How hard do you want it?

We have moved. A choir of angels are singing the hallelujah chorus as I type. Finally we are in our apartment on the 16th floor with amazing views across the city and a pot for each of us to piss in simultaneously if we fancy. The parquet floors are perfect for skidding in socks and there's plenty of space for our regular Family Dance, especially now we've splashed out on a Boom Box. Belle and Sebastian's "Boy with the Arab Strap", Stone Roses "This is the one", and Patti Smith's version of "Gloria" were just some of yesterday's disco tunes giving rise to dance like noones watching. Each room has a balcony so bring on the storms, though kids are banned from venturing out, the stuff of nightmares. The bedrooms have walk-in-wardrobes and the kids are taking it in turns to lock each other in, switch off the lights and scream, loudly. I need to teach them how to play Hide and Seek, before the neighbours suspect us and call Childline. Also, thanks to the wardrobes, a far cry from what I'm used to back home, I can now see at a glance that I only seem to purchase navy trousers, what's that about? And that everything I own needs ironing. I can also admire my shoes, I shan't be wearing them here, doubt I'll ever make it out of flip flops, and even they make my feet feel bruised on the soles. I seem to walk a lot in this city of smiles and knackered feet. I've given a virtual tour to a few of my beloved friends/family so they can picture where we are, and envision forthcoming holidays. Hark at me! It's very beige, lots of neutrals, so we're spicing it up with bright cushions and throws from "Ginger", my new favourite shop.

James and I are taking it in turns to explore locally, can't really wheel the kids up and down the main road, they get knackered too quickly and demand to "go 'ome". On my initial trip out I encountered my first Bangkok rat, back leg broken, blood on his hip, limping towards his death on the main road, Sukhumvit. I wanted a little ambulance driven by a gerbil in a luminous paramedic uniform to come to his rescue but alas, as James pointed out, he's more likely to be bbq'd on a skewer. I ventured out to a supermarket, Villa, where they sell stuff you can get at home, Fray Bentos pies, quorn pieces, sausage rolls, etc. I'm not missing home enough to opt for the pie, but this will be my yardstick for sorrow/ future bouts of homesickness - do I need a Fray Bentos pie?

There is an exotic looking massage place 5 minutes down the road. Judging by the Japanese well-to-do ladies in their straw hats paying and exiting, I presume it's not a 'massage' parlour in a coital sense. I go in and book an appointment. The list of treatments are extensive, what do I choose? I've delved in to holistic therapies before now, even had my exhausted pregnant body scrubbed and rubbed like a big joint of pork on a Sunday, salted and oiled. I can do this. I opt for an oil massage, I'm not ready to be trodden on Thai style just yet, I'll work up to that. My lady greets me and brings me lemon tea in a wooden handleless cup, then smuggles me down darkened corridors to don over sized patterned peasant pants and washes my feet in a sink on the ground (reminds me of toilets/holes in the ground when you visit rural monuments in Greece, without the stench, and I don't have to squat and wee down my leg). Having had my feet anointed, I am delivered to a darkened room and seated in a comfortable, squashy leather arm chair reminiscent of Joey and Chandler's in Friends. I haven't been massaged in company before and the sound of other bodies being pummeled and slapped is a bit weird yet not ruinous to my relaxation. I have opted for a foot massage though my entire legs are catered to, occasionally bordering on unpleasant, mostly relieving. I have my head, neck and shoulders massaged and I'm thankful my boobs are left alone (my friend unable to say the same since her recent touch up in a massage shop). There are moments when I need to giggle, like when she punches me, wrings my neck from behind, and when she hit me on the top of the head a few times, making me feel like a human boiled egg. I'm glad I ticked the "medium" option for intensity of massage, don't think I'd want it hard! Not yet.