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Day 205
Still loving Thailand. Bangkok is an amazing city - the people, the shopping, the restaurants. The food is incredible - who knew you could do so much with lemongrass. Gan Gan decided the sex industry wasn't for her (and maybe the industry decided she wasn't for it) and refused to return to the sex and shopping district. So the third night in Bangkok, Rufus, Fern and I went back as I felt quite strongly that fake goods were calling me. We bought loads of fabby stuff and decided to have a drink at one of the notorious bars that line the main shopping square. I ordered a glass of white wine and within seconds started to feel decidely weird - manic and chatty for a few minutes (more than normal) and then in a strange woozy slump. I felt agitated and confused, hyper but slowed down. Rufus tried the drink and within millimetres of smelling it declared it was spiked with Rohypnol. Before I could ask him how he knew what Rohypnol smelt like, I felt so bad we had to leave. Fern downed her mocktail, Rufus drank the offending wine anyway for fun, we paid and staggered out. On the way out, in our new paranoid states, we noticed a great deal of anxious looks being passed between a number of hovering locals, some suspicious smiles and a couple of bar staff looking anxious. I am convinced my drink was spiked and can only assume it was to get me and Fern to b***** off home, leaving Rufus to hang around the bars and spend money on girls. Or it was to get me seedily addicted to drugs and alcohol then drag me into an unhappy life of smack, prostitution and ping pong balls. Either way, it just wouldn't happen at the Eglinton Arms - although mysteriously I have lost a lot of unexplained evenings there. Despite being practically carried out the market, I managed to grab a pair of blue neon Wayfarers on the way out - thinking I would look just like Lily Allen but in my new drug-fuddled state, looking more like Keith.
Woke up the next day feeling perfectly fine and managed to guzzle a four course buffet breakfast of crabsticks and sushi before retiring to the pool for the last day. In my quest to be Eaglesham's coolest (for Daily Mail readers insert 'worst') mother, I decided now was absolutely the most appropriate time to introduce Fern to the world of transgendered people and arranged for me, her and Gan Gan to go and see the world-famous Ladyboys of Bangkok. Gan Gan said it was completely inappropriate so, like a fake Prada handbag to a tourist, I immediately booked tickets. On the way in the taxi I explained to Fern in great detail the complex sociological and medical aspects of gender reassignment surgery, bought her a giant bag of sweets and hoped for the best. It was a mediocre cabaret - the dancing and singing weren't great, but it was some spectacle, humorous, lively and with amazing costumes. Gan Gan shrieked regularly 'is that one a man or a woman' (there were about 300 of them so it became a bit tiresome) and the age-old favourite 'you'd never tell the difference'. I do think this country is amazing for its celebratory and supportive attitude to transsexuals. Fern was spellbound with their beauty, poise and grace and I think she really understood what it was all about. She wasn't even the only or oldest child there, so there are clearly worse mothers than me.
Gan Gan felt it was sad - and interestingly, I agreed, I did feel sad - sorry for their childhoods and the struggle they must have ensued to get where they are today - comfortable with their identity and strong and successful. Gan Gan felt anxious about their future - 'yes they are beautiful now but what will they look like when they are old?'. I get that point, but personally, I think it is a bit like tattoos - if you are bonkers enough to actually feel compelled to change gender or get a tattoo, you kinda throw two fingers up at your old age. Not that I am comparing tattoos to gender reassignment surgery; everyone knows tattoos are much more reckless and painful.
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