In our first full month of operations (May 2008), Pattaya Days enticed 316 lost souls through our welcoming doors. Attendance has climbed steadily since then, and last month the number of visits topped 5,000 for the first time. I have decided that this should be treated as “a landmark”.

I realise that, in the context of the wide wide world of web, 5,000 visits a month is not a lot; and sites that deal with the seamier side of life in Pattaya probably get more hits than that in a day. But if my readership crept too high, I think I would start to panic and feel compelled to produce something that actually offered some degree of quality, rather than the current offerings of rambling half-truths illustrated by snaps. Even more worryingly, I would probably be forced to think about how I could make some money out of it; which would rather spoil the objective of the whole enterprise. Assuming there is an objective, which there probably isn’t.

Generally I have been very happy with J-Net. As Thailand internet service providers go, they are pretty good. The internet is usually available, it is usually fast enough; and when things do go wrong, an English speaking person seems to care and sorts it out.

And I needed a caring English speaker on Wednesday afternoon because the wide wide world of web disappeared and didn’t come back. My PPP was down apparently, and the message on my router was in red, so it was a bad thing. Gave it a couple of hours and then called J-Net. Much concern expressed by the young lady at the end of the phone who said she would check and call me back. And she did (which itself is a minor miracle in this place), to give me the bad news it was “a line problem”, which is support desk speak for we don’t know what’s wrong and whatever it is may take a while.

Mini-project underway to tidy up the back part of the condo, the place where there is a strange machine that does amazing things to dirty clothes and where the supplies that support condo cleaning operations are stored. As an unnecessary aside, it’s also where the cats have a shit.

There is a dilapidated sink in this area and she who must be obeyed has deemed that it is to be replaced with something that is slightly less rubbish. So this morning we set out on a sink hunt. She knows of a place on Sukhumvit road that deals in second hand kitchen gear, so we go there. It’s a massive area, full of discarded kitchen equipment, a graveyard of hobs, sinks, bars and, rather surprisingly, a wooden Red Indian. Many a hopeful restaurant business (and Red Indian carving emporium) has come to grief and sold their fittings to this culinary junkyard.

I join she who must be obeyed for dinner at MK, prior to one of our domestic shopping outings where the purchased items usually comprise water, fabric softener and assorted toiletries. Just my favourite sort of shopping.

Anyway, we near the end of our meal and it is time to call for the bill. As is the case with most of our regular eating haunts, we have an MK discount card. It is my job to carry the cards for some of the restaurants, but she who must be obeyed is in charge of the MK piece of plastic.

A session at Bira. The riders were relative beginners, so they were not providing extreme knee-scraping action. But after the restricted shooting opportunities of a Formula One circuit, it was good to stand in any suicidal position that took my fancy; such as the apex of a corner leaning out over the track.

Singapore is clearly a well-ordered society with less than normal levels of crime. But walking around, you don’t see too many policeman, so what’s the secret?

The answer is CCTV cameras and they are everywhere; although this cat has maybe found a blind spot.

I have been attending Formula One races for longer than I would care to admit; but I will admit to chatting with Graham Hill in the Brands Hatch paddock several lifetimes ago. You could do that in those days, but nowadays the most you will see of a driver is his helmet; given the pressures that hundreds of millions of dollars of sponsorship has brought.

Formula One may be run in a much more professional, and thankfully safer, way than it used to be; but the facilities for spectators have been much slower in catching up. Worst culprit in my experience was Spa in Belgium. The car park was a muddy field which had recently been inhabited by cows with a stomach complaint, staffed by mafia men who extracted large amounts of cash to let you wade through cow shit for several kilometres before arriving at the trackside which was equally muddy but slightly less shitty. God help you if you wanted the toilet in a rush, because there was always a long queue to enter the non-flushing portakabin which had apparently been soaked in urine for a week to impart a particularly tangy aroma. And you would never, ever, consider sitting down to do what the cows had been doing copiously in the previous weeks. Now wash your hands? Where? No running water.

Time for some food then. To a stall, also run by the mafia where you would queue for an hour before handing over a week’s salary for a hot slightly warm on the outside but cold in the middle dog, slammed into some stale bread and garnished with watered-down ketchup to hide the revolting taste of the food and the suspicious aroma lingering on your fingers after that trip to the urine infested shack.

Ablutions and eating complete, you can relax and enjoy the day. Except nothing much happens. A minor support race if you are lucky, and then the inevitable fly by of some crappy fighter painted in national colours which lasts precisely four seconds, “gosh, that was so loud. And so boring.” So instead you sit in mud, aching for a shit, and grit your teeth throughout the Grand Prix before making a dash to the muddy field and queueing for several hours to escape what may be the world’s greatest race track, but the world’s worst facilities. But it doesn’t really matter because you have spent two hours watching Nigel Mansell arriving sideways into Les Combes on every lap and you will never forget the experience; as I haven’t.

But now Singapore. I know there are other street circuits, but you have to admire the courage required to build a racetrack in the heart of a hotel/shopping mall district, and do it in a way such that everything around the track continues to function. And it all looks so damn good. The track itself is, out of necessity, a snaking cake of fencing and clever stuff for cars to bounce off when it all goes wrong. But around the track there are lanterns and flowers and decorations that will presumably have already been ripped down; but they give the place an atmosphere of permanence and charm; with the Singapore skyline as a backdrop.

The track goes across this flower lined bridge, with the 3 million watt lighting system overhead which must make for a hell of an electricity bill.

There are two types of photographers at a Formula 1 race. There are the official F1 photographers who wear fancy jackets and are allowed to shoot from almost anywhere; they are also known as “lucky bastards”. Then there are the rest of us who are confined to one location and can’t see very much, let alone photograph it. This is particularly true at a street circuit like Singapore where you are very close to the cars, but then have to be protected from airborne cars and assorted components by a wire fence which is rather hard to shoot through.

For this reason I decided not to take my serious camera to Singapore. I would take the LX3 for some general shots, and just take hand baggage with some spare clothes. Then I foolishly bought my friend in Singapore a condo warming present of a corkscrew; one of those monster corkscrews that could also be used for digging escape tunnels should you happen to be imprisoned. I then realised it would also be useful as a tool to intimidate airline pilots and that I would not be allowed to take it on the plane. Which meant I would have to check in my baggage. Which meant I would have nothing to hand carry. Which meant I decided I might as well carry my big camera after all. So I did; and once I arrived in Singapore we went straight to the track for the Friday evening practice which ran from 2130 to 2300. The track lighting provided enough illumination for the drivers, but not enough for photography without cranking up the ISO, but I got some reasonable shots. Here are some of them:

About to leave for Singapore and the Grand Prix. My host for the weekend tells me there is already a great atmosphere in town and I can’t wait to get there. Problem is, I am finding it rather hard to pack.

Like naught boys in school, the politicians and military of Thailand get up to all sorts of tricks when the boss leaves the country; as Thaksin found out to his cost when he was thrown out by a coup. With Abhisit away at the United Nations, it had been a golden opportunity for his boys in government to get together with the military and hand out some extra cash; 10 billion baht to be precise.