The journey from the Laos border to Luang Prabang can be summed up easily in three words: long, tedious, and boring. It consisted of a 6 hour slow boat ride, a 4 hour local bus ride up north, and a 5 hour taxi ride back down south to reach our final destination.

The Slow Boat
If I were the owner of this particular vessel I would rename it the ‘HMS Crappy Floating Prison’, two hours into the ride and you’d want off. But surrounded by turd brown waters, inhospitable jungle, and large mountains, escape is not an option. Confined to ridiculously uncomfortable wooden pews that are arranged to be closer together than budget airline seats, you literally cannot move for 6 hours. The boats propulsion had less power than a second-hand hair dryer and was probably powered by a single AA battery (not even a Duracell, more like a Boots own brand). You could probably swim quicker if you wanted to risk getting peasant villager poo in your mouth in the middle of your breast stroke.

There was no comfort or luxury what so ever, even the toilet had more water/piss/fecal matter on the floor than there was in the actual river. The scenery while spectacular at the start slowly became monotonous and eventually even the exciting event of seeing the occasional fisherman or goat on the river bank began to bore me. The only joy I took from the whole trip was from a girl who was playing cards with her friends close by, every time she dealt or put down a card you could see right down her top (this didn’t get boring at all for 6 hours).

The Local Bus Ride
This bus journey was actually a million times better than the slow boat. Even though we were the only westerner’s on the completely rammed full bus it was quite comfortable as for most of the journey we had the entire back seat while the locals were made to sit on each others laps.

Travelling by road is far better, as instead of always having to look at river banks we actually drove over mountains, through farmland, and stopping in small village communities along the way. Whilst picking up and dropping off passengers at these hill tribe stops all the locals would come out of their wooden and straw huts to take a peak at us weird looking westerners. When I ventured out to purchase some food (Texas BBQ flavour Lays crisps) they all crowd around you. I felt like Lenny Henry, only I’m not black, not married to a fatty, I was damn sure I wasn’t going to dig a well or build a school, and the only money I was going to give them was in return for my packet of crisps.

Halfway through the journey a tiny asian baby was sick in the aisle. Not just a small baby puke but a gigantic man sized post kebab chunder. The smell gradually made it’s way through the bus making everyone gag, choke, cough, and splutter. Unfortunately baby sick must be sacred and against their religion here to clean up as not one of the parents moved to rid the bus of this monstrosity, and we were forced to put up with it until we reached our destination.

The Taxi Ride
After our ridiculous slow boat ride, and having to put up with stinking rice baby sick for most of the bus journey we opted to pay for a private taxi to take us for the final leg of our journey. Now when I pay for a private taxi in England I expect it to contain just myself and my luggage. A private cab in Laos however stops to pick up an entire wholesale store worth of goods, as well as the shop owners to transport them to my destination as well. I spent 5 hours packed in between multi-packs of Chinese soft drinks, boxes of crisps, eggs, and other assorted shop merchandise along with the Laos shop owner and his Mrs.

We eventually made it to our destination only to be pelted with rain while we searched for a guest house. The journey from Pai in Thailand to Luang Prabang in Laos took a total of 44 hours (two nights and two days of travelling) and left me completely knackered for the next 2 days after that, so much so that I actually missed the England Australia game. If you come to Laos don’t ever take the slow boat journey, it’s far more fun to risk a quick and easy death on the fast boats.

Now that my face doesn’t look so much like a melted wellington I decided it was about time I treated myself to a relaxing break to sample some of Thailand’s exotic beaches, swim in its vast crystal clear tropical waters, and perhaps squeeze in a few topless massages as well. This I felt would help aid my recovery more so than staying in Bangkok with its funny name, smog, limbless beggars, and naked GoGo bars (Ok, probably not the latter).

Five hours after conceiving my brilliant recovery scheme, I found myself in a familiar cramped foetal position on the top bunk (designed for Asians) of an overnight train heading for a tiny port in south Thailand. From there I would catch a pre-booked boat that would take approximately 4 hours to reach my final destination that was the island of Koh Samui.

Because I knew from previous experience that the 12 hour train ride would be an uncomfortable sleepless hell, and assuming that the boat ride would in no way resemble a relaxing cruise on the QE2, I reserved a room at a top rate hotel for one night to recover from the journey in luxury. After which I would be free again to seek accommodation in the cheap and dirty, un-air-conditioned, ant infested huts I’m now accustomed to.

As predicted the train journey was a complete nightmare. For 14 long hours I was helplessly imprisoned in the large metal coffin carriage. Scores of Asians surrounded me eating horrendously smelling slop. My head was positioned directly below the arctic air conditioning unit and was steadily succumbing to frostbite. With no book to read and no remaining battery life in my laptop the only thing I could do to pass the time was to watch an old Thai man continuously scratch his scabby feet until they were bloody and raw. After which he would apply some cream (probably an ancient Thai athletes foot cream made from Tiger gonads) and begin the whole process again.

Stupidly (and predictably) I had not asked the travel agent in Bangkok whereabouts my boat would be leaving from and at what time it was scheduled to depart. I was left slightly concerned after consulting my Lonely Plant guide which informed me that there were in fact three boat piers in the area that serviced Koh Samui, with some boats only sailing once a day. Being a proud male I didn’t want to disgrace myself by breaking the sacred ‘man code’ by asking for help or directions. So with a one in three chance I simply just guessed. When I say ‘guessed’ I really mean I picked the closest option as the taxi ride would be the cheapest.

Fortune favours those who do not break the man code. Women and lesser men who would have spent precious minutes asking for directions would have come a cropper. As when I reached the pier I found that not only my ticket matched the boat currently anchored there, but the rust-ridden floating bucket was actually scheduled to leave in the next two minutes.

The boat ride was fairly uneventful, the seas were very choppy and several foreigners (probably French) had to go up on deck to be sick. Luckily being English my genes contain hundreds of years worth of sea faring experience, within each of us Englishmen we carry the blood of sailors who fought for an empire that had the greatest naval force of all time. Deep down we are all salty blooded sea dogs and we should be proud of our heritage, and honour our great ancestors by not throwing up on a 4 hour boat trip. I would not be sick, for the love of all that is English I must not be sick!

Stepping off the boat English pride in tact but as white as a Michael Jackson I jumped into a taxi that would deliver me to my hotel. It seems the reason for the ridiculously bumpy boat ride was that I was in fact in the middle of a large tropical storm. Torrential rain pounded the taxi as Wong the insane driver overtook a series of trucks around blind bends with zero visibility, dodged and ridiculously honked oncoming traffic, and sped through lake sized puddles that I could feel gushing below the undercarriage of the taxi. When we reached the hotel, I released my vice-like grip on the passenger seat, paid Wong his money for nearly killing me, and made a quick dash through the torrential rain to the hotel door.

Over the next three days the weather only got worse, the flooding was so bad that I was physically marooned in my hotel. Lonely Planet must have neglected printing the need to pack a small inflatable dingy with my toilet roll, sleeping bag, condoms, and nail clippers. I was now ‘unfortunately’ forced to extend my stay in the luxury hotel.

Luckily for me before I left Bangkok I purchased series 5 and 6 of The Shield (the greatest TV program of all time), and managed to download the 1993 hit Railroad Tycoon 2 (the most addictive computer game of all time). So for the next 3 days my dreams of exotic beaches, crystal clear tropical seas, and topless massages where instead replaced by transporting valuable resources by rail to and from towns and cities, and watching detective Vick Macky come down hard on Mexican and black gangs in LA while taking a few backhanders to help pay for the special education of his autistic children.

http://mybigfatwords.blogspot.com/

It actually gives me inspiration to write more articles about serious and interesting matters myself.

Here’s a price list I’ve found on the www.mcvuk.com site that shows that you can save a considerable amount of money depending where you purchase.

* Sainsbury’s – £26
* Asda – £32
* Tesco – £37.90 (or £25 when bought with another chart game)
* HMV – £9.99 when either Forza 3, Tekken 6 or Uncharted 2 are traded in
* GAME – £25 off when the first Modern Warfare is traded in
* Blockbuster – £44.99 (or £19.99 when a ‘selected game’ traded in)
* Morrisons – Unknown

And here’s a look at some of the online prices:

* Amazon – £43.99 (PS3/360) and £34.96 (PC)
* Game.co.uk – £44.99 (PS3/360) and £34.99 (PC)
* Gamestation.co.uk – £44.99 (PS3/360) and £34.99 (PC)
* Play.com – £44.99 (PS3/360) and £34.99 (PC)
* Simplygames.co.uk – £46.79 (PS3/360) and £35.79 (PC)
* Zavvi.co.uk – £44.95 (PS3/360) and £34.95 (PC)

What also gets me is that he had the guile and the nerve to insult the food from a chef with the WORLD’S BEST RESTAURANT who’s really just trying to help his business. It seems he just really wanted to display a faint degree of power over the obviously superior talent that is Bloomingthal. In the end it just showed pettiness and arrogance of someone trying to hang on to a shred of credibility.

Ian Pegler and his ludicrous managerial talk should be shunned from society and exposed for the talentless publicity seeking fraud that he is. Although, it did make good TV.

It just shows how out of touch politicians are these days, with their policies based on 1920’s ideals. Thankfully, Ken Clarke opposes David Cameron’s plans and calls them quite rightly ‘Social Engineering’.

Already single, childless professionals get raped by the government. I get absolutely no benefits, get taxed out of my eyeballs, and get nothing in return except for unruly gangs of children from pikey single parent families roaming the streets and hanging outside my local petrol station in their hoodies.

I propose a high tax on children. Maybe then these benefit craving jobless social mole people would think twice about having 8 children who are mostly fed on chocolate and whiskey. Also, stop the welfare system and let natural selection once again decide who should fall and who should prevail. Otherwise, normal smart and educated people who choose not to have a baby when they are 12 will eventually be out-bred by mindless idiotic cabbage smelling layabouts, eventually dooming the human race.

So lets get rid of the inept politicians and replace them with well educated normal people who actually live in the real world.

Which brings me to my point. After comments on his website and excellent audiobook – “Ricky Gervais’ guide to medicine” where he pointed out that fat overweight people should instead of getting gastric bypasses just get off their fat arses, go running and stop eating burgers. In my view this is a perfectly reasonable, truthful, and funny point. But fat people around the world are gathering in their masses (of fat) and crying (over their puddings) that they’ve found these comments offensive.

It’s time that fat people learn to takes jibes and jokes on the chin(s). Probably the best way to get motivated to lose weight is to be harassed and embarrased enough so that they can’t take anymore and put down the kebab and do some exercise. People who are teased because they are skinny go and do weights and eat something; people who smell go take a bath; and people with big noses go get a nose job (ahem). Sometimes honesty really is the best policy.

Why is there this big thing at the moment of the media jumping on anything that offends the humourless and the minorities? Now big media corporations are so scared of upsetting people they filter out anything remotely offensive which strangles the quailty of productions. Dumbing down society and ruining comedy for people with a sense of humour.

Thankfully uncensored blogging will see a rise of subscriptions, as these people will not be censored, and are free to speak their minds (and slag off fatties). So people start turning off your tv and start reading (except when Entourage is on).