A serious cleaning job

Thailand, Pattaya,
05-02-2010.

Two days have past and not a single sign of poor Moo, my little sister in Thailand and on a real serious downhill track, no trace of her on the boulvard nor a single Farang who has seen a much a glimse of her...no more finding her frele and sickly frame asleep outside the 7/Eleven...

With the cleaning ladies of my hotel having down a number one search and destroy any remants of whatever malignant ghoul they believe is responsible for poor moo's physical and mental situaution, putting all my gear out on the balcony and giving my room a REAL whitewash job, the walls being rubbed with foul-smelling detergent and heaps of water, my matrass replaced with the old one drying in the fierce sun on the top floor of the dump. They even got the mangy and flea-ridden dogs in that normally spent most of their time lying outside dozing in the shade - I presume their keen canine smell capablities came in handy to these super superstitious local ladies to make sure not a trace remained of Mister Bad Phra Phum...

So with this Mister Bad Phra Phum out of the way things are slowly - or maybe faster as I might like - getting back to normal with the usual Knock-Knock-Knock on my door at all times of the day and night, my walls getting covered with the pages of yesterday's news, Bangkok Post' pages covered with acrylic paint depicting an army of Pattaya's Hot Momma clan, more colorfull than the whitwash anti-malignant Ghoul job done by the cleaning ladies, quick sketches done on pieces of cardboard with temples and Lord Buddha compliment the chaotic scene, half empty bottles of Meakhong and chicken bones carefully gnawed clean by whatever model was here last...

The bug seller in front of the hotel must be a happy man with this siterhood of Isaan ladies quickly buying a bag full of fried vermin before storming up the stairs, keen on a hundert baht modelling fee but happy enough to let me share in the fried bug department, bringing up free Leo beers for me - oh, yes, they know my brand very well, no more sleeping on the beach anymore when a Farang boyfriend is temporarily absent in their Hot Momma life, Mister Hans the Ting-Tong painter from the far-away Holland Farang Land always has a place, be on tyhe massive bed with the malignant-Ghoul-free new matrass or else on my old and mouldy sleeping bag, they don't even mind the hard concrete of the balcony being used to sleeping on the mud-caked floor of third world hamlets they grew up in...

Wonder what Joy is gonna think when she comes over this week-end, I believe she is used to it.