Living in Brunei, as I did for three years, is a bit of a challenge. Not a lot happens and you have to find ways of amusing yourself or else you would go a little crazy.

During my time there I met a Scotsman by the name of Ian who was a legend for having been continuously employed by the company for fifteen years; at least ten years longer than most people could manage. As part of our sanity-retaining measures, we became involved in running the local computer club and enthusiastically cobbled together a monthly newsletter for the approximately four club members who never really got our perverse sense of humour.

It was only later that I discovered that Ian had a base in Jomtien and whilst he has continued to work in Brunei (now for more than thirty years), he makes the occasional visit to civilisation and we meet for coffee.

He is what you would describe as a character. One of his passions is writing poetry; and it is without exception quite abysmal; although he thinks it is excellent. Here is an example, one of his better offerings:

Rules to Live By

Never eat a plate of food bigger than your head

Never eat a hearty meal when there’s weight to shed

Never scratch a lion’s nose if its not been fed

Never pull a tigers tail if it isn’t dead

To which I would add:

Never write poetry, even if you think you can

You strange deluded Scottish man

Sadly, his team in Brunei includes a number of Filipinos who, anxious to please their boss, constantly reassure him that he is a direct descendant of Rabbie Burns, rather than the bastard offspring of William Topaz McGonagall. Even worse, being Filipinos, they are genetically programmed to be instant musicians, so have taken the random collection of words poems and set them to music. They are every bit as awful as you would expect them to be and I always stuff tissues into my car CD player when meeting Ian to ensure I am not subjected to the latest “hit”.

Ian’s other passion is photography, and here he does a whole lot better. By his own admission he hates buying anything, and so for many years he would walk around snapping stuff armed with an ancient two megapixel point and shoot. I couldn’t tell you the make because the name, and most of the camera, was obscured by tape which was holding the whole contraption together. But he always came up with interesting images. with a slant towards insects and other small beasties.

Eventually, he dusted off his wallet and bought an entry level DSLR and a macro lens, and since then he has been producing images of increasing quality. Today we met for coffee and he showed me his latest prints, including this:

My road tax expired this week, necessitating a return to the house of horrors where I spent a lifetime obtaining a driving licence. Delays were expected.

Out of interest, I noted my time of arrival in the car park, 1439. I ambled into the building armed with my blue car log book and the mandatory insurance document, which features a small tear-off strip to be removed when renewing your tax. The room was reasonably quiet. I reckoned I might even be finished before they closed at 1600.

Polo is a hard sport, played usually by hard men. It is fast, dangerous and requires considerable aggression. The players wear stern expressions and their firm-set mouths are the source of regular expletives in both Spanish and English. The polo field is not a place for the faint-hearted.

So what happens when you run a ladies tournament as happened last weekend at Polo Escape? Well, first of all there was no bad language. In fact the ladies were unfailingly polite to each other.

“I’m so sorry, did I get in your way?’ “Gosh, did I just stove in the skull of your pony with my mallet?”

And they appeared to be generally enjoying the experience a whole lot more. As a photographer, this made the capture of expressions much more rewarding, as there was some variation compared to the “I’m going to rip out your eyes and eat them” look that is universally employed by the men. Some examples:

Ladies polo tournament time again, and once again there are not enough lady players to make up four teams, so each team is allowed one Argentinian professional to help them out. Last year, the macho gauchos entered into the spirit of the occasion:

Hello; have you missed me as much as I’ve missed you? Really?

Don’t know where the week went. First off, I was totally knackered after travelling and photographing and posting and generally doing stuff. Plus staying up too late with she who must be obeyed as she attended to her ever-expanding farm and pet empires on Facebook. Plus assorted chores that you wouldn’t want to know about (fixing a toilet roll holder, for example), none of which offered sufficient comedic content to make them worth writing about. And then it was she who must be obeyed’s two day “weekend”; can’t remember what we did but it took up the time. Oh, and I went windsurfing briefly which totally destroyed my body the following morning.

And now I have just returned from 3 days of shooting polo, with 2,500 photos to process before the next tournament starts in four days time; so I am exhausted again. Feel a little like this guy….

It’s very rare that I have a problem with the food in Thailand. She who must be obeyed is less fortunate, entirely due to her insistence in eating dishes which are so spicy that people on adjoining tables having watering eyes and hacking coughs. One taste of her choice and my mouth is in ruins for hours, I don’t know how she does it. But I do know there is often a price to pay when the evil foodstuffs make their way through her digestive system.

This post contains photographs of consenting adults involved in sweaty action, on and around a bed. By clicking on “more” you are confirming that you are over 18 and will not hold the management of Pattaya Days responsible for any psychological trauma that may ensue. Proceed at your own risk (you smutty perv).