I phoned my bank, the usual delays with some stupid pre-recorded voice saying things like:

'If you want to discuss loans press 1. If you want to talk to someone about our wonderful new save as you pay insurance schemes press 2. If you want to have the chance to win a set of steak knives press 3... and so on. After about five minutes I was parked in a queue and a further five minutes later I actually got through to my bank's representative.

I explained the situation, asking her to stop the card and inquiring how I could transfer some money from my account (which thankfully hadn't yet been tapped) to an account here in Bangkok. She didn't know. She told me to hang on while she talked to her supervisor. Eventually she got back and said, that there was no problem transferring money from my account in the UK to one in Bangkok. Thanking her, I quicly put down the phone, trying to preserve what little money I had. Next step, the WCU where I'd get some account details of where I could transfer some money to. This was 2 miles back in the direction I'd come from, in the heart of the financial district, I picked up a coke and drank as I walked, things would work out.

The staff at the WCU were friendly, as ever, but there was a bit of a communication problem. I explained the situation to them, and they assured me that what I was trying to do was indeed possible, happened every day. If there's one thing you learn in SE Asia, people don't like to admit they don't know something - whatever the eventual cost to you, they hate to lose 'face'. And this was to be no exception. After filling in dozen or so forms, none of which I could see the relevance of (in what province do you intend to live once you have purchased this rare turtle? How long is it since you last had a breast augmentation, how many cats live at your current address?) they proudly entered my details into their computer, pressed a button and eventually said frowning

'What is your control number?'

Eh? You what now?

'We can no find you on computer, we no have your name, so we need your control number.'

I argued that look, this was the first time I'd ever used the WCU so of course I wasn't in their damned computer - okay, I didn't lose my temper that never gets you anywhere in SE Asia. What is a control number? - a number that WCU gives you when you want to send or recieve money. Ah, okay. Again I pointed out that this was the first time that I'd been in a WCU branch so presumably they needed to give me this strange customer control number. No, I needed a control number before I could proceed in transferring any money. After to-ing and fro-ing for about twenty minutes, I worked out for myself that this control number would be given to me by my bank, I would come back here and then everything would be hunky dory. Another two mile trek to the phone and I was back in touch with my bank.

Another ten minutes listening to offers of free shark repellant, credit card offers and magic fairy dust that would clear away financial gloom and I was back through to incompetence central.Explained the situation; she knows what I mean, ten minutes later she rattles off a 45 digit code number. I point out that WCU needs a 10 digit number; she doesn't know about that but assures me that I can walk into any bank in the world with this magic 45 digit number and get money. But don't I need a target account number for a financial transfer transaction? Oh, she replies, there's a thought. I suppose you would. She hasn't got a clue what she's talking about. I hang up, time is ticking on.

Another 2 mile hike to WCU, another coke.

Arrive with fucking code number from bank, adivsor points at clock - close at 3.00pm, come back tomorrow. Sighing, I resign myself not being able to sort this out today.

Buy loaf of bread, some bottles of coke - my supper, must preserve the cash.

Get back to hotel, manager takes me aside.

'I must tell you something', he said conspiratorially, looking at me strangely again.

'What, what must you tell me?'

He fished out the piece of paper with the smudged photo of the thief and waved it solemnly in the air.

'Lady you being home last night...' he continued

'Yes...' I had a strange feeling in my stomach, what now?

'She no lady.' he nodded meaningfully, I didn't have a clue what he was on about. 'I no want to say before, you very worried man.'

'What do you mean?' I shook my head impatiently, I just wanted a bath and some sleep, not some third degree.

'She boy.' the manager insisted.

'Eh?' now I was confused as well as tired, drained emotionally as well as physically.

'She no lady, she boy.' he continued, and sensing my lack of understanding rammed the point home,

'She no lady, she boy, she ladyboy.' he finished his head bobbing, seeking understanding.

I flopped down on the reception couch, laughing almost, I'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book - me, Mr.So called fucking Experienced when it comes to these things and how to avoid their clutches. Me, with many ladyboy friends that I'd befriended and talked to in Thailand, Laos and Vietnam. I'd fallen for that gem. If I felt foolish before, I felt far more so now.

'Happen many time...' the manager assured me, 'Ladyboys very dangerous, many time steal from guest, not like girls, girls good.' he cocked his head sympathetically. 'Happen many time.' he repeated soothingly.

Later I soaked in the bath. Everything was under control, tomorrow I would sort the banking out, get some dosh and things would be back on an even keel, my ego bruised sure, but I'd laugh at this sooner or later. So unconcerned was I of the immediate future that after the bath I went to the 7-11 and bought 3 large bottles of beer Chang, at 37c a bottle and some cheese to go with the bread.

As I drank the beer Chang and chilled on the king sized bed I had a chuckle. I still couldn't recall the creature I'd bought home the night before, and in truth it didn't seem to bother me overly that I'd spent the night with a ladyboy. I doubt that anything much had happened, I was too far gone, and anyway, it was too late now to repaint the past.

Ladyboys are notorious in Bangkok and elsewhere in Thailand for their preying on unwary Ferang males. Truth be told, many Ferang seek out these exotic creatures in full knowledge of what they were 'getting' as such. Many a time on the Khaosan road I would people watch and see a handsome young Ferang disappear into a back street brothel with an obvious ladyboy, to emerge blushing and satisfied may'be twenty minutes later.

Most ladyboys were harmless and genuine, but there are are a greater than fair share of them that are little short of muggers. They tend to haunt the Khaosan Road, Patpong, the Nana complex and elsewhere after 11.00 pm until the dawn pulls itself up sluggishly over the horizon. Some try and entice you into alleyways where they will rob their half-senseless victims that've been drinking all day and night. Others entice the unwary man back to their dingy rooms where an accomplice under the bed rifles their shorts and their wallets while the victim indulges in whatever it is that they and the ladyboy have agreed to do with one another. Most are saving up for expensive operations; hormones, breast implantations and the ultimate snip to end all snips. I'm not sure this is why they enjoy a bad reputation as compared with their female counterparts, but t certainly appears to be a reputation not undeserved.

A strange thought crossed my mind, that in some ways I regretted not remembering 'the experience' as such. How would I have reacted if I were more sober? Did I subconciously know all along? Who knows, it was all over now and if anything had happened it was clearly not memorable enough to break and surface above the waters of my cups drunk oh so very deep that fateful night.

Less bothered than I thought I would be, I only got through two of the bottles of Chang before falling into a fitful and troubled sleep.

yechydda,