My First Language is Lying

• By Duncan Stearn
• Nightlife | Nightmarch | Opinion
• 95 days ago
• 3

An Aussie who has been spending a couple of months a year on holidays here in Fun Town told me a story concerning twins he’d come to know who work in a beer boozer in one of the lesser-frequented sois.

On a previous trip he’d asked them both if they’d be willing to come back to his sleeping den for an evening of horizontal folk dancing. He said they declined, but one of the pair was willing to go for a romp.

After being back in the Land of Oz for a few months he returned to the Land of Double Dating and went in search of the twins, this time aiming to complete the quinella.

He went to the boozer and found his intended, chatted her up in the usual way (waving a flurry of banknotes, most with a purple hue) and off they strolled into the deep dark night.

He asked her, “Do you remember me?”

“I speak nit noi Englit. Only work three day,” was her Academy Award-winning reply.

Knowing full well she was telling porkies, he pulled out his mobile phone, scrolled down to the number he wanted, showed her and asked, “Do you recognise this number?” It was, as you might have guessed, her sister’s mobile number.

“Oohhh!” she exclaimed. “I remember now, you went with my sister last time you came to Pattaya.” Her English was almost flawless.

Of course the game this little sweetheart was playing can be found in the pamphlet 1,001 Ways to Con a Farang, an under-the-counter tome produced by the Pattaya Chrome Pole Molesters Collective and Beer Bar Workshop. The “I not speak Englit too mutt” section is on page 24, paragraph four, just after the “I only work bar two month” part.