Koh Rong

Following quite a boozy few days in Shianoukville I thought I'd go and relax a bit, so booked a ferry over to Koh Rong for the next day. I hadn't done my research (shock) and someone told me that evening that there are only two guesthouses on the island, with the cheapest bungalow running at 15 dollars. I was a little bit worried that I was going to end up having to spend 15 bucks a night, which is way beyond my budget. However, on the tuk tuk ride I met a french girl and then on the boat we met another 3 frenchies, so there ended up being 5 of us which made it significantly cheaper.

When the boat landed it resembled paradise. I think there was probably no more than 100 people on the island at any one time, the majority of whom are transient. The islanmd doesn't have electricity so they turn on a generator at around 7pm and everyone hangs out in a big open air bamboo shack. The toilets were pretty bad as you could not put paper down the pan, so there was a bucket of shit rags to greet you every visit. Luckily I'd had explosive diohrea for a couple of days so I was pleased with the conditions.



Sir, you seem to have forgotten you calvin classics



The first night me and the frenchy's headed over to the shack for some food and buckets (they all now call me simon bucket, it's going to be hard drinking alcohol out of anything but a bucket back in the UK... Dad, if you're reading, i'd like a customised drinking bucket for my 30th.....). I still had a bit of a dodgy gut and at around 9pm, sat with 4 recently met frenchies, I took a calculated risk which backfired. So I was sat with shit in my pants and nowhere to turn. Luckily all four of them had a string of garlic around their necks so I don't think they could smell it. When they all took their baguettes out to start eating I siezed my opportunity and waddled off to the toilets to ditch my pants in the shit rag bin. Winner.



Daddy still loves you Harvey

There was a very unusal climate on the island. You could almost always hear thunder and see lightening in the distance over the mainland, so you found yourself sunbathing whilst listening to thunder! After three years of studying geography at uni I should probably know the explaination, but all I can tell you about those three years is how to put on two stone and sleep until 5pm. When the storms did hit they hit in style, I saw some immense lightening and I've never heard thunder that loud (almost needed another change of pants one night). I think perhaps my favourite thing about our bungalow resort was that they had three 6 week old puppies who you could play with every night, made me really miss Harvey... If you're reading Bully, I hope you're being ruddy bloody brave for your daddy.



My only cause for concern over the past week or so on Koh Rung is the continuing failure of my wounds to heal. It has now been over 6 weeks since I got bitten by a spider or something, and they still have not healed. Ruddy annoying, as i'm disinfecting 3 times a day and going through about 5 plasters a day. Also, the foot I injured in bangkok is still swelling up regularly and feels weird, so i'm off to Thailand tomorrow to see a doc in Bangkok (fun 14hr bus journey) before Chiang Mai and Pai...

My injuries bring me neatly onto the topic of hatred, and I'm pleased to announce that I have a newly established hatred no.3 to sit proudly alongside sky television customer services and cyclists. So coming in at number 3 is flies. What a complete fucking waste of life they are. Seriously, do they serve any purpose whatsoever? All they do is swarm around my wounds and repeatedly infect them with their sick fucking eggs, or, swarm around my food trying to spew on it. What is your fucking problem bitches.

Alongside sunbathing the island had some decent jungle to explore, I went in and came out looking like I had measles. Because activities were relatively limited it gave me an opportunity to read and write alot, and then get smashed at night. Because it was so small you got to know everyone there, which was really cool (if you liked them). After two nights there and a number of buckets I started to assume the tag of village idiot, which quickly descended smoothly and predictably into the role of town drunk. My exile was finally confirmed this morning when I awoke on a boat hogtied and gagged. My possessions were beside me and infront of me lay a bucket of whisky noted "thank you, NEVER COME BACK'' with the soiled pants from night one draped over one side.