The Further Adventures of an Idiot Abroad by Karl Pilkington Page A
Authors: Karl Pilkington
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me
that’s wrong.
WARWICK : You actually asked her, did you? Are you happy living in this mushroom? And she said, Karl, I’m having a wonderful life . . .
KARL : She looked happy.
WARWICK : That’s it, that’s the key word. She ‘looked happy’. It’s a performance. They might be miserable once
you’ve closed that mushroom door. You know, she’s in there and she might be miserable.
KARL : I just wanted your backing. I thought you’d be up for it.
WARWICK : I’m a bit disappointed in you, to be honest.
I know I was only there a few hours, but the only dwarf I saw who didn’t look happy was the one who did the magic. But I think that was just his onstage persona, which considering there
were over one hundred of them wasn’t bad going. When you think of Snow White there was a grumpy one, and there was only seven of them. I’d go so far as to say, compared to Pascha, the
first man I met when I got to Russia, this lot were all ecstatic.
The plane wasn’t direct to Australia. It stopped at Thailand. Not sure why, planes can hold enough fuel to fly direct these days. Maybe the pilot wanted a fag break. Ricky
and Stephen said that seeing as it stops there, you may as well see the place. I was fine with the idea. I like Thai food, or, as I call it, ‘posh Chinese’.
Suzanne told me not to be going to any rude shows. She said the women do things with ping-pong balls. They should introduce that as a way of ‘Releasing the Balls’ on the National
Lottery, it would make it a lot more bloody interesting. I don’t know why the Lottery is televised. Four people it takes, as well. A presenter, an adjudicator, a bloke who hits the start
button and a fella who does the voiceover telling us ‘The lotto machine is named Lancelot and has made 52 appearances’. Who wants to know that! Four people to select six numbers, yet
cutbacks on staff at the council mean I can only get me bins emptied once a week.
I arrived in Bangkok on 13 April, the day of Songkran.
Imagine arriving in London on New Year’s Eve around 11.30 p.m. and your hotel is in Trafalgar Square. That’s what I was faced with. The festival of Songkran involves the locals
chucking water over everything to celebrate the start of the rainy season. They believe the water will wash away any bad luck from the previous year and bless you with good luck for the next.
Jesus, if that’s what makes them happy they should move to Manchester and enjoy the rain. Nothing and no one is safe from the water while this festival is on. Not a place to be if
you’re a Gremlin. Policemen get splashed, shop fronts, cafes, every car gets a bucket of water thrown at it, and people on mopeds don’t escape from it. They get a face full of water
from people armed with water pistols, hosepipes and buckets.
I found it odd that the country had only just dried out from the 2004 tsunami yet here they are drenching everything. Ricky had a go at me years ago when I said people from this part of the
world seem to age quicker than Western people, but now I realise they just look old and wrinkly ’cos they’re constantly wet from this festival. The traffic was gridlocked, so Krish the
director said we should get out and walk. I took my suitcase with me on the off chance that this would make the locals realise I was not there to celebrate Songkran and that I was just trying to
find my hotel, but it didn’t work. I got wet through.
As well as getting wet someone rubbed some kind of clay in my face. Not sure if that was part of the celebrations or just a local lunatic potter. Songkran can last for three to four days. What
is the point in me turning off the tap when brushing me teeth to help the environment when this lot are wasting gallons of water over three days. I tell ya, if they ever install water meters in
people’s homes here in Thailand, Songkran will be over.
I saw this being promoted on the telly during one of the flights I was recently on. Some presenter
that’s wrong.
WARWICK : You actually asked her, did you? Are you happy living in this mushroom? And she said, Karl, I’m having a wonderful life . . .
KARL : She looked happy.
WARWICK : That’s it, that’s the key word. She ‘looked happy’. It’s a performance. They might be miserable once
you’ve closed that mushroom door. You know, she’s in there and she might be miserable.
KARL : I just wanted your backing. I thought you’d be up for it.
WARWICK : I’m a bit disappointed in you, to be honest.
I know I was only there a few hours, but the only dwarf I saw who didn’t look happy was the one who did the magic. But I think that was just his onstage persona, which considering there
were over one hundred of them wasn’t bad going. When you think of Snow White there was a grumpy one, and there was only seven of them. I’d go so far as to say, compared to Pascha, the
first man I met when I got to Russia, this lot were all ecstatic.
The plane wasn’t direct to Australia. It stopped at Thailand. Not sure why, planes can hold enough fuel to fly direct these days. Maybe the pilot wanted a fag break. Ricky
and Stephen said that seeing as it stops there, you may as well see the place. I was fine with the idea. I like Thai food, or, as I call it, ‘posh Chinese’.
Suzanne told me not to be going to any rude shows. She said the women do things with ping-pong balls. They should introduce that as a way of ‘Releasing the Balls’ on the National
Lottery, it would make it a lot more bloody interesting. I don’t know why the Lottery is televised. Four people it takes, as well. A presenter, an adjudicator, a bloke who hits the start
button and a fella who does the voiceover telling us ‘The lotto machine is named Lancelot and has made 52 appearances’. Who wants to know that! Four people to select six numbers, yet
cutbacks on staff at the council mean I can only get me bins emptied once a week.
I arrived in Bangkok on 13 April, the day of Songkran.
Imagine arriving in London on New Year’s Eve around 11.30 p.m. and your hotel is in Trafalgar Square. That’s what I was faced with. The festival of Songkran involves the locals
chucking water over everything to celebrate the start of the rainy season. They believe the water will wash away any bad luck from the previous year and bless you with good luck for the next.
Jesus, if that’s what makes them happy they should move to Manchester and enjoy the rain. Nothing and no one is safe from the water while this festival is on. Not a place to be if
you’re a Gremlin. Policemen get splashed, shop fronts, cafes, every car gets a bucket of water thrown at it, and people on mopeds don’t escape from it. They get a face full of water
from people armed with water pistols, hosepipes and buckets.
I found it odd that the country had only just dried out from the 2004 tsunami yet here they are drenching everything. Ricky had a go at me years ago when I said people from this part of the
world seem to age quicker than Western people, but now I realise they just look old and wrinkly ’cos they’re constantly wet from this festival. The traffic was gridlocked, so Krish the
director said we should get out and walk. I took my suitcase with me on the off chance that this would make the locals realise I was not there to celebrate Songkran and that I was just trying to
find my hotel, but it didn’t work. I got wet through.
As well as getting wet someone rubbed some kind of clay in my face. Not sure if that was part of the celebrations or just a local lunatic potter. Songkran can last for three to four days. What
is the point in me turning off the tap when brushing me teeth to help the environment when this lot are wasting gallons of water over three days. I tell ya, if they ever install water meters in
people’s homes here in Thailand, Songkran will be over.
I saw this being promoted on the telly during one of the flights I was recently on. Some presenter
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