Free A Tiger in Eden by Chris Flynn Page B

here mate.
    There was all this shite about gloves too. I can guarantee the durability of these gloves what the fuck’s that all about, were gloves a major export industry back then? Douglas Fairbanks acts very well indeed was another one. Jesus sure that shows how old it was, wasn’t he Tarzan or Robin Hood or something? The best was this wee exchange which I memorised in the Thai ‘cos it sounded dead handy.
    I want a woman.
    Yes, I shall find one for you. Do you like this one?
    Yes, I like her very much. Call me a tricycle.
    Fucking pisser that is, like. Imagine going up to some cunt in the street and saying I want a woman just like that and then wouldn’t you know he just happens to have one handy and she fits the bill, probably his daughter or his wife or something. Fucking disgusting this place I was thinking, sure they’ll sell you anything that’s not nailed down even the phrasebooks in the forties had sample conversations with pimps but the best part has got to be the bit about the tricycle, sure is that what they had for taxis back then, did yer man and his whore have to stand on the back whilst some wee Thai fucker pedalled like fuck to the nearest hotel, pure madness so it is, fucking economy based on glove-making and prostitution though they seemed to have done away with the gloves these days.
    So we come to this wee town called Chumphon, don’t know where they got the names of these places from though I suppose they could say the same about our towns, Ballymena Armagh Glengormley or whatever, the only reason they don’t sound fucking stupid is ‘cos you grow up saying them, for all I know Antrim means knob jockey or something in the Thai.
    Anyway we jumped off the aul bus in Chumphon and checked into this wee guesthouse down a back street though it seemed to be all back streets. The Thai girl on reception spoke dead good English, the best I’d heard. Olly tried to chat her up but she gave him such a dirty look he let it go sharpish. I felt sorry for her, I was thinking every western cunt that came into the place must of tried it on with her, what a pain in the arse. Anyway Olly heads on up to the room for a shower muttering under his breath and I hung back to say sorry to the wee girl.
    Don’t pay him no mind, I says, sure he’s French.
    So? she goes, is that an excuse for being a letcher?
    Steady on love, I says, it goes both ways you know, sure I’ve been offered all sorts of services by the locals, I feel like a fucking walking dollar sign sometimes not to mention an aul perve, we’re not all sex tourists you know, it does my head in too.
    She gave me a good looking-over then and let out a big sigh. Well sorry about that, she says, please excuse me for being so rude I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, she sounded a bit sarcastic but I waved it off, don’t worryabout it, I goes, sure how long you been working here no offence but you sound dead educated or something.
    Thanks for noticing, she goes, you’re right of course I shouldn’t be here at all but jobs in the tourist industry are about all a woman can get. I’m actually a chartered accountant.
    You’re kidding me on, I says, sure what the fuck you doing behind the desk there excuse my language miss.
    What. The fuck. Am I. Doing. Here. She said it all spaced out like that and straightaway I knew I’d be pals with her, sure I felt exactly the same way even though I was on the other side of the desk every desk has two sides to it doesn’t it though and sometimes one’s just as bad as the other.
    Is there no jobs in the accountancy then, I says, well I do a bit here, she goes, but getting into one of the big firms is basically impossible if you’re a woman.
    What about in other countries, I says, sure your English is better than mine could you not go to the Australia or somewhere like that.
    All very well saying that, she goes, but having the money to go is out of the question, I’ll have to work here for about five years just to save