Dropping Out

The eye candy isn't up to much: the crowd of overweight retirees mean that Hat Sai Khao is strictly BYO. They mostly lie inert, many with sunburn patterns such as I-used-to-wear-sandals-but-can't-anymore, I-really-should-put-my-watch-back-on, or I-can't-reach-the-middle-of-my-back. I'm not sure whether this indicates a very good, or very poor, market for an English-speaking personal trainer.

Yes, we're talking about moving, again. Six months in Chiang Mai runs about two weeks of our central London rent. Out here it's a little bit more, but nothing a couple of days a week couldn't pay for. Plenty of travellers drop out in Vientiane or Phnom Penh, but I'll trade the 'girls, guns and ganja' for 'beaches, bikes and beer' and keep enough of my focus that I can go back. As our plans move from the pipe-dream to the ticket-buying stage the scope decreases from 'a lifetime' to 'six months', and the chances increase from 'never' to 'why not?'

Maybe it's the afternoon sun reflecting from the waves, maybe it's the warm wind drying out my boardshorts, maybe it's the Beer Chang, but I can't think of a good reason.

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