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Before leaving for Thailand, my dear cousin Rachel announced that during my time here she would be arriving in Phuket (after a couple of days in Bangkok) on a crazy holiday with her friend. Accommodating as I am, I tweaked my itinerary slightly in order to ruin her holiday for a few days. So, I arrived in the same Phuket resort unannounced and found my way to a separate guesthouse run by Larry the Australian. According to the literature he runs a boutique establishment with only four rooms (get an extension mate) and, as I discovered upon arrival, “keeps things informal”. The quotation (which we shall label 1 for future reference) in the previous sentence was indeed attributed to Larry, but was delivered some time after my arrival; in fact on arrival the place was completely empty, but with initiative I managed to locate an empty room and match it to one of the keys he had left on the counter downstairs.

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This scenic island is an increasingly popular spot for the young crowd - indeed many young westerners seem to be manning the diving shops and other amenities, probably in conflict with visa regulations. Actually, a lot of them are leftover volunteers who helped clean up after the island was destroyed by the 2004 tsunami. In happier times, the island’s smaller sibling was the location used to film “The Beach”, and a snorkelling trip took us to see this up-close. Needless to say it’s not quite as good as in the film where clever camerawork hid the tour boats. Although, I think they all die in the end when their ocean liner sinks, so perhaps I shouldn’t complain.

Incidentally, I have discovered a new form of entertainment in the DVDs available for £1, potentially adding an annualised £365 to the travel bill.

Also, I accidentally managed to offend yet another American, ironically [English usage] by remarking how refreshing it was that - unlike previous encounters with Americans - I hadn’t managed to accidentally offend him yet. Could somebody please check with the Foreign Office that I’m on-message? With me loose in the outside world, Gordon can be free to spend his time worrying about things like car bombs and how to smile convincingly.

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In Krabi, the main town serving as a transport hub to nearby west coast islands, a guest house was advertised as providing free wireless internet access. On arrival, before asking for details about the room, I checked that they did indeed provide this service. “Yes, but you’ll need the password. It’s ten digits long.” The American owner waited for me to grab a pen to write it down. “The password is 1234567890,” he grinned knowing that I could probably have remembered it. And then helpfully: “I just go like this,” running his hand across the top row of his keyboard - although of course not actually touching the keys for fear of upsetting the booking system.

So, I spent the morning on the internet - long enough, anyway, for the American to compliment me on my battery life. I believe the word “phenomenal” was used. (Apologies to those I failed to email - it was an unfortunate oversight.) Anyway, the Israeli girls had emailed to say they were on another nearby island (actually, peninsular, but which can only really be reached by boat), called Railay.I was warned that the journey was perilous in the small ‘longtail’ boats that serve the beach there, involving severe danger of wetness as you wade from the beach aiming for the boat which will be moored a little way out. Accordingly, I kept the room on the mainland so I could leave electrical items there, while heading to Railay for a couple of nights. Naturally, I wanted this decision to be vindicated, and secretly hoped to emerge in Railay with the small amount of luggage I had brought being completely sodden. The seas were rough, and the boat came crashing down over each wave, but ultimately the drenching I had been promised failed to materialise.

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The guide book warned that noisy crab-eating macaques are a hazard on this island. Arriving after a long bus journey, I was relieved to see there were no monkey-like figures to be seen - although no crabs either, so the monkeys must have been there recently. However, there were also no humans.

As one of approximately five foreigners on the island, I was fortunate that two Israelis were out-going enough to let me join their holiday, even dropping their Hebrew in favour of English for discussions between the two of them (apart from on one occasion, where one asked the other where they had left the plug-adapter - in English, but the ensuing details of its exact whereabouts were deemed uninteresting to a third party).

The two of them hired a moped and set about rounding up all other survivors who had washed up on the island’s shores, bringing them to our resort (for those unwilling to grant poetic license, please note there was no actual plane crash or shipwreck). Soon enough, we had a lively little crowd, and enjoyed our time on the island immensely. However, I could not find wireless internet access, so in the fullness of time I had to move on.

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Staying on a small but busy island off the east coast of Thailand, I was rudely awoken at night by a terrible din. I ventured outside in my pyjamas only to find myself in the midst of the world-renowned Full Moon Party on Ko Pha Ngan! Well, never one to miss a party, I went down to the beach to catch the fun.

In the “World Party Guide”, a book given to me by a colleague as I left work, the Full Moon Party lists in the top ten international festivals, so with a lot of time in Thailand I thought I ought to try it out. I guess I was turning a blind eye to the fact that featuring higher in the chart were Glastonbury and the Notting Hill Carnival, two events in the UK that I have spent my youth studiously avoiding - largely through an aversion to mud, noise, and weirdoes.

To this end - and my perpetual quest for quality acquaintance is well publicised - I have been associating myself only with ravers who have also chosen heavy-duty footwear as they brave the bottle-filled beach. Still, I tried my best to join in.

As I sat before a seaside bucket filled with vodka, I reflected that Steve Evans was suspended from school for drinking a smaller amount. I’m sure he learnt his lesson and wouldn’t be found in these parts. If he’s not holding down a steady job in England, at worst he’ll be running some conservation programme in a poor Muslim country.

Anyway, the alcoholic onslaught (and of course the widely reported stronger drugs are reserved for those who haven’t been so well brought up - incidentally, I’m not familiar with Steve Evans’ record on such substances) was interrupted by my friends receiving reports of break-ins to their rooms, and so they ran back there (note their ability to do so - you wouldn’t do that barefoot).

My room operates a “lights-on only when the key fob is in the slot” mechanism, and, slightly unnerved by the others’ experiences, I spent some time ‘hacking’ the wall fitting - ripping it apart and sticking some safety pins across the circuit board using plasters - thus by-passing the mechanism and giving the impression the room was occupied when in reality I spent the next few hours on the beach. I did go back a few times during the night to check up on it, but less out of fear that my ingenious plan would fail to fool the thieves, and more because of the fire risk - I left it with a few sparks dripping off a blackened safety pin.

If only the Thais were as imaginative: at the Full Moon Party I was struck by how exactly the same it was as every other night on that beach! Only with more people (mainly weirdoes).

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It has long been known that my favourite animal is the elephant, so as a special birthday treat I signed up for a trek into the hills of Northern Thailand with the express aim of riding a wild elephant bareback. The two-day adventure included a spot of white water rafting, in which activity I hoped to save a stranger’s life, as John Prescott did so courageously in 2004.

In a throwback to the 2005 birthday celebrations, held with close family in a Berber village in Morocco, I was delighted that the trip involved an overnight stay in a hill-tribe village. After much questioning as to why a tribe might build a village at the top of a hill, rather than more conveniently at the bottom, I unearthed the truth that these people (immigrants to the nation) are forced for political reasons to remain in the mountains.

Indeed, after strumming “Happy Birthday” on an old guitar, the locals launched into a pro-Thaksin song which has been banned by the current military government since last year’s coup. I pledged my support for their freedom, but felt unable to commit British troops to their ends without a parliamentary vote, even if it was my birthday. After all, my efforts that day had fallen short of even our deputy prime minister (no lives saved, although happily none was lost). Please do not ‘dob me in’ to the junta while I am still in the country.

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