Those Thais can get a single pill to slip in a drink, 100b, that's it, dead.

No post mortem there, just another farang gone.

Kinda scary really cause it happens all the time.

Doubt it, I am not a fool. He has been my child since six years old.

So how did I get here?
 Long time ago, in another galaxy I arrived in Pattaya. Last place before that was Venice.
I met a girl, a bar girl, Bhun and we went back to my hotel.
I could not do it, I never pay for sex.
Next day, I met her and apologised.

No need, or words to that effect, come on I will blow your mind for free.

She did.
Then told me of a friend, one who could cope with me.

My wife.

Said step son is not a youth, he is twenty six years old. He is Thai, and as such has been inculcated to respect his mother and "father".
His true father exists and knows him. And me.
Family. I know where I stand, number three in the family ranking. Father first, eldest son second and then me. But I can and do out rank them, but that is a family story.

I have held that baseball bat buhi and the only thing that stopped me was I knew I would be ruining my life in a split second.

No BS there.

If it "came down to it", I would be dead, thus no problem for dead self.I know my step son, he has real problems , problems I can not fix. He has cried in my arms of how bad he is. I comforted  him as a father. Dirty linen time.

Now that was a night,I returning from ..... oh shut up, the linen stinks.

OK rambling, if you do not like it, turn off, you can, no need to read.

Our own son, is the most together child, youth. He has a father and grandfather in the one person that is me.He knows, it does not need to be stated.Knows more than most kids will ever know.
Sometimes I wish it were not so, that he was raised in a Barratt home. The ideal. No he is not like me, has at least learnt that much.
Life.

Long ago my neighbour and close friend, I do not know if he is still alive, older than me, brother of Adrian Henri, poet and mostly painter. He is dead, I know that.
He , friend, toured with Adrian, in America, at the height of the sixties counter culture. It had a profound effect on him. Yes I knew Adrian too, name dropping.
He decided, friend that is, to drop in, not out. Became a teacher, we met on the PGCE course, before he bought the house next to mine.
He had a son, a lovely kid, a drop in kid. He , the kid, knew , but did not know, of his father's past. His mother protected him. Of course he knew his uncle was the famous Adrian Henri.
He grew, I did not know him then, had long moved away.
A phone call.
My friend, he needed to talk to the only person who would understand.
Son had become a junkie, was infected with AIDS, and we cried together on the phone.
Why I am up front with my son.