Team Thailand - part II

Sunday night, and rather than holy we go hippie - to the Hippie Bar, Khao San, for dinner and cocktails. We are herded upstairs, through the bohemian hideaway that is Hippie, decorated with an array of retro artefacts, filled with hip Thais and prettily lit. Heaving a vintage fridge out of the way a young gentleman named Toy (as in Toy Story, not as in Toy boy, we are informed) pushes a few mosaic’d tables together and our crew of eight settle down to menus and toast our mojitos - it’s Kate’s birthday eve, and we’re wishing her a happy one.

We gobble up our food, giggle at the sign on the toilet door [who has the picture?] and get ready to depart - but not before the return of Toy, who is rather worse for whiskey and eager for introductions. We go round the table - the Sam doppelgangers produce slight confusion, but Toy has no worries with one name. Ben sticks out his hand,
“Ben,” he smiles – Toy’s eyes light up,
“Ahhh, Benjammin Marten!” he exclaims. Ben’s face is the picture of confusion and suspicion, but it’s not a set-up - this seven is innocent. It’s a popular name, Toy insists, and we leave in a mix of bemusement and hilarity.

Armed with a semi sort of idea as to which Soi we need to head towards, we begin to psyche ourselves up for Bed Supperclub. Squeezing our number in to a couple of cabs we speed through Bangkok, leaving tuk-tuks languishing in our wake, one hot pink car racing against another painted green and custard yellow. Up and down the streets of the city we drive, swinging a few u-eys and trying more than a few different streets.

Eventually our taxi arrives at Bed - a remarkable shaped building, polar white with the glow of neon and the faint throb of some hardcore sounds leaking through the walls. We hop around on the forecourt wondering where our counterparts can be. Just when we think we might have to seek out a pay phone, the car pulls up, and several of our stressed buddies tumble out; Ben is arguing with the driver about the fare, and eventually gets out without leaving too much of Kitty behind. STA Travel describes Bed in glowing terms: “a unique combination of upscale restaurant, club, art gallery, theatre and stage merged into one.” With these words ringing in our ears we troop up to the besuited bouncers, all but ready to party. But not so fast - STA neglect to mention that travs ain’t welcome here and our flip flops exclude us from the action.

We can’t quite believe the bad luck but refuse to give up on the night, so we hit a joint nearby. Up on the mezzanine (seemingly our storey of choice) we survey the scene - more staff than customers, the red and white clad dancers-come-barmaids displaying acres of childlike flesh and attempting to gyrate Beyonce-style – despite the fact there is no booty in sight. Not that I’m jealous of these scarlet sirens! Post Supperclub-gate we head to a Khao San venue, dance a little, drink a lot. *And I'm on tonight / You know my hips don't lie / And I'm starting to feel it's right / All the attraction, the tension / Don't you see baby, this is perfection... * Thank you Khao San, and goodnight.