Peter was sat at on his favourite barstool yet again, pontificating about any subject that came to mind, and this day, it was the newbies that were getting all the stick. Peter was that unique type of farang that arrived in Thailand with nothing to learn - he would be an island around which the waves of Thai culture would wash to no avail. Not a grain of sand would be washed from his Beach of Certainty - Thailand would need to adapt to him, not the other way round. That was fine - in among the nonsense and bile, there was an occasional good joke or story - enough for the other guys in the bar to tolerate him.

"Damned newbies, coming over here creating expectation inflation," Peter moaned. His wife, Boo, had heard it all before. Boo had arrived in the bar to get the keys to the truck. It was midday, and she had a seven hour drive to the village. A village that Peter swore he would never be seen in again, not since he was caught short by that Thai style toilet. "Bloody savages," he had moaned as he drove out in a hurry. Boo liked Peter fine, but she liked her few days away - respite from the ranting. A kiss on the cheek and "bye bye, Teerak, see you in three days."

Peter was still in the same spot when the police walked in after dark, the early morning beers long since flushed out of his system. Now it was time for the hard stuff -

"Mr Peter, we have bad news about your wife," said the policeman.

"What, what about her?"

"I'm sorry, we have a report from near Kalasin, Ramida Samkhoi was killed in a vehicle crash this afternoon."

"Ramida Samkhoi? never heard of her. My wife is Boo," said Peter with relief. The girls face behind the bar dropped - she asked to hear the name again.

"Ramida Samkhoi, that's Boo's real name - didn't you know it?" the girl asked Mr Peter, with tears in her eyes.