BKK hospital emergency room - come for the beer, stay for the miraculous lazarus hamster.

It's only natural to feel the need to irradiate oneself by means of those benevolent lobotomies that only a decent drink can provide. But suitable fun is hard to come by when you're an asshole. I have to be inventive.

Being an asshole, it's hard to find the right place to go Malcolm Lowry. The ubiquitous cloistered inferno of soi bars - where the walls sweat bored sleaze as the lights mutter vague, luminous things - are useless to me. I'm terrified of their boredom. How can the tender mercies of that fifth drink register whilst watching blank interchangeable men in smart casual attire teeter like somnambulists on fire amongst all those tiny women on tiny stools?

Not even across town is there respite for an asshole. A longneck is a wasted longneck when lambasted out the front of a Banglamphu 7-11 by a twenty-something ex-Israeli sniper who is convinced Che Guevara was part of the rhythm section of The Wailers.

Taxi over there. Something something something Irish pub. Nice toilets, jaded expats. Happiness is the loneliness number that you'll ever know. One is a warm gun. 

There was this Hungarian micro brewery where I just wanted to steal cashews. The place was filled with chrome vats and sozzled Korean businessmen doing pitch perfect impersonations of Dean Martin if Dean Martin was a total fuckwit. I thought I was having fun but I was just experiencing problems with depth perception.

The obligatory sinking of Singhas on a plastic stool on the putrid, glittering streets of Yaowarat. The 7 baht public bus took me somewhere. They kicked me off at a big building that shimmered with excitement. Streamers and flashing lights. 

So there I was in the waiting room of the emergency department of Bangkok hospital drinking beer. It was a pretty popular place with a number of very affable, deranged Thais. What air conditioning! I breathed it in, perfect like ice water. Stainless steel reflected everything in a dull malaise. Those drinks worked. I completely forgot there was something terrible waiting for me behind flimsy locked doors and the backs of mirrors. A young Thai guy with a head wound came in on a stretcher that kept collapsing. At first I thought he was crying, but I think he was just overjoyed to have made it to the party. The desk staff and RNs didn't pay for drinks and shimmied between paperwork. I made a rough count and there were more people drinking than having haemorrhages. Everyone had eleven aces to play. Sari - the vendor - gave the wounded young Thai a Leo beer. The young Thai skulled it. His skull was all busted up. He fell off the stretcher and they took him to away through double doors, probably to a more exclusive bar.

When the party subsided, Santi - a local of the fine medical/bar establishment - took us outside for the main show. He had a little towel and a guinea pig/furry breathing animal. It chirped and smiled and giggled and wished me great luck in my many endeavours. Santi winked, tickled the furry thing's belly and - Shazaam! - the hamster thing died instantly. Everyone applauded. It was brilliant, truly brilliant.

Then he brought it back to life. Everyone applauded. It was brilliant, truly brilliant. I asked him to kill it again so I could take a photo. Someone held my drink, Santi killed it again and I took the shot. Just look at that thing. I think it got up again.

Yeah, it did.

What a consummate professional the little bugger is/was/is/was/is.

I had another beer and went home. Taxi was 45 baht.