Being English, I’m used to enduring. We don’t complain about bad service, missing a train or England losing again. Hey, what’s the point? Not gonna change anything. But my recent experience in Bangkok stretched me to the limit. After spending the hot day sightseeing, musing and fatefully wearing jeans, I began to get the pain. Not being a wanker, the balls are rather hefty. After a while, my thighs were screaming.

Hobbling to the airport taxis after a few cheeky beers, my walk became almost bow-legged. Not looked like have ridden a horse but ridden by the horse. Naturally the taxi driver dropped me at the wrong end of the airport to pick up my bag and then my check in was at the drop off end. Of course where else would it be?

I bumbled for 30 minutes in the toilet, changing my clothes to reduce the burn but to no avail. By the time I my departure gate, I staggered on like a spastic with a distorted face. The hostess said hello, I grunted something back, spitting my words. My thighs are red-raw and literally bleeding.

Now, I put it down to my mighty balls, but maybe Tom’s parting comment could be closer. When he talked about meeting next year in Korea, he blurted “err, yeah, great. But err…next time Dan….lose some weight mate.” Back of the net.


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