Sadface

Hey gang,

Just a quick one. Due to illness I will not be fighting for a belt or anything else for that matter. Massive abcess, loads of drugs and concequently no training, so no fight.

I'll be back around new years so if there's a party....

See y'all soon

Bonfire of the Manatees

Hello boys and girls, are you all sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin...
Briefly, before I bring you all up to date with my news I should like to offer some advise to the owners of the new karaoke bar in Chiang Mai. Your attempts to draw attention to the amount of class your joint has should not be done in neon fucking strip lights, that's a basic. Also, I might venture the opinion that you should use a more subtle nomenclature than 'Hi-class Karaoke'. Firstly, high class joints, as a rule use correct spelling in their signs. Secondly, they usually aren't full of bikini'd girls with fucking numbers on their arses. I'm afraid your attempts to trick out your brothel are as misguided as a hippy who doesn't shave her armpits thinking the best way to make headway on the popularity front is to shout 'aciiiiiid' every time I pass her. The stupid bitch.
While I'm having a go at the hippies, I would also like to point out that the sagely wisdom of 'Live each day as though it were your last', is best suited to middle aged folks who have spent every waking hour in the rat race and have let fun pass them by in an effort to make enough money to enjoy themselves. You don't need to keep saying it to a bunch of rich American twenty-somethings in a nightclub in the hope that one of them will let you jump her bones for being so fucking free spirited. By virtue of the fact that she's going home with at least two boxers she's just met we can safely assume she's already living each day as though it were her last, you prick. Anyway, if she follows your suggestion she may well wake up one day aged fourty-five, no job, no family, no house and no fucking hope. And yes, I am aware of the glaring irony, so you can all skip that e-mail.
Ok. So I have changed my plans slightly, and I am now going to skip the islands and train for a fight instead. So, with all going according to plan, I'll be fighting on christmas eve. Against the same guy I fought in Kawila. You can see it all here http://blip.tv/file/929394/ Which leads me nicely into giving much love to Colin 'world's sexiest painter' Byrne. The whole thing is an hour and fourty minutes long and I haven't watched past the ten minute mark, so I've no idea what it's like, but I imagine Colly has used as much care and attention to detail in this as he does in his interior decorating. So, it'll be really good at the start, all the way through and then a little rushed at the end.
Finally, I'd like to have a bash at the muslims who I think have gotten off rather easy of late. I was giggling away at pictures of Mohammed, when it occurred to me that when there was that whole thing about setting Denmark on fire because a newspaper showed pictures of their prophet, despite the fact that Denmark is not a Muslim country. Well the whole thing struck me as not dis-similar to what the Nazis did to the Jews circa 1930. That's right. Those loveable rogues, the Nazis. They too went through town, showing their disapproval to certain images by setting everything on fire. Yes, I know it's not very current news but I wanted to be sure I nailed it.
Anyway, I'm done. Fuck off. In fact, fuck off, come back and then fuck off again.

I am not the champions

Shocking but true. This is a review of my fourth fight and my first loss. Now, before I get into it I'd like to point out that I'm not one of those guys who losses and then starts going on about how the other guy cheated but this guy fucking cheated man. Just before the fight we see him and his corner man preparing what look like 2 giant ampules of steroids. They were way to big to be roids but whatever they were, they were definitely illegal because the guy brought them down a blind alley and smashed them to bits so we couldn't read what was on them. Cheating fuck. Having said that, if I'd trained more and been stricter with my diet I may well have won.
The fight itself was not so bad. First round was just the standard fare of feeling the other guy out, looking for openings and chinks. Not much happened really except for a series of kicks by the guy which I checked every single one. He even looked at his corner with a look of 'oh shit, that's not working'.
Round two and we both stepped up a notch. A few hard kicks were traded and I made an early play for the KO, but when I dropped my hand for the body shot I ate an elbow with my face. Quick as a flash, that is, before the doctor could look, my trainer had rubbed this stuff that resembles coarse sand in my cut and completely stemmed the bleeding, so the ref let the fight go on. I knew he could smell blood, so to speak so when he came to bring this lamb to the slaughter, he found a very pissed off wolf. I went at him like a spider monkey, landing some great straights and hooks and at least one perfect knee before the bell went. We later found out that the bell went a bit too early so the promoter could get more rounds out of the fight. Frustrating, as ten more seconds would have done it for him.
So round three and all the guy could throw was the same sort of elbow that cut me in number two but I had the measure of him and blocked every shot. I started landing heavy hooks on him again but as I moved forward, I slipped on the slick of the canvas and he was there to meet me with an elbow. The shot looked worse than it was because I was slipping anyway. But when I looked down at the mat I could see the blood pouring out of me like soup and before I could stand the ref stopped it.
So that was it. My first loss. Made all the more frustrating by the illegal substances and promoters greed contributing to it, but gracious in defeat and all that. I guess there will be a rematch, although not on this trip. My next fight will be for a belt. Although that remains to be seen. More about this in the next blog.

Happy birthday to me..

Well it finally happened. I reached 30. I think I might owe Don some money now. I know what your thinking, a bit pretentous wishing yourself a happy birthday, but I say pretentious? Moi??
Well, what's changed? I'm still a procrastinator I suppose, but I'll come back to that later... Older? Definitely? Wiser? Sadly, not. Just this week I went up to a zen Buddhist hot dog vendor and asked him to make me one with everything.Did all the usual birthday things, drank, smoked, paid hookers to do freaky shit with my junk. Normal, everyday stuff. There were a couple of my real friends in Thailand at the time and combining that with the successful completion of two fights for the gym and some random date on the calender, we had enough of a reason to paint the town beige. That's what us grown ups do. The same things as you kids only milder, less rebellious somehow and infinitely more tragic.In all honesty though it was pretty cool to look back on 30 years and be able to say that I'm doing what I want; training the way I want, and as much as I want, following a dream, answering to no one, having freaky shit done to my junk...and so on.So what have I learned in 30 years on this planet? Don't trust chicks. More about this later.

Tora! Tora! Tora!

This blog is about fight number three.
Training went ok for this one but I came in a bit too hard at the start and kind of tapered off about ten days out and even needed a day and a half off a few days before it. That shot the confidence a bit so I was nervous as unholy fuck on the day. With the added pressure of two of my training compadres from home. And if that wasn't enough one of those friends was making a video he hoped to turn into a documentary or as Charlie Brooker might say a 'shock-u-mentally'.
Anyway, I was just about sorted in the head department when someone told me that he'd knocked out a big guy from Lanna gym and that he was a tough little bastard. Thanks cunt. So got into the ring and did me wee spirit dance and what not, and we were off to the first round. The usual feeling out stuff really, he went for an early clinch which I just couldn't dominate successfully. This wasn't good cause that was kind of the game plan and I wasn't thinking sharp enough to try and switch it up. It's not that he was that good at clinch but he was fantastic at stuffing mine. And he was the dirtiest bastard to ever set foot in a ring. Poking the eyes, fish hooking, nose bars, the fucking lot. With a face that wouldn't melt butter.
Anyway, at the end of round one I felt quite worn out, which wasn't good at all. I decided I better hold a little back in case it went the distance. So I held off for a while and didn't try anything fancy, just kept it going with the basics. Just went for good point scoring shots and tried to finish in the clinch. I was very tired by the fourth and conceded about six points at the very end of the round in the clinch. He was going for fast, ineffective knees. Not going to do me damage anywhere except the score sheet. I was that tired by the middle of the fourth that I actually considered just lying down after the next hard hit, but when it landed I saw red and gave it back harder than I got it, so well done to whichever part of me takes care of that stuff, cause I wanted out.
So, standing up for the fifth I felt as though there were a frenchman living in my head. A frenchman who hadn't worked out how to flush the toilet properly either. I had decided to play the last round safe as I was so tired and didn't want to get so far and get knocked out due to stupidity. Then Jovan shouts up, 3 minutes, that's all you have left. I can still go 180 seconds, I reckoned and when the bell went I came out all guns blazing. I had decided to go for the knock out or at least a couple of knock downs, because I reckoned I was too far behind on points at that stage. I chased that scummy little hobo all around the ring, mostly with punches, and sent him reeling a few times. About two minutes in I hit him with a sweet left hook and his eyes rolled, but as I stepped in to deliver some 'pricks justice' the bastard of a ref stepped in and told him not to hold the ropes. Then told him again just to be sure. That was all he needed though and he was back in the game. Anyway, he came looking for the clinch and he got one. A nice little knee followed by a throw that sent him tumbling like my grades, the same year I started tripping. Make that plummeting, plummeting like a.. a... a fat fucking, eye poking cheater. Big in plummeting circles, trust me. Anyway, it turns out that throw was enough and I won on points. Well one point, apparently but who cares. I was shocked though, I didn't think I had done enough in terms of point scoring technique to beat him but I guess I had. And I really must have if 3 Thai refs thought so.
And just to prove I am as gracious in victory as defeat, I would like to thank my gracious opponent for a good fight. Enjoy your twenty mile drive home in the back of a pick up truck, you fat cheating bastard.

What goes on tour...

Wow, it's been a while eh?

Where to begin? Pedro came up with another idea for a tour which this time was a visit to the hill tribe people. I didn't like the sound of it to be honest but after he made sucha good call on the elephant trek I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
We started of in the orchid farm witht the butterflys, same as last time only no kids with gravelly knees this time. Then we were back on a bus for hours, until we stopped to get fed at some terrible roadside diner. A thin gruel followed by some plain rice, if I recall. Anyway, it was back on the bus and on to somewhere else. To be quite honest, I can't remember the order in which we did things, except that we spent 7 of the 9 1/2 hours on a stupid bus, occasionally being herded off to gawp at the locals, take a few snaps and get back into our now warmed up mini bus. A lot like a certain chosen people of Isreal during the early half the last century, except we were allowed tro take pictures and there was no death camp. Though at times, I wouldn't have minded. Mainly because I am blonde haired and blue eyed, and know all the words to the German anthem.
We visited some hermits cave with a load of buddha statues in, which was pretty cool. We also went to some mountqain temple where we could look into Burma or some other identical South East Asian country. But mostly it was sitting on a bus, waiting for a half an hour of culture and trying to take max's mind of getting sick.
We took quite a few picture and if you saw them you'd think it was the best day out ever, but in fairness, it was entirely down to the quality of the company and nothing to do with the tour itself.
Right, another blog to follow, possibly after dinner

The boys are back in town

Well last week and this week saw the arrival of two of my 'friends' from Dublin, Colin and Max. They both moved into my place and have settled in nicely, which is cool coz since mark left there's been no-one to laugh at my fart jokes and various unfounded racial slurs.
The training is going even better now as neither of the two will let me half a half arsed day. I was in a bit of a funk because I had sort of shot my load, so to speak, training wise about 3 quarters of the way through the lead up. Not unlike the writers for 24 in that respect. But I'm back on track now and training hard for a fight on the 17th, which will lead me nicely into a drink fuelled orgy of destruction, as I desperately try to fulfil the prophecy of death before the age of 30. I'll have 4 days which I think should be plenty based on previous orgies.
Colin is going to make some form of documentary about me and my trip so that should be... well, I won't be watching it, let's leave it at that. He tried to make a video of him wrestling the Bjj champ Pedro but apparently I spoiled it with a series of rape jokes in the background. Spoiled, or fixed? Well spoiled, to be honest.
Right I guess that's it for today, but I'm going on one of those treks tomorrow to see the hill tribes so there may be plenty of mirth in the coming days. And of course plenty of dick jokes. Oh, and I just found out that Pete and Lurtie will be over next month and they'll be bringing Emmet, so anyone whos been missing my particular brand of humor need only wait for Emmet to rob my new jokes and stick them in his act.
Peace out homies.

Dave gets off lazy arse shock

Hello to anyone who still reads this.
So, this is about 3 weeks overdue, but I went on one of those elephant trek dealies with Pedro. We had a ball. Trekking through the uncharted wilderness at the whim of a dumb beast. Much like America and the middle east I expect, only I can wake up from this horrible nightmare. Nah, I'm kidding George, you're trying.
The trek we went with was really good, an elephant show, some rafting, several gift shops full of crap that your ma would just love. Until it falls apart anyway. The concept of the elephant camp is fairly simple. Keep the animals in a certain area not unlike a nature reserve, chop there tusks off to stop poachers, have them perform tricks for banana and sugar cane treats which the tourists feed them as part of their 2o0 kilos of food per day. The money is then spent on more food for the fat fuckers. Still, it's not like they don't deserve it, carrying fat, uncaring tourists through the jungle. By contrast, Sarah, a Scottish girl went to an elephant sanctuary, which was just a four hour guilt trip about taking rides on the backs of elephants and the wrongness of everything. And although she never mentioned it, you can be fairly sure that none of the women shave their legs.
Speaking of Sarah, she had her very first fight a few weeks ago and did exceptionally well. Very relaxed and composed, not like the usual brawl that most foreigners, myself included, have first time out. Kept her cool very well, and started banging the elbows in, landing an absolute cracker to win by TKO in the early in the third round. But I digress..
So yeah, after looking at the elephants in pretty much their natural habitat we watched some monkeys jump about and perform some fairly standard tricks. Not as nice as the elephants as half of them were tethered and as Pedro pointed out the other half were probably untied and whipped into submission as our bus approached. You know, 'dance you curs. Or there'll be no bananas for anyone.'
Then we went to a butterfly farm attached to an orchid farm. That's about as much fun as it sounds to be honest. I thought the butterfly farm would be a vast, landscaped paradise full of legions of exotically coloured butterflys that would resemble Jules Verne's Fantastic Voyage but the reality was more like 20 cubic metres of cage with a hundred or so species of fairly standard flutterbys who didn't even scream as I pulled their wings off. Although I did get to watch a child fall, knees first, onto some gravel so, not all bad.
Anyway, that's all for today, although choon in the morrow for I will do last weeks one and this weeks one .

I'm a geezer, init?

After watching a few of those modern, guy ritchie type gangster movies I decided to compile a list of rules for aspiring crime lords. Here's a few things that crime bosses should remember;



Never let some fast talking smart ass kid talk his way out of trouble. I'll admit, it's not every day you meet some teenager willing to crack jokes with an underworld figure who is clearly only here to get his money or kill a bitch, but this is no time to go soft and admire his moxy. Instead take the approach that if some little punk managed to lose/steal/gamble his way into a few hundred grands worth of trouble with you and has no way of repaying you that you should probably kill him. It's not going to tarnish your reputation, it will in fact only cement the bad ass image you have spent years cultivating. You are after all, a crime boss.
Under no circumstances should you decide to use him in a plan so fiendish in it's intricacies that it is doomed to blow up in your face even before you add the aforementioned smart ass who has absolutely nothing to lose by weaving a giant web of double crosses and back stabs. Let's face it, you're probably going to kill him anyway and he probably knows this. You are just encouraging him.
If you decide you have to kill someone, to get a point across, him or his friend, so the other one knows you mean business, try and kill the guy who is better dressed, has a bit more savvy and looks like he is more capable of formulating a plan to get back at your empire and leave you in the poor house.
If you do want to kill one of them, always use your own guys. And for choice, make it one of the burly ones who lifts weights, eats meat and has done some time in jail. But most importantly make sure it is one of your henchmen who is not likely to be overpowered by a brat in his early twenties who only shaves once a week for heavens sake.
And remember, there just aren't that many coincidences in the universe at any one time. If the last 48hours seems to contain an unnatural number of freaky synchronicities, then someone is almost certainly lying to you.

I am the Champions

I am the champions, no time for losers etc.

So I won my second fight. And the Irish in Chiang Mai were out in force to show their support. This one was a lot tougher against a better opponent for more rounds. This guy was tough, he even took a knee to the face in the second round which I thought would have finished him but he stood straight back up and got back in the affray. One of the tougher guys from our gym fought him before and had five rounds of hell before a points victory and a leg that took enough of a beating to make Rodney King blush. I am glad to have only found this out after the match or those kicks of his would have really hurt.
Had an alright first round, but needed Tim to remind me to relax and pace myself. I suppose it's just the bouncer in me trying to finish as soon as possible so I can get back to getting phone numbers from chicks and sending young fella's home for an early shower. Took a kick right on the side of the knee which hurt quite a bit and affected me, mentally more than physically, getting my leg up to block in subsequent rounds. I looked down at my knee at the end of the first round to assess the damage and instantly wished I hadn't bothered.
Second round was better and I got to more of his kicks than before. Took a couple of his punches but my extra thick skull and big neck meant I could ignore them for the most part. Gave it back to him as well and landed a few nice punches of my own, not least of which was a left hook from in close that shook him enough that I could see it. This was closely followed by a clinch in which I got the better of him and gave him a knee in the face, in the same style as won me my first fight. Unlucky though, I launched it half a second too late and he had already started to pull away so I didn't get a full touch. Followed this up with a left hook and I thought it was all over when he sat up. He looked around blankly and I figured he didn't know where he was, and even when he stood up he shook his head like he wanted to quit, but it was not to be. I had a bit of a cold going into the fight which I didn't think would make that much difference but when I went to inhale through my nose at the end of the second round, I could only breath through my mouth.
I came out in the third, starting to feel the effects of fatigue and we got to it again, with him turning the pace up a little. Not to be outdone I gave it back as hard as I got it. At one stage, in the clinch, I tried a very anaerobic movement which didn't pay off and I felt instantly drained. In fact it was thew very same feeling I get in training that prompts me to take a break, but there was no breaks to be had here. I went back in to him and he kicked me so hard I fell. There was a huge cheer from half of the crowd and I jumped straight back up. I don't mind him beating me, but I'll be fucked if I let him steal my audience. So we were right back in the clinch, and when I twisted him around, I knew it was all over, even before I fired my knee. My stronger one at that.
Unlike in my first fight where I sort of threw my knee by accident. Not by accident as such, but I wasn't looking for it, it just sort of happened, this time from the clinch I was actively seeking this exact position. And it paid off.
So what did I learn this time? Well my dropping hands is still an issue, even when I replayed the fight in my head, and I imagined the ideal response to his various attacks, I still imagined the perfect fighter I visualise myself as, with a dropped lead hand. Also, my cardio was an issue as the match wore on and I doubt I'd have made it through five rounds. Now I'd like to say my cold, the heat and humidity were contributing factors but the awful truth is, I didn't train long enough or hard enough or often enough as I could or should have and it could have cost me the match. This will definitely change for the next fight. And I learned not to be too relaxed. I was very tense going into the first fight but by contrast I felt almost no anxiety for the second. I was very relaxed, but maybe a little too relaxed as the first few hard shots were a bit of a shock. But then nothing focus the mind quite so well as being shot at, as Churchill would say. And he should know, because he's dead.

Those that do not remember the past...

Are doomed to have their head kicked in by me on Monday. Well hopefully anyway. In fact I'm going to make a point of not smack talking before a fight as those are always the guys who end up collecting their teeth with broken fingers.

Anyway, fighting monday at 3 o clock GMT, so have the head down for that. I'll post with details on tuesday and let ye all know how great I am/ corrupt Thailand is. (delete as applicable)

This would never have happened under the Nazis

Hello everybody, I've missed you.
Right then, serious news first, I've taken a fight for the second of July. I was actually a bit apprehensive about taking another fight, but as soon as I told the promoter, I was quite calm. So same as before I guess. Train like buggery then go at the poor bugger like a bear possessed. And now for more of my inane prattle.
First up, the homos. What is the deal with them anyway? I thought they couldn't reproduce. It seems to me that there's more now than ever. Not that I'm complaining, just an observation. I also applaud their ability to score pills year round, without fail, while the rest of us have to put up with the usual droughts. Bravo lads.
Now, to anyone who was out last Wednesday in Chiang Mai, I would like to apologise on behalf of the two singing dickheads on the motorbike. Although, if you weren't one of those dickheads, I guarantee you didn't have the most fun Wednesday night.
While I'm in the neighbourhood, I'd like to raise a point about drink driving. I always thought that you'd have to be pretty stupid to drink and drive as there were no possible benefits to be gained. But I had no idea it could be so much fun. I did so many stupid, drunk moped things, that after the usual, where am I?, what did I do?, who's blood is this? questions I had one of those Alfred Hitchcock moments, where the background is all zoomed out but the subject stays in the middle and I realised I cheated death at least a dozen times. In your face death.
I can't believe I forgot to mention my two mates, Cormac and Gene, from back home who were in the area for the last two weeks. We hung out a bit but unfortunately I was training quite hard so didn't get to see as much of them as I wanted.
My last bit for the week is for the guys only, or freaky women. I'm thinking of bringing back the Charlie Chaplin tache. Though given my frequent and obscene racism I'll need some help or people will use it's other name when talking about me. It's other name of course being a Hitler. Are ye with me lads?
Anyway, that's me. Enjoy youser selfs.

You say tomato...

and I say tomato. Hmmm. That's not such a good play on words when you write it down. For anyone who may have noticed that my last entry was a little subdued you should note that I just found out my parents read this blog, so was afraid of saying things like fuck, cunt and arsehole, although I'm over that now. In fact... FUCKYCUNTINGARSEHOLE!! Actually, it's just occurred to me that swearing is another luxury enjoyed by adults of all walks of like and denied to their offspring, until they are paying rent.
Anyway, this one will be a movie review as it's the only thing to do in Changers when it rains, and it's always fucking raining. So there'll be some new releases as well as some dvd's from a while ago that I've only bothered my arse to watch now. Or a 'retro' segment as it's known in the trade. So in no particular order...

Pirates of the Caribbean
I cant see what all the bad vibes are for. It's an action movie about pirates for fuck's sake. What did you expect? Not the best of the three, I'll grant you but Johnny Depp still melts my heart, and Jeffery Rush gives another stellar performance. Not to mention it's got Keef Richards from the Stones in it, and perhaps most importantly, pirates aaar cool!

Rocky Balboa
Well if you liked the first movie a bit, the second one a lot, the third one even more, the fourth one not as much as the second and the fifth one kind of hard to get into because it's not the big man doing the fighting, well you're going to like this one exactly the same amount as you liked the first one cause its basically the same story. Rocky mopes about for a while, decides to fight, everyone tells him no, cut to soul searching montage, then he realises he has to get in shape, cut to training montage, then he wins everyone back in a 'please forgive me, I'm just a simple man with a dream to follow' montage complete with speech and finally 9, 3 minute rounds of boxing, condensed into 4 minutes, followed by 1, final 3 minute round, stretched out over 12 and a half minutes. And I fucking loved every minute of it.

Spiderman 3
Meh.

Pathfinder
In keeping with the government warning schemes, this movie may well carry the Caveat;
Caution: This may be the shittest movie ever. Indeed this may well be the worst idea ever converted to celluloid.
Contrary to the title, the film meanders rather unskillfully through a series of ill-conceived plot hooks, like a German panzer through a Ukrainian farm, circa 1942. After only an hour or two of toothache like agony we come thundering towards a monumental anti-climax that leaves one feeling like a man leaving a 'happy finish' massage parlour staffed entirely by fat mama-sans. For those that don't know it's being just a little disgusted with your self for not getting up and leaving sooner. Not to mention wondering why you didn't stay at home and have a wank instead.
Right, on to the Dvd's...

The Last Samurai
Or should I say Dances With Wolves II: Dances With Samurai. Although Dances With Wolves should have been called A Man Called Horse II: A Man Called Dances With Wolves. So I guess The Last Samurai should have been called, A Man Called Horse III: A Man Called Dances With Samurai. Right, well now that I've cleared that up, I have to say I love this movie, even if Mount Fuji makes as many appearances as the Eiffel tower does in every movie to get within 100 miles of Paris. Having said that, during a particularly biblical rainstorm, when I was forced to stay in I ended up watching the movie with the commentary by Edward Zwick. Jesus Wept. How self absorbed is that guy. Fuck me, you'd swear he was there 13th fucking apostle, the sanctimonious prick. Wah Wah Wah, I worked so hard to make this movie. It's your job dickhead, someone paid you a shed load of money to sit around shouting at actors. I swear if he could suck his own dick, he'd swallow.

The break up
Comedy? Or painful reminder of how tedious existence becomes when your still going out with someone whose very hair you despise, a person for whom no traffic accident is too gruesome, but you haven't got the minerals to dump? Show some fucking backbone, for pity's sake.

Anchorman
Hell's fucking teeth. Have we become so jaded that anyone will do for a comedy hero? Are we so desperate for a comedic icon that we'll accept an open mike night runner-up, spoon feeding us 20 year old Monty Python rip offs? Don't get me wrong I got a few chuckles out of it, but for fuck's sake I can get a few chuckles out of the special Olympics too. Particularly the running events for some reason. But I digress. Does anyone remember when we started accepting sub standard comedy as ok? We are now drowning in the shit spewed forth from such hacks as Catherine Tate, those little Britain fucktards and the Hollywood cash cow, Will fucking Ferrel 'comedies'. And we have only ourselves to blame for watching it. For shame.

It may become apparent to some of you, as it did to me, that I have become an embittered old bollox and that I am just incapable of feeling good emotions any more. That's what I thought until I saw...

Clerks II
Could whoever is closest to Kevin Smith, please suck his dick. But tell him it's from me. Thanks.
All I'll say is, if you haven't already, watch this movie. Easily the funniest thing I remember watching.


Uuuuurgh! And I'm spent. Bus fare's on the table baby, beat it.

Hooray for everything

Greetings true believers. I have been very busy the last few weeks staging my triumphant return to the ring. Also, I've been humming the Rocky theme quite a bit. Though it's no biggie if I don't make it as a fighter, as I still have the options of guitar hero or bmx bandit waiting for me.
Found a decent enough restaurant but almost ended up staying the night. I kept trying to get the waitresses attention but she kept sailing past. I made a show of tossing my napkin down on my plate, audibly draining my glass for the tenth time. What else could I throw on the table to show her I was finished? Well, my fucking fist for starters, but I thought better of it.
I was heading into town the other day when a big guy on a moped offered me a lift, in exchange for some petrol money of course, but still cheaper than a taxi. The deal was struck and off we set, but ran into a detour which brought us miles away from the road we should have been on and into the sticks. I started to get a bit paranoid at that stage 'This is it', I thought, 'buggered to death in a field by some giant right wing fascist'. I hope they spell my name right in the paper.
Is anyone else pissed off with their parents telling them that life is no less 'unfair' for grown ups? I fucking am. As I smoked my head off on the roof an apartment block in town, watching the sun go down and chatting with friends I realised that this was a lot more fair than taking the garbage out on a rainy Sunday night, or doing homework while all the good telly was on. Even something as simple as ruining my appetite by eating sweets between meals has an almost perverse pleasure for me now.
Other than that I've been lashing into the training as hard as I can, though it's a struggle to get my fitness back up, now that the heat has gone up. Taking time off training is a slippery slope, much like a smack addiction. It starts as a 'once off' but quickly develops into a habit. It's a good time to get back into it as well as the gym is quietened down a bit at the moment, with people heading off and not many tourists. We even lost our resident London wide boy cockney. All guns and machetes. He rather reminds me of a guy I know in Dublin. He's a champion weight lifter, a security guard, a cage fighter, but mostly he's a bullshitter.
Anyway, I'm away. But I will return in a few days with my movie review of 2007.
Later squares

The Pacifier

Or the fucking blatant propaganda machine, as it should have been known. I watched this Vin Diesel classic the other day, and thought nothing of it until the near the end, when the bad guys turned out to be from North Korea. Of all the countries in the world it could have been, it turned out to be the the one that the Great American Warlord will probably be fighting in next. Call it a hunch, a bout of paranoia, women's intuition but mark my words, they are trying to get a generation of American to distrust the Koreans. And while we're on the subject of America, unless your name starts with an adjective and ends with an animal, you are not allowed to say word one about 'immigrants'. You ungrateful pigdogs.
Back training hard now, after a week on the beer with Kevin 'deathwish' Douglas. Not an entire week, but more than a couple of glasses of sherry, so I'm hurting all over. I will have to go back to the adult sweet shop, or the pharmacy as it's known locally. The law over here seems to be that if you can pronounce it, or point to it on a shelf you can buy it. Valium for instance, only comes with 2 questions; what strength and how many? God bless you drugs, you haven't let us down yet.
My last bit of news this week is a bizarre event that keeps happening. Infrequently mind you, but more than once or twice. When I take my shoes off to go in places (friends houses, net cafes etc.) dogs amble over and nick my shoes. This can mean only 3 things
1) I am part of an elaborate hoax, designed to make me think I'm mad,
2) I actually am mad, or
3) My feet smell like dog food.
I'm not sure which one I should be rooting for.

Anyway, that's all you're getting from me.
Bysies.

Humourous title on backorder

Right so. Went to Burma again. Fuck me, what a dump. Actually Burma, or Myanmar as it is now known, is lovely but the border town I passed is a fucking hole. It is so bad that people from Bangkok could legitimately be disgusted by it.
Anyway, got on this little mini bus at 7am and was almost instantly joined by an aging, none to gracefully, Canadian hippie and I'm struck at how instantly annoying she is. I'm sure she could have been classed as presentable in the 60's but it's obvious that she has seen better decades. One of these women that's been all over, although I must point out that it's been all over here too, by the looks of it. Her very first words to me are 'OH, we booked those seats. Me and my boyfriend always sit there'. Now, for those that don't know, nothing in Thailand is ever booked or reserved or anything else like it, and I could definitely win the argument, if I'm bothered but I can see that this woman is a succubus and immediately relent. 'No problem', I shout over my shoulder as I move to the opposite end of the bus, my bouncy senses tingling. And as usual, they are dead right. Straight away she starts a fight with her Thai boyfriend. 'Say something nice Mark', 'Pay me a compliment mark', 'Acknowledge me when I speak Mark', she begins, barely able to contain the overwhelming self pity. It is about this time, I realise, I will have to kill her. 'Why don't you send me any (wait for it) positive energy Mark? Hmmm? Why? I am always sending you my energy. What about all that (again, wait for it) sexual energy I sent you last night?' It is about this time, I realise I will have to be very sick before I can kill anyone. 'Tip me the wink and we'll kill her together, Mark', I project, but unfortunately Mark isn't psychic. Mark has the right idea though and turns up his i-pod earphones, lowers his shades and settles back for a snooze.
I spend the rest of the journey with a nice elderly gent from the Netherlands. Although as our journey goes on I realise I am not getting the whole truth. I suspect he may be a Nazi war criminal and start to weigh up the evidence,
1. He hasn't been to Holland in over 30 years and wont say why.
2. He changes the subject every time I try and talk about the war
3. He has one of those serial killer moustasches.
4. Probably the most damning piece of evidence, I have read a book on Nazi hunters and want to be one.
An interesting phenomenon about Thai culture (no link to the Visa story by the way) is the age disparity in relationships. 30 year old guys like to go out with girls around 18 to 20. And the 18 to 20 year olds like to go out with girls around 14. I can only assume that the 14 year olds like to go out with foetus'. I mean, I know it's part of the culture and all, but if my 18 year old daughter came home with a 30 year old on her arm I would probaly just lock in her room for another 18 years, mumbling about how I knew it was too early to let her out. But the 30 year old who thought he was on to a good thing turning up at my daughters place would be beaten black and fucking blue, the cheeky fucker.
Lastly, I started grappling with Pedro Lott, from Brazilian Top Team this week. Very enjoyable but very hard. Not the lessons, he is actually a very good teacher, with a laid back style and manner that makes it very easy to grasp and remember, but the guy himself. It's like wrestling a bag of angry snakes at bedtime.
Anyway, that's all for this week. Be good.

3 months high and rising

Well, I have 3 months under my belt now and I have to go and get my Visa stamped by a sadistic border guard, who I'm fairly sure will have lost his enthusiasm for his job around the same time as his will to live, ability to ignore his wife's ugliness and his power to disregard his failing as a parent. "How do you know so much, oh wise and powerful Dave?" I hear you ask. By the way, you forget to mention handsome. Well reader, oh, and modest, it's because I met him last week and like the fun loving rogue he is, refused to stamp my passport because I was ten minutes late. The Cunt. The massive Cunt.
Finished my massage course on Friday, which was really good but by the end of it I had grabbed more nuts than a hungry squirrel who just found out that this year the family wont be sharing.
The Songkran festival ended today. Traditionally, the Thais would sprinkle water on the back of each other's necks, to wash away the bad luck of last year and prepare them for a fortuitous new year, then they would do the same for the Buddha statues using perfumed oil. However, these days it's more like a city-wide water fight, between 200,000 happy revellers, with neither sides nor rules. Great fun actually. I know it sounds like a pain in the arse but once you accept that no matter how hard you try, you'll be soaked. Some cruel fuckers melt ice into their water so it's freezing once it hits you, though someone usually gets you with some warm water from the moat shortly afterwards. Moat water, pleasant on the skin but not entirely delicious. So yeah, it's fun for a few days but like a guy at a party who's only joke is to punch your shoulder really hard, it gets old fairly quick. So if your going to Thailand, try and go during Songkran, a festival involving thousands of fit, drunk chicks in wet t shirts. And because the Thais look so young and you can't really tell their age, it's ideal for a paedophile who doesn't really want to risk jail at the Big Tiger. Also, even if your not a racist, you can still enjoy a guilty chuckle when the Thais sing 'yerrow remon tlee'.
Got the hang of riding the bike after a few days. I'm probably get a gun next week, to complete the set. Then everyone will know I have a massive cock. Although in truth, the honeymoon with the bike and by proxy the legend of Steve Mc Queen, ended the first time it lashed rain when I was out, getting soaked, barely able to see and eating the crap from a thousand other poor saps trying to get home. And while we're on the subject, I'm not one for broad generalisations, unless it's about hookers...and unnecessarily cruel obviously, but what is the deal with Asian drivers. Holy shit, they are dangerous. Not so much in the cities but out on the motorways. I needed two hand and two feet to count the number of times we we're nearly killed driving to Burma for a look inside a fascist's hutch to watch his soul getting sucked into a gloomy void that followed him around. He is still a massive cunt.
That's all guys, talk to y'all next week.

Happy Happy, Joy Joy

Greetings All,
I hope everything is cool, wherever you are when you read this. A big hello to all my Icelandic readers. It may amuse you to know that the announcer at Thapae Stadium always calls me 'Iceland Champion'.
Anyway, down to business. I was reading my blog there and it occurred to me that I might not be getting across how fucking happy I am doing all this. Not to say I didn't enjoy the first 29 years of my life, but if we were in happiness prison, 2007 would make all the other years his bitch. And he'd be tough on his little prags too.
Got a motor bike today, so getting to grips with that at the moment. Motorbikes are fucking cool. They are big and extremely clever and like smoking, most of the cool older boys are doing it. Just trying to get used to the 'Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law' attitude towards traffic that the Thai have. For example, red lights don't mean stop, they actually mean be careful going through this junction, as there's probably traffic coming at perpendicular angles, it's probably going fast and it's probably not going to stop. Even if he sees you. No left turn signs mean, be very careful turning left here, or not, up to you. And of course no Thai bike experience would be complete without the magic wand. Basically if you beep your horn at any time, for any reason you then have three seconds in which to perform any maneuver, no matter how dangerous or how many laws of physics you break.
Got talking to someone during the week about various cultures and anthropology which is sort of a hobby of mine. Anyway, the subject of the Eskimos came up, and their alleged '11 words for snow'. Now firstly, I'm fairly sure this is a load of bollix but even if it's not, what do you expect, they live in a fucking icy wasteland. There are no current events, other than snowfall. What else are they going to discuss? Spring fashions? The OC series finale?
Have a few mates coming over soon, which I'm looking forward to. It's going to be like living in a frat house. And I've already thought of our motto; Alpha Alpha Alpha- It's only rape if you let her live long enough to talk about it. I'll be accepting applications at the usual address.
Rod Fucking Stewart.

Two tickets to Paradise

Wow, has it been two weeks already? I wouldn't know on account of the paradise. :) I haven't looked at a clock in months.
Well I've finally decided to take some action with my injuries. That action is typically Irish, in that I will be doing nothing. Well resting, I guess, but really it's doing nothing. So for my couple of weeks rest I decided to take a Thai massage course which is really interesting, but not as much fun as you'd think because it's pretty much just me and the master, who has to demonstrate on me first, then lets me practise. So first he sends me to sleep with a world class massage, then wakes me up and forces me too work. Needless to say, his card shelf will be pretty bare this Christmas. To be honest I'm dreading the last lesson, which I suspect will be the happy finish that 99% of massage places offer. I've only found one place that wasn't a rub and tug.
Met a nice french girl during the week too, and had a good laugh showing her round Chaing Mai, while impressing her with how much I could drink. That now brings my total of nice french people that I know, to 2. Yes, I am surprised as you are. The other one knows who she is. Solid.
And speaking of countries who were on Hitler's side during the war, I had a good laugh with the only funny German person ever. He was a fighter at the gym and a very nice bloke. Knew a lot about the war too, and was only too happy to talk about it, although I had to explain to him that he would make more friends if, when talking about war criminals and the atrocities committed by the most evil people in history, instead of saying 'we' he used the term 'the Nazi's'.
It's getting hot her now too. Many mornings this week I lay in bed like Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now... I asked them for a fight, and for my sins, they gave me one... Then I drink heavily and smash my room up, travel up north on a boat, take a load of acid and kill Marlon Brando. It's one of the lesser known tourist treks.
My flat mate has found Mrs. right, or at least Mrs. right now, and has headed off to a chilled out tourist resort with her. Yeah, Mrs. right the lucky git. Though I bet her first name turns out to be always. I haven't been so lucky and to be honest, at his stage I would settle for anything that didn't have a penis or a price list. Falang no want boom-boom. Well actually, Falang would love some boom-boom, but he's not as keen on the aids and you my *ahem* beauty, have more aids than the U.S. president.
So that's all I've been doing for the last two weeks. I'm certain my ribs will be back to normal by the time my massage course is finished and then it's back to a hard training regime, with another fight about a month after I start back. And to be honest I can't wait. I still haven't managed to kill anyone in the ring yet, but I'm holding on to the dream.

Look at me, I'm an attention whore

Well I finally got my fight up. I don't want to over sell it, but this may be the greatest fight ever. In the history of the world, since time began. You can look at it here;

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-AIenyS3iC8

The week in review

I've lost count of what week we're on, I think it's nine but sure, who cares?
Finally made it back to the gym on Friday, and it felt fantastic. Mentally. Physically, it felt as though I had been passed around a group of angry bear rapists, like currency. That's bears as in ursus, not well built, hairy gay guys, although I imagine the end result would have been about the same.
Was a bit pissed off earlier in the week, had two tuk tuk's in a row, trying to rip me off. I expect them to charge me over the odds but they were after 4 times the going rate. Needless to say, there was some rather colourful language exchanged, and Thai-Irish relations have been put back a few years. Still, a moral victory was scored, I feel. Anyway, after my heated exchange, I realised I hadn't eaten that day, so scored a hamburger and all was right with the world. God bless you Mike.
2 months or so of good living has definitely taken it's toll. Not on me, I feel great, but my wallet is looking like an emaciated intern at a certain camp near Auschwitz, circa 1944. Took a realistic assessment of my fortune and re-budgeted accordingly. I can still live here quiet comfortably, but have to reign in the more extravagant spending.
Spent Paddy's Day at an open air festival in the sticks. We were there to watch some of our guys fighting. All was going well until we stopped moving, then we were quickly surrounded by goofy yokels, who queued for quite some time, to take a turn ranting at the honkeys. Despite our numerous and frequent gestures to explain we couldn't speak a word of Thai, they persisted in talking feverishly and cackling to each other every time we pointed to our mouths and said mei-di. (I can't) It felt a lot like being a rock star, except of course, I had to buy my own beer, the beer was warm, and all our groupies were middle aged, and unattractive.
That's it for this week, I suppose.
Actually, hello to all of the people who read this blog who don't know me, you must be very bored. But thanks for reading anyway.

Avast, ye matey!

This week, I was going to do me 'ole blog like cap'n Jack Sparrah. But I don't know enough pirate jargon, so I'll just leave it there. Not much going on this week, as I've been resting my much sorer than I've been letting on ribs.
Had my good pal Tom over for a few days last week and we managed to hook up with our old mate, Mr. B, who sometimes hangs out at a bar in town. What a weird coincidence, eh? It was pretty cool having him here and it certainly did my reputation no harm to have half the village calling out to me and waving, like Rocky in the first few movies. In fairness, they use my nickname, poompui, so it is tantamount to coming out to the front of your shop and shouting 'hey, fatso', but it's still the attention, I so desperately crave. And so I, like every shopkeeper in South East Asia, was sad to see the back of Tom on Sunday night.
In scary news, I've read about a Swedish guy who is facing 75 years in prison for 'insulting the monarchy' 75 YEARS!!! He drew on some pictures of the King apparently. I have been wracking my brains for days, trying to put an amusing slant on this, that won't land me in jail until I'm 105. So here goes...The King and Queen, walk into a bar, where they meet an actress and a bishop. And they all behave in a manner, that befits there station. Not the funniest thing I've ever written but I'm not doing three quarters of a century for you assholes!!
That's about it really. Going back to the gym this afternoon so maybe something to talk about at the weekend.
Laters, me hearties!

Saturday night's alright for fighting...

That's the only time I'll quote Elton John-I swear.
I came. I saw. I kicked his ass! Right so, where do I start? At the beginning I suppose.
So...when I was asked if I wanted a fight I told the promoter that I was still a bit out of shape and that I'd like to get more training done before I got in the ring. "That ok", he said. "No problem. He fat boy. Like you." Right. Thanks. You forgot to mention my body odour. Anyway, after a bit of cajoling from Tim, I agreed and started my fight prep. The promoter later added, that the Thai guy hadn't fought before.
As I said before, my ribs were a bit of concern, but the couple of days rest beforehand, settled them down quite a bit. There was still a bit of a twinge but I wasn't going to back out. Actually, the few days off were a bit mentally taxing. What else does a fighter with nothing else to do before a fight think about? Luckily for me, Tom Murphy was in town and did an excellent job of keeping my mind occupied. I suspected he might be, but didn't really mind, as it was working. I was nice and relaxed until I saw my fight poster in town, about six hours before the off.
Got to the stadium in due course and watched some of the warm up fights. First fight ended with a kid having his face sliced open by an elbow. Second fight was some sort of an eye injury. Jovan, one of the gym's seasoned veterans, a nice guy, and a real straight shooter says to me that I should get ready to warm up as it looked like a night of knock outs. Nice one. Cause I wasn't nervous enough.
During the warm up, my trainer was speaking Thai to some other guys around us, while he gave me a boxing liniment massage. There was a lot of giggling and the like and I tried not to let it eat my confidence. Actually they were laughing at how much oil my chest hair was soaking up. Then I heard Jovan taking to Tim, my corner man. He was going on about a fighter being switched and the new guy was heavier, fitter and more experienced than the guy who was meant to fight. Surely he couldn't mean my guy? Oh yes he could. Fortunately I didn't find out until after the fight. Although I had a sneaking suspicion when he got into the ring. A sleek looking dude, with a mean look to him. And far too relaxed to be a debutante.
I also had his corner asking me over and over, 'are you the fighter?', and laughing, then more girlish giggling at my shadow boxing and plenty of nudging and winking. Which, at first, started to destroy my confidence, but soon turned to rage, which I decided to bottle up for an explosion at a later date. Not much later, as it turned out.
I was a bit nervous by the time it came to go out but Tim had been talking to me and had settled my nerves and got me back in to focus, just as the adrenaline was threatening to embarrass me, all over the back of my pants.
Went out, did my Wai Kru and the match started. I got first touch with a nice kick to his body. That was a bit easier than I thought it would be. He answered with a kick to my arms that didn't hurt a bit. Until a half a second later. Then he landed one on my body which I registered but didn't feel, if you know what I mean. ( I can fucking feel it now, mind you) But I decided that I couldn't afford to let that happen again, so I started checking the kicks from then on. I remember landing a punch flush on the guys face, and he shot me a dirty look for my trouble. Then he stepped up his game a notch. He did land a very hard kick to my head, which made me go... ... ..., ok I'm still awake. He hit me hard although I checked it, but I remember mentally telling him that he had brought a fart to a shit fight, and stepped my own game up, several notches past his comfort zone. I went in hard with a couple of shots, we clinched and I was able to pull him around easily enough. I must admit to letting nerves get the better of me and I wasn't entirely sure what I should be doing. My mind had gone blanker than a retard's expression at a magic show. Then, like an alarm clock in the middle of a sex dream, Tim's voice cut through the haze, telling me to 'fucking knee him'. So I did, a couple of ineffectual ones to the body, and a beauty to the face. It didn't feel that hard to me, but he went down from it. I was expecting him to jump straight back up and was waiting to go for him again, but the ref started counting and Tim was shouting at me to wait in a neutral corner.
And that was more or less it. The ref came over, held up my hand, and walked me round the ring. Yay, me.
So, that was my first fight. First round knock out. I couldn't have hoped for a better result, to be honest. Well actually, I was hoping to kill him in the ring but I'll work on my death touch for another time.
To be honest, I did make a few mistakes, which I saw on the video, but I have something to work on for the next fight. I am also owed a bashing from Tim for dropping my guard, but he'll have to wait till Monday for his fun.
Oh and to the big fat faced, stupid ronnie moustached, girly laugh guy, I'd just like say;
INYOURFACE! SUCKA!

I love the calm moments before the storm

Think Gary Oldman in Leon.
So, I've finished training and am now resting up before the fight. I still have to learn the ritual dance called the Wai Kru, but that won't be hard.
Woke up this morning with a bit of pain in the ribs and thought about postponing the fight. When I got to the gym, Tim and Noom suggested the same thing. Now, as anyone who knows me will tell you, the most sure way of getting me to do something, is suggest that I might not have the strength or willpower to do it. It's macho insecurity on a base level, but it works for me. So, I told them in no uncertain terms that the fight would be going ahead as planned.
During my afternoon nap, I thought about it and decided that I would rest for 24 hours and decide then. So when I returned to the gym, I was greeted with flyers with my picture on them. They must have got my picture from the 'gay pride disco rejects' web site. I have that Glenda Gilson look of surprise on my face, some silver lamme shorts, not unlike Elvis' jumpsuit and what look like those oversize novelty gloves you give to retarded kids so they can't pick up anything sharp, pointy or poisonous. That being said, I'm still a handsome motherfucker. Anyway, I explain my master plan to Tim, assuring him, that 48 hours of rest will definitely be enough. He points at the flyers and says "That's good buddy. Cause it's too late now" And with that, the die was cast. So fuck it. In there like swimwear, and all that. And if I die in the ring, I'll die doing something I love. Just like one of my late heroes, Steve Irwin. N.B. Steve Irwin was that Australian naturalist who loved being stabbed by fish.
Also some good/bad news, got a camera so there will be some pictures up soon. Actually got a camera a while ago, but I've only got round to reading to instruction book. And blog pictures are much better than real pictures, because you don't have to let on you care about the mind numbingly dull life your friends lead. Or what utterly banal and meaningless building they were able to get 37 separate shots of, at various angles. Pictures that would suggest that their trip was not in fact fascinating, but one as depressing as an eastenders Christmas special during a funeral. But I digress.
Got a massage from one of the trainers on Sunday, and again today. Done with boxing liniment, which is a lot like the bastard child of deep heat and chilli oil. And the heart of the sun. Fuck, the pain was everywhere. Especially bad were the armpits and the open cuts all over my body. I imagine my suffering to be like that monk in Vietnam. And just like him, no one really took any notice of my burning body.
So that's about it I guess. Next post will be after the fight in which I'll either be saying "I am the champions" (like the queen song, but more self indulgent) or "that fucking ref was bribed".
Talk to you all soon....

Week Five and Six

Well faithful readers and bored net junkies, you may have noticed that there was no post last week. This was due to me being a bit lazy, but mostly it was down to me thinking I would have to cancel the fight due to my ribs.
Last week was a total write off. Did fuck all training, mostly just ate drugs from the hot pharmacy chick. I reached the stage last week where I would take any drug, no matter how dangerous, if I thought there would be any benefit. Now, those who know me longest may realise that I reached that stage years ago, if you substitute the word buzz for benefit. But that was the old me. Now it's all clean living. Honest...... Suckers.
Well, if last week was a write off, then this week was a right on. Mickey moused around a bit Monday morning, gave the ribs a bit of a twang, but for some unknown reason the pain was mostly gone by Tuesday afternoon and I hit the ground running. Both literally and figuratively. So fight prep is back on track and I'm set to knock this fuckers lights out. Getting better has really got me out of the funk I was in. Who'd have thought I'd want to fight so bad? Well, my counsellor obviously, and all those kids I bullied in school, but who else?
So, other news, let's see. Went to a very cool bar in town last week. Got a bit of a shock when a behemoth came over to talk to me, then noticed it was just a woman who had never seen the bottom of a salad bowl in her life. Honest to god. Venus, in a blond wig with lipstick smeared in the appropriate places. That's the planet Venus, mind you.
"Fancy a bucket?", she asked. I had to get her to repeat it a few times, just to be sure I wasn't agreeing to something I would later regret. Yes, definitely a bucket. "What's that?", why it's like a normal drink, but it's served in a bucket with a load of straws. I get the idea, but seriously love, a bucket? Any consumable item that is served in a bucket lends a certain amount of bad publicity to the consumer. Now if that consumer looks like she never met a chocolatey dessert she didn't like...Basically, a bucket is the very last stage before they are serving you in a trough. You fat bitch. You fat, fat bitch.
Then on our way home we thought about writing a series of travel guides for the, *ahem* modern gentleman. It will not be like other travel guides that tell you about the history of the place, and the things to see before they are spoiled by tourism. Oh no. It will basically be a list of all the steakhouses and brothels. We are going to call it: 'Desperately Lonely Planet.'

What's the crack?

Me fucken ribs. That's what. Well, ok, not cracked but bruised and sore. Sparring a guy on Wednesday morning, when he lands a textbook shot on my ribs. Thought I was just winded but noticed the pain wasn't going away. I was only able to shallow breathe for the rest of the day. They've been getting steadily better ever since. Not really the sort of fight prep I was hoping for, two weeks out, but there we are.
Glad to hear that the are only bruised, so not the end of the world but it sure fucking felt like it on Wednesday. Had an EMT who trains at the gym examine them and he says that I can treat them with anti-inflammatorys and muscle relaxants, which I've been doing. Got them easily as they are over the counter here, much like everything else. Which leads me to an amusing story....
Years ago, when I used to work in a porno shop, I would occasionally get a customer in, asking me if there was any 'under-the-counter' stuff available. I would look around, and explain that he had in his hand a video of a transsexual dwarf, fellating an hermaphrodite while a bearded and pregnant teen, urinated blood on the lot of them. How much more under the counter does he need.
A tenuous link, I'll grant you, but it came back to me today and I wanted to share. Peace and Fucking. Believe.

End of week 4

Okay, I know I'm nearly a week late with this one. Trained very hard for week four. Diet went very well, though I was nearly out of my mind by Saturday. Went into town with the guys, to an all you can eat barbecue. Got stuck in to the beef and chicken, even had a bit of pork to wash it down. Damn, it felt good to be stuffed with so much meat, as any porn star will tell you. Went on to a cool bar afterward but I split before I gave in to to temptation and started drinking.
Had the tuc tuc try to rip me off on the way home as well, the little scumbag. I gave him the card with the gym address on it and after a while he goes'"yes, yes, I know this place" We then go for a scenic tour of Chiang Mai's Muay Thai arenas. I kept giving him the card and he kept repeating his earlier lie. So anyway, we finally get back to Sunpaliang where he goes, "150 baht. We had to go to all those other places. Very far." I pointed out that we didn't have to go anywhere but where I fucking told him. I gave him the 70 we had agreed on and started to walk off home. He jumped out of his death trap and started shouting in Thai then walked over to me and squared up. Now for those who don't know, the world of scumbags is dog eat dog, and this little terrier tried to stare down a rottweiler, who was in no mood for being ripped off. He went back to his tuc tuc and started shouting again, while I made good my escape. That brings the total to; Dave 1 Tuc Tucs "rip off united" 28
In other news we had a mad french guy join the gym. Not mad, in the quirky, takes a while to get to know him mad. Mad in the, don't give him scissors way. I can see him coming to blows with someone very soon, though he doesn't bother me. Mainly cause he hasn't tried to talk to me but so far this arrangement suits me perfectly.

Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!

Well, as some of you may have heard by now, I have decided to take a fight. It's on the 8th of March, and Damage will be in town to capture it on video for y'all. It's about four months ahead of schedule. Hopefully I don't make a total dick of myself.
Since I took the fight I'm having a bit of trouble getting to sleep. You know when your drifting off to sleep and you think your falling, and you bring your hands up to defend yourself and the resulting jerk wakes you up? Well, that's what I've been doing every night as I drift off, only I'm in the ring, and I'm countering moves with full battle cry. I'm very popular in my house, natch. If I don't get a handle on it soon I'll be up to the chemist, where seemingly everything's legal, and getting some sleepers.
Training is naturally stepped up, although it nearly wasn't. Tim (gym manager, also my buddy) put my name on the board for a fight, but he put up my Thai nick name. Pom pui. It means fat belly. The Thais have trouble with the 'V' sound and also the 'F' sound, as in fifty. So, on day one they all tried in vain to pronounce my name, and eventually settled on Pom Pui. Anyway, when they saw my name up there, they thought it was a joke. Then the head trainer asked me yesterday, with a smile on his face," Pom Pui is fighting soon?". And when I said yes, his expression changed to the most serious one I've ever seen. Picture a man who has just discovered that his family have just been kidnapped, like in an eighties revenge movie, or Jack Bauer. And just found out he has cancer. And his cancer has Aids. Bad aids. Like you'd get off a bummer. Yeah, now you've got it. This crazy man drilled the fuck out of me. Hard, intense stuff. Really pushing it. I mean, I know I have to do a lot of hard training, but I didn't think I'd have to do it all on the first night.
So, I'm dieting hard now, trying to get down to about 86kgs for the fight. I'm down to 94.3 today, and still 3 weeks out so I'm fairly confident I'll make it. I actually started dieting the day before I took the fight, but was still planning on having the odd burger or pizza at the weekend. Not every weekend, but it's still nice to know that you can, if you want. Anyway, that's all out the window now, and I'll be training 3 hours a session, two sessions a day, every day until the fight. But, I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll be raping a burger and chips the day after my fight. Viking style. Or maybe like that movie with Jodie Foster and the pinball machine. The important thing is that I will be doing unspeakably vile sex acts to junk food. Also, taking the fight on the 8th means I can hang out with my buddy for the weekend. Fighters are allowed two days off after a fight and one or two before. So I fight on Thursday, take Friday and Saturday off and then it's Sunday. Gods day of rest. That's what I call myself now. God. Fitting don't you think?

Night Bazaar

Or should I say night bizarre. Only if I want to beat Richard Whitely for worst puns in a year. Still he's dead now, so I can take my time. Anyway, Chiang Mai's famous night bazaar is made up of stalls along every available inch of footpath over several city blocks. Stall after stall of exotic and fabulous trinkets and plenty of mundane crap too. But even the crap's not so bad, at the very least it makes the exotic stuff all the more special.
As I stood there for the first time, I felt like Marco Polo must have, as he discovered the silk road in China. Rows of exotic silks, in every conceivable colour. Strange and wonderful incenses filling my head with images of the mysterious orient. Wicked and evil weapons in racks that would make Tomás de Torquemada cringe. A bouquet of cheap, knock off watches at give away prices. Yep, exactly the same as Marco Polo. Well known for his discount Tag Heuer's he was, when he got back from China.
So, while I am filling my head with all sort of delusions of grandeur, a fairly well used hooker interrupts to talk to me about whatever the fuck hookers use as small talk. I said, "do you mind? I'm trying to have a poetic moment here!" She says, "Poet? Yes. Like Oscar Wilde. He fuck arses. You fuck my arse. 200 Baht" Well, god loves a tryer. Nah, I'm just kidding about the hooker.....she only wanted 100 baht.

End of week 3

Well, That's week three over. I can't believe I'm only out of Ireland 3 and half weeks. It feels like a lifetime already. I'm actually posting a day early today as tomorrow, the lads from the house and I are planning a trip into town and as many burgers as can be shovelled into a human being.
A bit up and down this week in terms of training. Had a hard day Wednesday, with the head guy, after putting me through my paces and nearly breaking me, did some inhuman things to my carcass. But in the nice way. Not that nice you mucky bastards. In the healing way. He walked up and down my back, making a sound not unlike squeezing a handful of rice crispies, bending me around like a retard playing with a stretch armstrong. Left me feeling like a man of 28 again. Still have that cut on the ball of my foot so no right kicks until today. Naturally my left kicks have been improving all week. Really looking forward to having a left kick like Mirko crocop. Look for his highlight reel on youtube if you're unfamiliar. Still pissed off with myself for missing the run Tuesday morning but I can make that up over the next year. Had to take this morning off. A combination of waking up with what I thought was a head cold, about four hours sleep and a sore pussy. Turned out to be blocked sinuses and an ear infection. Lucky me. I know that sounds sarcastic but it's not. An injury signifigant enough to miss a class but not enough that I'm actually out of action. Ideal.
Got a bike from one of the girls who was leaving so now I've transport. We also got a fridge, a television and a vcd player. Set for life. Totally self reliant now. Then the electricity went out. We never payed the bill. Nor did we ever receive the bill in the first place. Got the gym's Arthur Daley type to sort it out for us. Actually, his name is Noom. He's a gas dude. Anything you ask him for, from a puncture repair kit to an F-14, he says, "Hmmm, I can probably get second hand. I talk with you later". The next meeting he explains that it's on it's way to the gym. Tops. All legal too. A bit more than he pays for it but a lot less than I'd be charged. We call it the Noom tax.
Found a fruit tree on my run the other day. Well, it's always been there but it's bearing fruit now. Tried one and nearly had my face melted off like the end of Raiders of the Lost Arc. So Thursdays lesson was what unripe fruit looks like.
Had a couple of savage wrestling sessions over the last couple of days. I grapple with a guy called Tim. One of the best Thai clinch guys I've ever met and resembling a strategically shaved gorilla. Between us we are nearly 200 kilos and when he throws me I am at the mercy of the laws of physics. (Pretty much everyone else can only move me a step or two) When we grapple the little kids run around the ring screaming. It's a lot like being Godzilla, I imagine, as I look at tiny terrified Asians, although I generally keep my racist stereotyping to myself.
I was delighted to see so many young South East Asians getting into the energy conservation buzz this week. Now they are not far enough along to be building recycling centres and things like that but at least they are making the effort. The most common form of this is for a young Asian to not bother sticking the lights on his moped on after it gets dark. They're doing their part....are you?
My final bit of news is I fed an elephant this week. No, that's not code for a fat chick, (thankfully they are outlawed in Thailand) an actual elephant. It costs about 50 cents for a bag of little veggie sticks that the elephant likes. So, I gave him the first one, which he didn't really get a good grip on and knocked out of my hand. Poor eejit I thought, not even able to feed itself, but when I held it up again he wrapped his trunk round my hand like a giant sandpapery anaconda and squeezed, then slide his trunk off like he was stripping bark. This freed the snack for him, which he promptly ate. This also hurt like a motherfucker. Naturally, I was a little reluctant to go through that again, but when all two tonnes of him stepped forward I held out another treat without a second thought. Like a certain frog eating country during the second world war, I instanly capitulated and gave everything I had to the massive jackbooted bully, hoping it would buy me enough time to scream the lords prayer a few times and repent my sins.
Th, th, th, th.... that's all folks.

D.G. phone home

Raaay! The internet cafe beside my house finally upgraded it's crappy line and let us in. For weeks we have been going up to the door and looking at 5 or 6 guys, bashing away on keyboards to be told, "sorry, closed". We thought they were just being racist, as there is a fair bit of that over here. People skipping you in the queue, cars ignoring you, (had to jump into a ditch on monday to avoid a smack of a car), shopkeepers triple their price etc. I had a long rant about all this to my new flatmate, a black guy from the states. I hope the irony wasn't lost on him.

Those who can, do...

Those who cant, teach. So, I've decided to teach. Nothing serious, certainly nothing that will interfere with training but enough to keep a few bucks coming in, so I can eat lots of chicken breast. The thing about teaching in Thailand is 99% of teachers are long-term sex tourists who never got any attention in their life and who've realised the only chance of getting laid is if they can stick around getting the rock star treatment, albeit as teachers. Getting to spend your days ordering about young Thai beauties in mini-skirted school uniforms, (even in college, these are still the uniforms) does have a certain amount of appeal, I'll admit but there's no point in letting them think that the tabloids probably add the prefix 'Vile sex beast' when they mention me, now, is there? . So, you can understand my reluctance to stick my flag in this camp. It's not the reason I came here.... but what a happy coincidence.

Leader of the pack

One of the hardest things to get used to in Thailand is the dogs. Packs of the little bastards everywhere. They hang around outside their respective houses during the day but at night form packs that like nothing better than to chase anything, man or beast that comes within range. And a dogs range is pretty impressive. There quite chilled out during the day, a mixture of heat and exhaustion from working on keeping me awake.
Anyway, the Thai who I asked about this the first day it happened said, "I'll take you into town and we'll get you an airgun". We all had a good laugh at that. Today I find myself thumbing through the airgun section of a Guns & Ammo summer special, wondering if I can afford the Rambo, first blood kit.

It'll be all fight on the night.

Went to watch our guys and girls in the fights last night. Great buzz all night, from the fifteen people in the pick up truck, to the hookers arguing with me over which toilet I was using. Yep, huge agro. Apparently, I was using the stadium toilets but I should have been using the bar toilets coz I was drinking their 7 up. It's 5 baht to use the toilets you see and they thought I was ripping them off by using someone elses toilet. For fuck sake, I can go to the toilet on you for 10 baht you contrary bitch! The ride there and bag was great fun too, with twelve people in the flat bed part of a knackered Mazda pick up. Leaning this way and that like catamaran riders in a round the world yacth race. Drove straight past the cops who didn't even bat an eyelid. Drove past a load of ladyboys too, who batted a lot more than their eyelids.
The promoters had a bit of a cock up unfortunately, and our fighters were spread out in two stadia so we all went to one and then all went to the other. I was filming at both and hopefully will have them on youtube as soon as I've edited out the almost continuous swearing. Our first fighter, Kat, a girl from Slovakia, went for three hard rounds against a tough little Thai girl. Great fight altogether, very relaxed. At taiphae stadium we watched Jovan, a Canadian fighter take on a viscous looking Thai. Another cracker of a fight. And a cracker of a rib kick too. Literally. The Thai was carried from the ring after a scorcher of a kick, after only two minutes or so of the first round, which we understand cracked two off his ribs. Last but not least was Andy from Australia, who had a four round war with a wiry little Thai. Heavy blows all round, a real spectacle. Great to watch, it really was Thai boxing at its best. The Thai went four good rounds but was unable to continue in to the fifth and Andy won by tko.
Now more than ever, I can't wait to get in the ring. I'm thinking about 4 to 5 months but the rest of the fighters are thinking I'll be ready in 3, so we'll see. Watching some off the warm up fights, I realised my biggest fear is not getting knocked out, it's being in one of those fights where both guys are afraid to make the first move so the sort of stand there bopping their legs a little and looking terrified, desperately hoping the other person will make a move and leave themselves open and vunerable. A lot like my younger days, at the wesley and grove discos. How I longed for the person I was facing to make the first move towards me. So I could knock her out with an uppercut. BAM! 'Nothing personal love', I'd say, 'but this'll make a great blog in fifteen years'.
Unfortunately, I cut the ball of my foot on something sharp yesterday, and unbeknownst to me tore it open spinning on my foot to kick the bags in the evening. All of which meant I couldn't run today, and had to leave my runners on to train so no ring time. Felt like a bit of a cunt, to be honest, but I suppose it's an injury and I'm not just crying off. In the net cafe by the chemist now so going in for some plasters et al. and hopefully I'll be back in the ring by this afternoon.

Second Week of Training

Well, week two under my rapidly shrinking belt. Training is going better than I thought. Running is going very well. Did 55k this week. The left side of my body, especially my legs, is quite sore though. I think it's because of all the slopes on the road (no pun intended). Anyway, going to try running the opposite direction next week and see if that takes any pressure off. Went to the chemist and spent a months rent on anti- inflammatorys, muscle relaxants, and various other things to relive pain. Better living through chemistry :) A months rent sounds like a lot but it's actually only 45 bucks.
Had the head guy take me under his wing at the start of the week. Training with him is hard, for a lot of reasons. He expects a lot from his fighters, he knows a lot of wierd and difficult exercises but mainly it is because he is a proper fucking sadist. And his English is not good enough to understand things like tendonitis and enflamed ligaments. He tests the limits of human endurance hard enough to make Joseph Mengele blush. Yes, my suffering this week was easily the equal of the holocaust. I did so many footwork drills on Wednesday, that Thursday and Friday, I needed help to go up and down stairs. Did some grappling with him too and was amazed that at 57 he still had the measure of me, a fat, sweating, smoker with rickets and possible arthritis. Seriously though, he has mad skillz. He rarely grapples these days but he schools everyone when he does.
I was feeling ok after Saturday morning class but decided to take the evening off anyway. No point in being the fittest guy in the doctor's office. Also, Herr Oberst promised me a hard session for later.
Was invited to join the trainers for their daily barbecue after training and thought 'lucky me'. So i sat down and as I went to swat a couple of flies of the plate of pork, about ten of the fat little buggers got up and buzzed off. I was about to duck out when my pad man said 'eat, eat', so I dug a piece out from as far under the pile as I could. I mean, what was I meant to say,"actually I'm rich enough to afford restaurants and air conditioning?" So I ate it, and another piece, then made my excuses and left. On the way home, I thought 'ewww, but then again, how bad can it be?' The very next thing I saw, and I swear this is the truth, was a pile of shit with about ten flies on it. Hopefully not the same ten. So tomorrow, I'll be explaining the whole wealth versus poverty argument to them as tactfully as possible.
So that's it for another week. Later squares.

Pest Control

Like those guys in American mental asylums I spend most of the the time walking around thinking there are bugs all over me. Except in my case there really are. And also uniquely in my case the CIA really are trying to steal my thoughts.
Anyway, spent a few bucks on a deadly mosquito net, which I have since given up on. Not there's anything wrong with it, it's just sleeping in such a confined space is impossible. So to combat the mossie problem we have got a few geckos in the house. There are hundreds of them living wild here so there easy enough to catch. The more geckos you have the less mosquitoes. Unfortunately, they breed rapidly, so in a few weeks we are going to get a couple of cats in, to eat the geckos. The cats have a similar breeding problem so in a few weeks we'll be getting a dog or two to finish the cats off. "How the fuck do you get rid of the dogs?," I hear you ask. Well, my foul mouthed friend, the answer is simple: we get a hungry Vietnamese and a bottle of barbecue sauce. The circle of life turns once more.

Eating out in Thailand

Just don't do it. No matter how sweet she looks, she was probably a hooker. But seriously forks (last bad joke - promise), eating out is not only cheap and delicious but practically compulsory. At around 45 cents for most meals, you'd be mad not to. Also, considering the distinct lack of any sort of cooking equipment in almost every house, you'd not only be mad, but able to do magic, and no one wants that. No one.
Anyway, funny story about eating. (Please bear in mind that I go for lunch after three hours of the most intense training I've ever done, and intense hunger is always a factor.) So, I was at lunch with a friend of mine. We go to a particular restaurant every day and are always served by the one english speaking waitress. Today was her day off so we had to try and negotiate with some of the other staff. Actually most of them had a go. Now every day we order the chicken, so that wasn't a problem, but my house mate was trying to order a red curry as well. Not one of them knew what he was on about. So he makes a shape with his hand, like if they were around a bowl, and starts going through the process again. It was as hard for them to understand as it was painful for me to watch. Unfortunately, no matter how many times, nor how loud or slowly he continuously repeated the words R-E-D C-U-R-R-Y, could anyone make head nor tail of his request. Anyway, after what seemed like the rest of the day one of the staff said they understood and went off to prepare our lunch. But it doesn't end that easily. My pal calls after him and says in quite a heavy Dublin brogue," eh, would it be possible to get that without the crispy noodles?" I put my head in my hands and thought; Jesus fucking wept.

End of my first week

Holy Shit. That was hard. Real hard. Not like Times crossword hard. The other kind. I was fucked tired most of the week. My legs were like lead at the start of the week. This was replaced by fire by about Thursday. Training was pretty much like the first day, every day of the week. Have been grappling with bigger and bigger guys as the week went on. Got an absolutely lovely slam on a guy Friday morning though. He had me in the corner, came in with a flying knee for my chest, I side stepped, hooked under his leg and demonstrated a textbook body slam much to everyone's amusement. Including my own. But not his.
Got a handle on the fatigue by Friday, so decided to do two classes on the Saturday. Tim, the gym manager, suggested it. "Just go down do a few laps, and a few rounds of the bag", he said. Sounded easy enough but when I got there, every trainer kept grabbing me and taking me for a few rounds on their specialist area, and it ended up being the hardest training session of the week. Did a couple of laps (each lap is 1.2k), 3 rounds in the ring, which ended just before i collapsed. Then while I was waiting for a punchbag to hide behind for the afternoon, the boxing expert took me for three insane rounds of just hands. Then one of the junior trainers had me kick the bag 60 times as hard as possible on each leg. I was going so all-out that 40 kicks in, I thought my heart was gonna burst out of my chest. But unfortunately it didn't and I had to keep going.
Had a bit of a spar with an Irish lad at the end. All was going well until I hit him with an overhand right and sprained my thumb. Kissed myself better and called it a day. And a week.
So that was my first week of training. Managed to remain injury free, except for a blister on my foot and my sprained thumb so happy enough. Next week, I will be doing all the morning classes and half the night ones. This is because I am totally deadly.

First day of training

Fuck me. I repeat. Fuck me. That was about the most intense thing I've ever done. My chest was like a blast furnace half way through my 3 1/2k run. Back to the gym for three rounds of skipping. Then one of the trainers put my wraps on and I got into the ring for 3 rounds of hardcore pads. It actually wasn't that hardcore, but in the state I was in anything except crying would have been hardcore. Went as hard as I could for as long as I could. In fairness to the trainer he gave me more than the the usual 60 seconds between rounds to recover, to give me the most benefit but no matter how much time he gave me it wasn't enough. Still I was first there in the morning and last to leave so I didn't make a total cunt of myself. Finished the pads, went on to the bag for five or six rounds. After that got bag in the ring for some heavy clinch work. The quality of the Thai's wrestling skills are out of this world. Had a 12 year old take me to school for several rounds. Finished off with some weights, stretching and so on. Limped home. Lay down. Made a deal with my stomach to keep my breakfast down long enough to absorb and I would eat earlier tomorrow.

Chiang Mai

So got here at last. Got picked up from the airport and brought down to the camp. Watched the end of the evening session with a growing sense of dread, as I realise I will soon be the one in the ring. Went to our MASSIVE new house. Noticed how big it looked with no furniture. Slept on the floor in my tracksuit. Filled the house the following day for less than thirty quid. :) Pretty much just dicked around the following day, as only fighters with impending fights train on sundays (so they have exclusive access to the trainers).
Went to bed to rest before my first day of training in Thailand...

Bangkok

Christ. What a hole of a place. Seriously. Hot, sticky, nasty. With people taking it in tours to try and gouge you. Get in to a taxi and tell him whatever you want, but it doesn't matter coz before he brings you where you want, he'll bring you every where that his mates have shops. No one in Bangkok will let you pass without trying to make a buck off you. Still, not as bad as Ireland. At least they smile and are polite while they're fucking you.
Had a weird discussion about politics with a hooker in some bar, and then played hundreds of games of connect four with her. Had to send her to the bar for a drink so I could fuck off without any hassle. That backfired though, so had to buy her one too. Bitch.
Anyway, after trying to buy a train ticket out of there for two days, ended up getting an airplane ticket instead. More expensive than the train but less expensive than everyone in Bangkok trying to hire their sister out to me while they sold me some nice second hand shoes.

The trip over

So the trip over was fairly unevntful, except I nearly missed the flight coz i thought it was in the evening and not the morning. That'll be the drugs. Had a stopover in Bahrain. A boring airport except for the hundreds of Al-Queda looking motherfuckers, arguing, then muttering under their breath and staring me out of it.
I've actually found a new dimension to an otherwise normal flight, and feel free to try this; pissing in turbulence. No seriously, after the initial shock, it's quite fun. With one hand on the rail thingy, trying to keep your balance and not coat the entire cubicle. It's a lot like I imagine rodeo to be like, I was just short of waving my stetson around, while the plane tried to buck me.