Tuesday 19 August
I I a.m. Bangkok airport. A terrible nightmare seems to be happening. Blood all seems to be racing through my bead and I can hardly see. Shaz went on ahead of me to hold up the plane while I brought the luggage. Had to walk past
an official with a dog on a leash, which was straining at my bag and barking. The airline Officials all started jabbering, and then an army woman took me and the bag away to a separate room. They emptied the holdall, then took a knife and slashed open the lining, and inside was a polythene bag full of white powder. And then ... Oh God. Oh God. Someone help me.
Wednesday 20 August
6st, alcohol units 0, cigarettes 0, calories 0, likelihood of ever eating Thai takeaway again 0.
11 a.m. Police custody, Bangkok. Calm. Calm. Calm. Calm.
11.01 a.m. Calm.
11.02 a.m. Am wearing leg irons. Am wearing LEG IRONS. Am in stinking Third-World cell with eight Thai prostitutes and a potty in the corner. Feel like am going to faint in heat. This cannot be happening.
11.05 a.m. Oh God. It's all falling into place what has happened. Cannot believe anyone could be so callous, to sleep with someone then nick all their things and dupe their friend into being a pigeon. Is unbelievable. Anyway, I expect the British Ambassador will be here soon to explain everything and get me out.
Noon. Becoming slightly anxious about whereabouts of British Ambassador.
I p.m. Sure the British Ambassador will be along after his lunch break.
2 p.m. Maybe the British Ambassador has been held up, perhaps by a more pressing case of real drug trafficking as opposed to an innocent dupe.
3 p.m. Oh my bloody God and fuck. I hope they have bloody well told the British Ambassador. Surely Shazzer will have raised the alert. Maybe they have got Shazzer as well. But where is she?
3.30 p.m. Look, have got to, got to keep myself together. All I have got now is myself. Fucking Jed. Must not hold on to resentment ... Oh God, I'm so hungry.
4 p.m. Guard just came by with some disgusting rice and some personal effects was allowed to keep - one pair of knickers, a photo of Mark Darcy and another of Jude showing Shazzer how to have an orgasm and a screwed up bit of paper from jeans pocket. Tried to ask guard about British Ambassador but he just nodded and said something I couldn't understand.
4.30 p.m. You see. Even when things seem bad, still enlightening things happen. Screwed up paper was Dad's poem from book club that Mark gave me. Is literature. Am going to read it and think of finer things.
"If "by Rudyard Kipiing
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and ...
Oh my God. Oh my GOD. Do they still have beheading in Thailand?
Thursday 21 August
5st (v.g. but imaginary), alcohol units 14 (but also imaginary), cigarettes 0, calories 12 (rice), no. of times wish had gone to CleethorPes instead 55.
5 a.m. Hideous night huddled on flea-infested old sack stuffed with socks masquerading as mattress. Funny how quickly you get used to being dirty and uncomfortable. Is the smell that is the worst. Managed to sleep for a couple of hours, which was great except for moment when woke up and remembered what happened. Still no sign of British Ambassador. Sure it is just a mistake and will all be OK. Must keep spirits up.
10 a.m. A guard just appeared at the door with a Sloaneylooking chap in a pink shirt.
"Are you the British Ambassador?" I yelled, practically flinging myself on him.
"Ah. No. Assistant to the Consul. Charlie PalmerThompson. Jolly good to meet you." He shook my hand in a manner that would have been reassuringly British had he not involuntarily wiped it on his trousers afterwards.
He asked me what happened and took down the details in a Mulberry leather-bound notebook, saying things like 'Yar, yar. Oh Christ, how frightful,' as if I were telling him a polo anecdote. Started to panic as (a) did not seem quite to grasp the gravity of the situation, (b) did not seem - not to be snobbish or anything - exactly brain of Britain and (c) did not seem nearly as certain as I would have liked that this was all a mistake and I was about to be released any second.
"But why?" I said, having told him the whole story again. Explained how Jed must have broken into the hut himself and planned the whole thing.
"Well, you see the bore is" - Charlie leaned forward confidentially - "everyone who comes in here has some sort of story, usually pretty much along the lines of yours. So unless this bloody Jed character makes a full confession it's a bit of a sticky wicket."
"Am I going to get the death penaIty?"
"Good God, no. Bloody hell. Shouldn't think so. Worst you'd be looking at is about ten years."