A blog can act like an old-fashioned diary, so excuse me while I record some details of my accommodation in Bangkok. It's partly for future reference - so that in years to come I can look back and remember how it was.
But how long do these blogs last for anyway? Once "out there" on the internet, do they last forever like very old books in a library's vault? Or do we reach a point where Google or Blogger or Rupert Murdoch say "Sorry mate! It's over! We are deleting all blogs to make room for more advertising and the worldwide expansion of Facebook!" Perhaps we'll never get that far anyway as spammers and internet vandals maliciously compromise the entire caboodle.
Anyway, my little apartment at Serene Bangkok, Ratchayothin... It was attached to the owners' house. I could sometimes hear them dimly through the connecting door in my bedroom but I was never disturbed. It was a big, spacious bedroom with a kingsize bed and well-built sliding wardrobes. The floor was made of shiny hardwood blocks.
There was an offshot living room where I had an L-shaped sofa, a coffee table, a television, a sink, fridge, microwave and a little table with two chairs. Both the bedroom and lounge had air-conditioning units which were absolutely vital to counteract the city's sweltering heat. Sometimes I'd sleep with the aircon switched off and I'd wake in a puddle of sweat, my pillows soaked.
|The little swimming pool at Serene and my favourite reading place|
The tiled shower room had a big walk-in shower and through its sliding door there was a miniature courtyard where I could dry any washing I had done in the big blue Tesco Lotus bucket I kept in the shower cubicle.
To get to my front door I had to pass by the B&B reception - sometimes stopping by to chat with Nong or Koy - and then walk along the path that leads through the tropical garden to the respectable massage parlour run by Lisa - the owners' daughter. I'd turn left and wiggle the squeaky bolt on top of the metal gate and after entering the owners' compound, wiggle the squeaky bolt back into place. Two or three times I applied "Vaseline" to this bolt to stop the squeakiness but it always came back.
The owners had two horrible old dogs - both slow, fat and smelly with testicles swinging like rubbery pendulums. They were allowed to defecate in the garden compound and so I had to watch my step even though their piles of steamy grey excretion were usually quickly cleaned up by Wan, the owners' housemaid.
|Inside the living room|
|The shower room|
|Path to the apartment's front door|