal hygiene habits, Por is a gentleman who exudes mystery, intrigue, an interesting bouquet of vomit, urine and turpentine -- indeed he is a fellow bound of the annals of Isaan folklore. And the following only serves to bolster an already outstanding resume.
Last month my wife and children journeyed back to Thailand to touch base with family and friends. Having ascertained that their flight back has been without incident on FlightRadar24, I settled in for a fortnight of heavy drinking and wanking.
It wasn't long, however, before I received a FaceTime call from my daughter demanding that I make the rain stop. "We can't do anything," she said. "It just won't stop raining."
Now three things struck me during the course of this phone call. 1. How the FUCK does my kid know how to use apps that I didn't even know existed. 2.We've got 3G access at the Farmhouse now? 3. What's that scratching sound in the background?
"What's that scratching sound in the background?" I asked my daughter.
"That's Por," she said. "He's sweeping the leaves."
Five years since I heard hide or hair of the man, and he's still toiling away at those damn mango tree leaves. Cocked and loaded with his trusty broom, waiting for any leaf that dare have the gumption to fall within a three-kilometre radius. No sir! You shall be swept into a neat little pile and burnt with the rest, sir.
With this I started to laugh uncontrollably, causing my daughter to hang up and our hamster to shuffle forth from its little house to question the fuss.
The following morning I received another FaceTime call, this time from my youngest ... wait, she can using the fucking app too?
"When can we come home," she said. "It's boring here."
I was livid. This was a total outrage.
"Never... EVER... speak ill of Isaan, my girl!"
She hung up. And it was several days before I heard from them again, but the lugubrious tones of two bored girls had been replaced with nervous shrieks of excitement as they held up before the camera what look to be the malted skin of a small raptor.
"A snake, a snake!" they cried, "And we found its skin under Por's annex."
I asked to speak to my wife who confirmed that they'd just called the snake rescue service and had had a rather irate Indochinese spitting cobra removed from below Por's shed-cum-house.
During the removal process, however, Por had looked slightly nonplussed, morose even.
And it transpired that not only had Por been very much aware that he was sharing his living quarters with one of the most venomous reptiles on the planet, but he'd been feeding the fucker too.
I shook my head in wonderment.
Look up the word 'legend' in the dictionary and you'll see the silhouette of a man sweeping. Well, you won't, but you understand my point...