Friday 3rd August 2018
Reading time 3 minutes 07 seconds
To alcohol, the Cause of and solution to all of life’s problems – Homer J. Simpson.
Me: “Where am I?”
Stranger: “We’re just landing into Sydney airport….”
20 hours previously.
Bangkok. A busy, beautiful and vibrant city. It was the year 2000 and I had been in south east Asia for a few months, but it was time to move on.
I had time to kill before getting a flight to Australia to see my sister and when walking down Bangkok’s backpacker’s high road someone shouted my name. It was Giles. We had kicked around Laos together and he invited me to join him and some friends for a beer. I’m not a one beer kind of guy but I thought I’d give it a go. Error.
We started to drink, talk and share memories. We also met a few people. One of our fellow travellers was a chap making a living as a body piercer. Ordinarily I’m a conservative person but this travelling lark broadens the horizons and before you know it one thing led to another and I was in a hostel with another guy, not Giles, who decided to get his septum pierced. Within minutes he had a ring through the middle bit of his nose. The blood was everywhere. Thoughts of hepatitis or infections were the last thing from my mind as me and my new piercing buddy were live by the seat of our pants heroes.
It was now my turn. What did I want pierced? Weirdly I hadn’t worked this out. My eyebrow had already been done as had my ears. He suggested my nipples but when he examined me he said that I didn’t have nipples big enough. I’m unsure to this day if that’s masculine or not. Undeterred he pulled out an extremely long, fat needle and proceeded to put a hole under where my tiny nipple was. Ask Alexa and she will tell you this is called an areola. I wish Alexa had told me at the time it would be the worst pain I would ever experience as it was evident that big holes do not exist in that part of your body for a reason.
I was screaming in agony and my septum pierced friend had to hold me down. Mr Piercer surveyed his work. He looked so pleased he suggested he do the other one and promptly repeated the exercise and doubled my pain.
My alcohol intake had made my blood thinner than a super model which meant it was like a scene from an X-rated version of Holby City. When I looked down it was as if a chicken had been slaughtered over me as I was messy and bloody and had two rings through holes below my tiny nipples.
Wicked. Cool right?
Mr Piercer was on a roll and asked if I fancied a Prince Albert? I naively didn’t know what this was and whilst travel may broaden the horizons if you don’t know something you don’t know. He explained the history of Queen Victoria’s favourite piercing and not being blessed in that department I decided to Tesco it, because every little helps….
I’m unsure of what happened next. I have flashbacks to being on a coach to the airport and showing people my new body work. I also remember the police in the airport looking at me.
I then woke up on a plane and I was strapped in laying across four seats. A stewardess appeared and filled in the blanks. The Thai police had put me on the plane and although I was very drunk apparently I was also very charming so the pilot agreed to let me fly.
On arrival in Australia I was searched thoroughly as I guessed the captain had radioed ahead and explained about the Thai police and that I may be a drugs mule.
Now when I run or cycle after a while my nipples hurt. I keep the piercings as a reminder not to be so stupid.
And as for Prince Albert. It never happened. This was not due to a small nipple type scenario, I was about 90 pence short….Honest.
Picture: I get stage fright…………