Thursday, March 15, 2012

The Great Engineering Swindle

Our much-trumpeted engineering solution was a total failure. They used huge chunks of styrofoam instead of small cubes, no mesh, and no gravel at all in the cement, so they might as well have covered marshmallows in icing sugar and hoped for a miracle:


But the miracle never happened:


Like a bad politician I blame others, but like a good soldier I'm resigning my commission because I can't see how I could bring anything but shame on the regiment now my lack of leadership has been so glaringly exposed. From now on I'll just be Me.

Actually it doesn't matter very much; they can just fix those bits and then it'll get a layer of tile putty and tiles on top, but still...

I suffered another setback because the antique tile I fancied, at 28 baht a tile, would have made the bathroom the most expensive room in the house. I couldn't bear to live in a place like that, especially since the rest of it is carefully badly finished and done on the cheap. Also I'm cheap. Instead, with a heavy heart, I made my way over to Ratchada and the bathroom emporia there and bought some bog-standard chessboard floor tile and small white tiles for the walls in the hope that that will at least produce a slightly institutional effect.

I had to get a Subaru to transport them back. The driver was ancient and a kind of stoic complainer, the way such people often are, somehow both grumpy and imperturbable. The load was far too heavy for the car, but he noted the fact and then cleared some debris from the seat and we set off. Have you got your bill? he barked, 'not unkindly.'

The car was a time machine, weird bits of armature and rusty bottle tops on the dashboard, dusty curled papers spilling out from behind the sun shield, and the drive took us along one of those back routes where it's always 20 years ago. Little lawyer's practices, condo sales offices where the hoardings have bleached to near-invisibility, bad apartments, restaurants with a car parked in the back of the eating area, grimy houses where no one seems to live but the slippers outside the door change every now and again ...Pracha Uthit. Klong Chuat Yai. And then, in the gathering dusk, you recognise the handwriting on a sign nailed to a tree that says sue air kau, and soon you're home.

He helped me carry the tiles in, so I gave him a 100-baht tip and a cold drink, and all of a sudden a radiant smile... No, I can't do it.

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