If new property projects are any indication of a vibrant economy, Pattaya is booming. You can’t go more than 50 metres in any direction without being confronted with a poster for some dubious concrete monstrosity which will change your life and make you a better person. Allegedly.

The latest development comes from Raimon Land, famous for building Northshore and Northpoint, and for not building The Lofts; a project they seem to have wiped off their corporate map. Now we have The Zire, a new tower to be built right next door to an existing tower. Just for fun, I decided to sign up for information about the project; big mistake.

After an avalanche of e-mails, advising me of upcoming launches in both Pattaya and Bangkok, I receive a call from a breathlessly-excited salesperson who wants to know whether I will be coming to the Bangkok or Pattaya launch. I think “none of your business” and tell her Pattaya. She almost orgasms with excitement at this news. And which of the three days of the launch will I be coming, and will I come in the morning, afternoon or evening? I think “WTF” and tell her I don’t know. She fails to orgasm and rings off.

More e-mails follow, and then last week yet another call. Did I come to the Bangkok launch, or will I be going to the Pattaya launch? Clearly these idiots do not write down any information as the result of their cold calls. Through gritted teeth I tell her Pattaya and hope she will now leave me alone. She doesn’t. And which of the three days of the launch will I be coming, and will I come in the morning, afternoon or evening?

It’s like telling a shop you are going to come and look at their televisions, and the shop wanting you to make an appointment. It’s a display of a housing project in a mall, not a limited seating seminar with a set starting time and tea and cakes afterwards. It’s completely stupid and they don’t deserve to sell The Zire.

Still, maybe I was wrong and the development is so popular that you have to make an appointment to have a chance at seeing a salesperson. Well, not on Friday afternoon at 1530 you wouldn’t.

To Bangkok for the biannual meeting with my endocrinologist. At least, that is what I think he is, I just call him doctor; and for the last eight years or so we have been meeting every six months to discuss my thyroid.

After seeing several failures posing as medical men, it was this doctor who looked into my swollen eyes and said “Grave’s Disease”, from which followed three years of unpleasantness and operations. The eye disaster has long since been fixed, but the over-active thyroid gland which kicked the whole thing off has continued to rage; held in check by a small white pill taken daily. And every six month they test my blood, pronounce my thyroid still raging, and more white pills are prescribed.

Fresh from the yawn-fest that was Black Swan; how about an uplifting tale of overcoming disability, how about The King’s Speech?

So there’s this bloke and he has a bit of stammer. And he finds another bloke to help him; and for two hours they embark on a number of increasingly bizarre remedial exercises. At the end of it all the stammering bloke makes a nice little speech without stammering and everyone claps. The end.

OK, let’s get the positives out of the way. Natalie Portman gives an Oscar-worthy acting performance, and the level of commitment she must have shown to master the physicality of ballet deserves respect. That’s the only positive thing I can find to say about Black Swan.

Portman plays Nina, a dancer in a ballet company about to start a production of Swan Lake. She is selected for the leading role which will require her to dance both the white and black swan roles. Conveniently for the story, Nina is already a bit of a schizophrenic, so dancing both characters should be a breeze. But with the added pressure from her mother, and a perceived rival in the form of Lily (Mila Kunis); Nina slowly descends into madness; which is just what she needs if she is to become the Black Swan. Allegedly.

Urgent missive from Camberley this week, enquiring whether or not we had sunk beneath the waves. Apparently this week’s New Scientist features an article claiming that the Gulf of Thailand is rising by 4mm every year; much more than the average for the area.

Camberley could impart this information because he reads the New Scientist, and I don’t mean he just looks at the pictures. He actually understands it. He certainly could, and maybe has, contributed to the journal. For all I know he may be the managing editor; he just has that sort of brain. And I am not just saying this because there is a real chance he might complete all the Trainyard levels before me.

What a month. Frantic decorating, followed swiftly by frantic shitting; and now we are in the totally sealed arse phase, after ingesting a pharmacy’s worth of Imodium. Life can be bliss sometimes; but not right now.

On the plus side, I lost three kilograms in four days which must be some sort of achievement. Never knew poo weighed so much.

Still not feeling up to doing anything taxing, such as writing; which is a shame because I have watched a couple of truly awful movies which I need to warn you about. The only thing that got me out of my chair today was a flower that neighbour Nik had nicked from a nearby garden. Rather splendid and it demanded to be photographed, so I did:

Warning: Extensive references to faeces.

As befits a man of my vintage, I have a few bodily complaints. My back hurts, my eyes are not as good as they could be and the hair does not have the coverage it once had. But throughout the various medical pitfalls that have punctuated my life; my digestive system has continued to operate with commendable efficiency. You can throw anything at it; and while other may be vomiting in a corner, Spike’s digestive tract just gets on doing what it was designed to do.

Not really into processing photos; but played around in Topaz Adjust and liked this. Quite a labour of love, it took me all of five hours twenty ten three minutes:

There is something in the human condition that, when we discover something truly unpleasant, drives us to share the information. Perhaps we feel that the act of sharing will dilute our disgust, perhaps we want to discuss it and try in some way to rationalise it; or maybe we are just typical Daily Mail readers and want to go “tut tut” at some abomination before waddling off for a cup of tea and forgetting about it.

She who must be obeyed has a notebook in which she enters details of things she wants to photograph. Some time ago we were wandering around Nong Nuch gardens and she announced:

I want to photograph a Habitas.

You mean a house, a habitat?

No, a Habitas.

I have no idea what you are talking about.

A Habitas!! Look, I have a picture of one in my notebook. {She shows me a photo of a Hibiscus}.

Ah, you mean a Hibiscus.

Yes, exactly, a Habitas.

And from that day forward, a Habitas is what we have called it; it’s just easier.

We have a couple of Habistases (Habitus? Habiti?) on our balcony; so I thought I would celebrate my first free day for a while by taking some photos, and looking at a Habitas through a variety of lenses.

I decided to shoot in order of lens cost; so first of all we have the rather expensive Voightlander 25mm: