Last August, 5,527 souls stumbled onto this site; most searching for Pattaya Pussy and being disappointed. This August, the total currently stands at 23,518, which is a ridiculous figure for something so inconsequential.

By way of introduction, those who have not already done so are invited to partake of part one of the saga, in which our hero builds an assortment of cars and tries to race them. After which:

Having had a reasonably successful year campaigning a road car, I was ready to step up to the world of real racing cars, but what type to buy? Having previously driven a Lotus 7, and a Lotus 7 rip-off, it seemed logical to move into Clubmans. Started in 1965, and still active today, Clubmans initially catered for people who wanted to convert their Lotus 7 into a racing car, or those who were mad and skilled enough to build their own machine.

The rules were simple enough. Front engine, rear wheeled drive, and the beast had to be wide enough to theoretically hold two people, although the passenger area was typically covered in and full of tubing. Most popular, and most expensive, were the cars from Mallock, this example is a Mk 18 from the mid-1970s, still running in classic events:

As a clear indicator of our pointless lives, neighbour Nik and I pass each other objects on a regular basis with the detailed instruction “have a go at this then”. The object in question is invariably a complete bastard to photograph.

It all started, as many things do, with a wine glass. How do you photograph a wine glass without capturing unwanted reflections? The answer, courtesy of a book called Light, Science and Magic, turned out to be very complicated.

From there it has been downhill, and anything remotely reflective has been passed between us with thinly disguised sneers, indicating a certainty that this latest offering will defeat all attempts to avoid unwanted reflections.

A couple of days ago I received this from Nik:

Almost seven weeks since I made my pledge to attend the windsurfing club at least three times a week, and I am pleased to say that I have fulfilled the conditions every week, apart from this one where I have only been twice so far. But it was agreed (by me) that four hours walking round Chinatown qualifies as an alternative to a visit to the club, but I might go sailing tomorrow anyway, just to ensure that the presiding committtee (my conscience) can’t raise any objections.

It hasn’t always been easy. There have been afternoons when there has been no wind and it has either been stinking hot or raining; and the last thing I have felt like doing is driving all the way to the club and then paddling a SUP for an hour down to the marina and back, in waters that are currently containing more than their share of jellyfish. But I have found myself doing it, because of the pledge I made.

Yesterday was the day I realised I had made something of a breakthrough, helped in no small part by this:

Some more shots from my walk through Chinatown in Bangkok. All taken with the Olympus 75mm lens, which is great for capturing people; but maybe less good for capturing a sense of place; although hopefully some of these do both.

Typical small business owner, watching over his employees and ready to do a deal. Striped shirt optional:

To Bangkok, where I am to attend a meeting of our condo committee. It could be a very pleasant affair, if it were not for one member who is a complete arsehole. He attempts to get his way by shouting abuse at everyone, and the other Thais on the committee, who are all ladies, are too shocked and humiliated to face up to him; leaving the farangs to argue the case.

All very tiring, and this state of affairs has been going on for months. This week I decided I had better things to do with my life and walked out of the meeting.

Feeling generally pissed off, I went for a walk into Chinatown. Stood near the main train station studying a map, and a tuk-tuk stopped next to me. Just what I needed, someone else to annoy me and an attempt to rip me off. Surprisingly, no. He offered to show me directions to my destination; then explained it was his day off and he just liked to take his tuk-tuk for little drives; but not too far because the engine became too hot. He was very smartly dressed and admitted to being a bit of a playboy. He was certainly a bit of a chatty chap and it was hard to get away, although we eventually parted with firm handshakes, by which time I had forgotten the directions he had given me.

Turned out to be a good thing, because I ended up walking down small sois in an area which appeared to be dedicated to the storage and distribution of metal bars. Work spilled onto the pavement and I had to walk round all manner of industry to make any progress.

There are now thirty two lenses available for the micro four thirds system, with more on the way in time for Photokina next month. Plus there are hundreds of other lenses that you can use in conjunction with an adapter. That’s a lot of lenses, enough for anyone to create a collection that matches their needs, wallet and camera bag volume. Contrary to she who must be obeyed’s assertions, I don’t own the full set, and deciding which lenses to choose for my collection has been an interesting process (for me).

Thanks Jason. I think.

We all worry about our children. At least, I know I did.

As The Son lay in his cot, talking bollocks and filling his nappy, my first concern was “hope his mother arrives soon to change it”; but then I thought about him growing up. Would he become an accountant with a mortgage and responsibilities and a heart bursting with civic pride, or would he end up on the floor of a Bolivian brothel surrounded by crack whores whilst being sought by police in five countries. As he grew up, I must admit I sometimes wondered which of those two outcomes I would prefer for myself, let alone him; but in the end all we can hope for our kids is that they remain healthy and find a sort of happiness in this fucked up version of reality we are condemned to dwell within for an approximate number of years.