Bud stretched his leg out as far as he dared. This was his favourite leg, the one that led him over the hurdles to win the state championship all those years ago. Fifty-five years to be exact - and that leg was as strong and as fast as any man could hope for. It was also the leg that copped four bullets in Vietnam - prompting the doctors to consider amputation.

"Leave it alone," Bud had cried, " give it time to heal itself," and it did. That was the leg that got him medicalled out of the army - and gave him a chance to hobble around Asia while other young men went back to real life in the states. And then he met Aom, beautiful Aom, dear Aom. When he met Aom you didn't have Makro in Chiang Mai - or roads - or wifi - or any other of these goddammed modern things you see all around you now.

Forty years married now, four kids, three boys and a daughter sent from heaven - and now grandkids popping out faster than an overheating popcorn machine. And he loved them all - every cute little button one of them. Abon was his favourite - first borns always get the star treatment - and here she was running over to greet him. A big cuddle, and Abon offered to take his hand, to keep him steady on that old playing-up leg.

"Damned disgrace," muttered the Western woman to her sour faced friend. "Something should be done about these perverts."