So, a clear indication I had cheese at dinner:
I’m with a friend who’s suggested we go to Thailand for a holiday.
Awesomely excited about this girls weekend(?) sojourn away.
But there’s a catch.
We get to the airport and discover that once there, you are grouped into 20 and reviewed (like the Governor General reviews army ranks and the like) and then the King/Head Monk/Despot chooses who can visit the country and who’ll get killed.
We’re all dressed in these grey muumuus with these weird grey slip on sandals – a bit like those Japanese wooden sandals but in terry towelling. I know! All class around here.
We have 24 hours before we know our fate, during which time we’re housed somewhere that looks remarkably like my uni dorm.
Everyone else is practising speeches and reciting facts about Thailand in a bid to win favour.
I proudly announce to anyone that if I am selected there’s no point learning a speech because I’ll be too busy crapping my dacks. Curiously everyone looks on me with derision.
Someone says if you’ve got a pair of scuffed grey shoes they let you in. In Thailand it’s all about the shoes. Apparently.
I’m seriously pissed at my friend who didn’t warn me about this rather big negative in visiting Thailand.
The day arrives. The group in front of us are reviewed. There is one Japanese business man who has forgone the grey footwear for a pair of beige tap shoes. He is tut-tutted. Eleven are selected from that group (in this world 25 are chosen each day for the sacrificial death march). They seem oddly calm as led away to their fate.
We stand up. He looks at my hand which has a deformed finger and sighs. I’m trying to hide my feet under my sackcloth outfit.
We’re led to a holding room which is actually a 1970s suburban bakery, complete with neenish tarts, pineapple tarts, those little marzipan tarts with green icing that are iced to look like a cute little frog and importantly sausage rolls.
I start eating while everyone else recites their grovelspeeches. I proudly announce to them all that nothing is going to save us now so we might as well enjoy a savoury snack as the heartburn won’t matter so much when we’re dead.
Some dude comes in to look at my hand again, which is now perfectly fine. He leaves and I so know my number is up as I move onto eating a pie.