HEY WERE BIZARRE, MAN, I mean
they looked weird. Here I am in the middle of downtown Bangkok, it's all
pretty insane, you know, bars and shit for the G.I.s on R'n'R, and incredible
whores in Cadillacs and Buddhist monks walking by, and buses with people
hanging out the windows, and anyway I'm just grooving on it all and who
do I see? Perry fucking Engles, in the flesh, Peregrine Kirkwood Engles
And, as if that isn't bad enough, there's two of them.
I didn't know the other guy, Charles something, from the House, I think.
And they're dressed for cricket. Literally, man, literally, pressed white
trousers and M.C.C. blazers with fucking silk cravats.
Nothing much happened, really. They seemed glad enough
to see an Englishman and carted me off to have a milkshake in one of the
awful American-style coffee shops, which was at least air-conditioned. Turned
out they'd got some travel scholarship or something. Anyway, they were gallivanting
about in fine style, staying at the Inter-Continental, no less. So I told
them about my hotel, which was basically a brothel you know, I go
to pick up my key and the guy says, "You want girl? Very clean, very
young" and I say, "No" and he says "You want boy?"
We had a good laugh, chatted a while, I let them pay and that was about
it. I think they split the next day.
It really is a bit much, you know. You travel halfway
round the world and then you bump into Perry and Co. doing imitations of
the Great White Chief. There oughta be a law.