Things I like about Facebook: a. It’s good for finding people you used to work with twenty years ago, exchanging one mail to discover neither of you has done anything of interest since you last met, and then feeling that maybe it would have been better not to have made contact at all; because now you have to suffer their daily updates on what they had for lunch. b. It’s good for publicising your business/hobby to other people.

One morning, around eighteen years ago, I woke to find my left arm somewhat numb. I put this down to a bad sleeping position and got on with my day. By the afternoon my entire left side was comfortably numb and I assumed that I had somehow trapped a substantial nerve. It took a trip to the doctors to bring me back to reality, I had had a stroke; although thankfully a small one.

At the time I was living in Brunei, and having exhausted the capabilities of the local medical service, my company sent me to a specialist in London. Several thousand pounds later, the consensus of opinion was that nobody had a bloody clue what had caused it, that all my tests results checked out OK, and that I must just have blood that has a tendency to clot more than it should.

All I got out of this was an instruction to take aspirin every day, and a fine collection of MRI scans of my brain. The latter were great for making a T-shirt with a graphic of my head and a slogan “If you think my brain is big, you should see my dick”; although I never had the guts to wear it.

As for the numbness, that disappeared over time as idle brain cells took over the tasks previously held by brain cells that had been killed off in the stroke. Pretty damn clever of my brain; although when I get very tired the newly assigned cells go on strike and hold up little placards saying “we weren’t designed for this” (or at least that is what I assume they are doing), and partial numbness returns.

My view is that the personal and business related stress I was going through at the time contributed to the incident. Doctors, however, refuse to accept stress as a symptom, because god knows they get enough of it, what with having to work four hours a day before heading for the golf course. For my part, I try to live as stress-free life as possible to help ensure no more brain cells get exterminated.

So it is ironic that a continual source of stress is the bloody bastard aspirin container which I have to battle with on a daily basis.

As it comes from the shop, it is not a threatening object:

To Bira circuit where I heard there was kart racing. Indeed there was, but most of the drivers were less than ten years old.

Met this lady last night. Been in Thailand most of her life, Dad was a friend of Jim Thompson, family had a silk business. Refined old lady with an interesting face, so asked if I could snap her.

I am of an age where the occasional acquaintance of my vintage inconveniently dies, and not in a firefight with Colombian rebels or by driving his Ferrari into a wall at 180 mph. No, I am now entering the twilight years where death can come at any time in a variety of unpleasant forms.

Personally, I don’t worry about this. I would be extremely pissed off to depart any time soon; but you never know what is round the corner (possibly an old idiot in a Ferrari driving too fast) and there is not a lot I can do about it. I just ensure that my days are filled with good living, prayer and contemplation and leave the rest to fate.

She who must be obeyed decides we are going for a cycle this evening, so we do. On Jomtien beach there is the usual gathering of ladyboys playing volleyball. I want to see whether the Fuji X100 can catch an action shot.

She who must be obeyed is job hunting again. She is much more capable than she thinks she is, and approaches the process with considerable pessimism. She applied for two jobs and was most surprised when she was offered both immediately. However, these have been turned down in favour of the possibility of another job which has much more potential, but also has a much longer application process. So far she has undertaken a series of tests and two sets of interviews, and is now waiting for the final interview. During the interviews it was suggested she should confirm her English ability by taking a TOEIC test.

More than a year ago, I wrote the Pattaya Days Starter Guide to Photography. It has been regularly downloaded since then so I assume it is proving useful to some people.

I was not satisfied with the section on the use of the shutter and have finally got round to revising it, together with a few more changes. There is more I would like to add, hope to address that soon. Meanwhile, the latest version is downloadable from here.

If you asked those who know me to describe me in two words; “fantastic dancer” would not be their first choice. But that’s just because they haven’t seen me in action

I am, by my own admission, a wonderful mover. My style is loosely based upon the observation of sufferers of Sydenham’s chorea, a heady mixture bordering on the edge of chaos, but always firmly anchored to the beat.

Sadly, my family does not agree. This maybe because I am prone to demonstrating my dancing ability in the middle of supermarkets. This tends to cause chronic embarrassment to the accompanying family member; previously The Son, and lately, she who must be obeyed.

As a result, I have to confine my dancing to occasional sorties around the house. Which means that I can be fairly confident in saying that I have never been to the X-Zyte disco in Pattaya.

Pattaya discos are of two varieties. There is a version aimed at foreigners where the main purpose is to serve as a large open space for picking up girls. Then there is the Thai version, where the main purpose is to serve as a large open space for getting pissed and then trying to shoot someone at another table who happened to glance at you. Neither appeals, and as I am forbidden from dancing in public there seemed little point in going.

And now, any chance I may have had in attending X-Zyte has disappeared, because they are knocking it down.