Day 12: Phi Phi

A very rocky boat journey. It was cold and wet and the waves were coming on board. A family, 4 of them, just wouldn't stop being sick. It was comical. I can't really describe what it sounded like. But imagine a man shouting 'grhhhh rapurrrrr' at the top of his voice, hitting himself in the gut and then throwing up into his wife's lap. It was like that. Then his wife was sick, and she screamed and then the two children were sick on their tops. We were sitting right next to them. So the next 3 hours were unpleasant.

Eventually arrived at Phi Phi, which is a smaller version of Koh Tao. The island is filled with travellers, and it's so small that you soon become familiar with all of the people there. How can I not sound like a bamp and talk about the views? I can't. So I'll just sound like one. Even though it was overcast the views were breathtaking (mother nature in all her beauty). The bay was surrounded by cliffs of rock, covered with dark green trees. The water had patches of clear where shoals of small fish clustered together (Jonny later tried to catch these fish again in a cup).

We met up with Oscar and Imran and spent the day on the beach. There is about 4 birds for every lad. But most of the lads are ripped and look like cunts. Me and Henry will have to be on fire to stand a chance.

Started the night in the Reggae Bar, played some pool and drank small Tiger beers and Changs. Wandered over to another bar for an hour, which was called something 'Velvet', but Jonny mistook for 'Belvedere Combover'. Then it was back to Reggae Bar to watch the Thai kick boxing.

A nails bald Scouser owned the bar with his brother and uncle. They were complete cunts. The uncle was a dirty old perv, about 50, he had gold chains all over him, saggy tits, and an open white linen shirt. The brother was just a lanky tit, who thought he knew how to box and got up in the ring with the main guy and sparred for a bit, trying to impress all the girls watching who didn't even look at him.

The main guy: the big bald nutter

There has never been anybody harder. Ever. He had tats all over his arms and back, a thick neck, scars on his head, a mean looking face, stocky, hated travellers and went through the back of a pro each night. He was fucking nails.

People got invited up to fight each other, and if I'd had a pair of hangers between my legs I'd have got up. (If I went back next year it would be one of the things I'd love to do. Saying that I'd probably bottle it again.) There was talk of me and Jonny getting up and fighting each other, but he'd have nailed me, so I said I was too drunk.

We were sitting next to a group of guys, who where in their early twenties, from South Africa. The nails skinhead challenged one of them, who looked terrified,and we encouraged him to get up saying he'd stand a chance. He was called Dave, quite a stocky little bastard, but didn't really stand a chance.

The bell rang and the fight started. Dave took the first round to the crowd's delight, he stayed against the ropes and when the skinhead moved in, Dave did swift clever sidesteps, throwing hooks and jabs. The second round was much the same, and the uncle and brother who were commentating couldn't believe that the champion of Phi Phi was about to get beaten. We were shouting for Dave, the whole crowd was. Then the skinhead threw a haymaker, right across Dave's right eye, and followed it with an upper cut to the nose, Dave was on the deck, and it had probably ruined his holiday. Chin up Dave.

Next fight was memorable. An Irish lad with braids got up. He was a right ugly cunt. Gaunt face, hollow eyes, goofy teeth. The complete opposite of him got up. Oli.

Now I'll tell you about Oli. He had been in the bar all night, sitting with a group of six girls, all of them stunning, one of them his girlfriend, and they all loved him. He was one of those lame freshers who loves drinking games and is good at every sport. He had blond hair, short and spiked up, a perfect body, I mean fucking perfect- six pack, good arms, legs were muscly. His face was chiseled. He looked like Brad Pitt. And we all immediately hated him. You know why. Because he reminded us of James King. Fucking James King. The man I'll never be. I'm writing this blog a year later, having lost weight and worked out, and I'm still nothing compared to him. So we had it in for Oli.

'Oli Oli,' we shouted. He turned to us and with his posh beautiful Oxford voice and tense muscles replied 'Yes guys, what's up?'
'Fuck off you posh wanker. I'll eat your fucking spleen.' Mo shouted, standing on the table, throwing his drink onto the ground.
'I'm gonna mush up your kidney Oli and stab your bird you fuck' I shouted.
'Your birds a fucking slut and I'm gonna rape her and make you watch.' Jonny shouted also standing on the table.

Oli was scared by this point. The crowd were disgusted that we had torn into their champ. That's what he was. That's what King is. The people's fucking champ. Everybody's hero. My hero.

'You cunt, you fucking cunt Oli. I'll piss on you.' Oscar came in with.

We gave him grief through the whole fight. I don't think the Irish guy touched him. Oli danced past every punch, ducking, throwing jabs to the face and stomach. The crowd were going wild. Tears of envy and pride were in my eyes. We had to applaud him. What a cunt. The Irish guy was almost dead by the third round (we saw him later that night and he had two black eyes, a cut on his cheek and fat popped lips).

The bald nutter had overheard our abuse. And he wasn't happy. He walked over to our table and chose to vent his anger on Mo. Because Mo is a curry guzzler, and nobody likes a fucking dirty Arab.

'Why don't me and you take this outside?' The nutter said, punching his fist into the palm of his hand, imagining how easy it would be to crush our skulls.
'Sorry?' Mo stuttered, shitting himself.
'We'll take this outside.'

Now Mo was drunk and wasn't in any state to negotiate his way out of a fight, so he apolgised as much as he could before quickly leaving the bar and hiding on the beach.

We found Mo later on, shivering in a darkened corner of the club on the beach. And the night started.

A few shots of Tequila and a bucket of whiskey and coke got us ready for a dance on the beach. The tide was out, and hundreds of people were dancing closely together. A lot of people were getting burnt by the fire rope. We saw Oli do it, and unsurprisingly he jumped over the rope time and time again. The crowd wet again.

We sat in a group talking to 2 Scottish birds. Their patter was gash. But it didn't deter Henry, who's horn was on. He went for the uglier of the two, probably because he didn't fancy the gamble of going for the better one and losing out. Harry started talking to the fat one. I really don't know why he's started this thing for fat birds, but he's definitely the surprise pig of the holiday.

So the rest of us walked down to where everybody was dancing and soon split up. I found myself staring at a girl. The way she was dancing was making me hard. Her hair was swaying and her hips and tight little arse were moving in rhythm with the music. I stumbled over to her, and tried the immediate grind. She knocked me back at first, probably because she felt my semi touch her back. But I wasn't giving up. Jonny was dancing with a fucking rough bird next to me. She was about 40 and looked like she'd been in a horrific accident, she had a gammy hand and a lazy eye and looked like a horse.

The girl I was after was called Mel. She was Australian/Thai. Spoke in a weird accent, but understood everything I said. I was worried that she was a cock tease because I was buying her drinks and dancing, and she was grinding me by this point but every time I lent in she would swirl away. She was a great dancer though and I wasn't too bothered.

Jonny was playing those hand slapping games that you see 8 year old girls playing in the schoolyard with his bird. What the fuck was he doing? If that's how you get your tally with birds up, then I'm out.

We walked across the beach with Jonny and his bird, towards their hotel. I stopped and asked if she wanted to go into the sea, and next thing I was in the water, quite far out with her, it was pitch black, and she had her legs wrapped round me and I was lovingly kissing her and telling her I knew I'd loved her from the moment I'd seen her and she was giving me a bit of a handy with her soft small hands.

Arrived at her hotel, where Jonny was trying to convince his to let him stay there (turns out they were friends). She was having none of it, and Jonny got angry and aggressive and shouted 'But here man looka I've got fucking condoms'. It didn't convince her and he walked back to our room alone.

I took Mel back to mine in the end. Mo was passed out on the bed with Harry. I had a shower with her, she had tiny hips and small tits. A completely bare minge. (Does that desciption make her sound 12? She was actually 23. The one in Phuket was probably 12) We went onto my bed and had sex for over an hour. It was the performance of my life. Did I call her Carly throughout? And tell her I loved her? Maybe. All I know was she let me lick her minge for ages, and I came three times.