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Bill Morris

I recently read in The Guardian, that bible for middle-class twits like myself, that while sales of cheap mobiles and expensive mobiles were healthy, phones in the middle range were suffering.

Seems that Bob Customer’s mindset is either, ‘Ahh! Credit crunch: I’ll have to downsize!’ or ‘Right, if I’m going to lose my job, I want lots of buttons to play with and a big screen containing more pixels than the combined populations of India and China to stare at in between hunting for a new job.’

I empathize more with Bob number 2. When I was obsessively hunting (is there any other way?) for reviews and info on the latest phones recently, all I wanted to know was, which one had it all without being prohibitively expensive?

Finally, a winner emerged – the Nokia N82. In black, of course, not the cheap silver that it was originally released in.

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My mate was sat in a café in Hanoi the other day, reading a book, slurping coffee in that annoying way that only a man on holiday can manage and periodically surveying the scene. He’s an artist (the oil on canvass kind, as opposed to the fashioning vomit into semi-recognisable body parts and labelling it something like ‘Freud’s First Dream’ kind), a teacher and a thoroughly decent human being.

Anyway, there he is, clad in a Napalm Death t-shirt and shorts, when an, at first tentative but increasingly confident address arrowed its way into his lug-hole.

‘Excuse me, that’s not very nice, is it?’

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘Round here, ya know? They died and that.’

‘Sorry, can you explain to me what you’re talking about?’

‘Your t-shirt. Napalm Death. That’s what the Americans used to kill the Vietnamese with.’

‘Yes, I know they used napalm. This is a metal band from England though.’

‘But it’s, er, insence, no, I mean, it’s incessan…it’s rude!

You should cover it up.’

‘Are you suggesting that I advocate the use of napalm, or condone the actions of the Americans during the conflict?’

‘I just think that they don’t deserve to be reminded, that’s all.’

‘Actually, they’re quite proud of the fact that they won and have built museums gloating over their victory. Most of them aren’t able to read it, but even if they did, I’m sure that they wouldn’t take it personally, or worse, beat me up. Well done for being so concerned though.’

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Back home, spilling a bloke’s pint or insinuating that his football team are a bit rubbish isn’t the done thing. It gets people’s backs up and you better be ready to deal with the anger that follows. As a result, most people avoid doing these things.

Out here in Thailand, different lines have been drawn over the years, and it seems that pointing out some home truths to your fellow escapers of rain is liable to provoke a lot of hubris and the expulsion of the blunt missive which forms the title of this piece.

Ya see, though Thailand undeniably has less precipitation than Salford and the local lasses are far less likely to sing along enthusiastically to Shania Twain, it also has deeply flawed aspects which are more than capable of, well, killing you.

But if you raise any concerns or attempt to voice your fears (road safety, plane safety, nightclub safety…safety in general really, draconian laws, two-tier pricing, broken contracts, late pay, corrupt and therefore useless police, the indoctrination of children, lack of protection for women etc) be prepared to hear some obtuse horse-s**t pour out of the rabble about how it’s just the same back home.

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