On The Run

There are many ways to break the law in Thailand. And many infringements come with long sentences in hideous jails. But I've found a fairly unique way of contravening the law of the land: twice in an anarchistic 24 hours. What's unusual for me, is that in both cases it was inadvertent.

I'm looking for a camera bag. The cheap bag that came with my new camera featured a lacerating/sandpaper effect on the neck strap which was not at all suited to human flesh. I can only assume these were tested on rhinos. Therefore, a bit like Guy Ritchie, I'm now on the market for something with fewer abrasive qualities.

I found a suitable store with a plethora of different bag-carrying equipment. A most helpful assistant helped me to tie myself in knots for twenty minutes as I attempted to trial various belt systems, backpacks and over-the-shoulder arrangements. There were times when the assistant had to step back sheepishly as he observed me trying to wrestle these contraptions back off again; Harry Houdini I ain't.

I left, disillusioned, having failed to master even the most simple camera carrier system and left to visit another mall.

You may imagine my surprise, when on arrival at the next mall, twenty minutes later, I lifted my t-shirt to adjust my iPod only to discover one of the camera belts still attached round my waist. Ha! The perfect crime. I even fooled myself. I've nothing to attach to the belt – it requires some sort of lens or camera case before it serves any useful photography function – but, true to form, I've only two buttons left on my shorts and it may come in useful when the top one inevitably goes.

Of course, this gives rise to one of the greatest moral dilemmas of our time. What should I do? Should I keep the belt or should I allow my trousers to drop to my ankles and give it back?

Well, I'm writing this post in a coffee shop about two minutes from the scene of the crime with the belt still fastened around my lumber. My fate hangs in the balance (so do my trousers).

I'll let you end this story yourselves with suggestions and comments in the comments section below.

The second crime has less comic potential, so I'll keep it brief. I got a good deal on my camera. A very good deal. I was extremely proud of myself and my arch-negotiating skills. It wasn't until I tried to register the camera the next day on the Nikon website that I realised something was afoot (the thing at the bottom of my leg, I'm sure Chick Murray would interject). It turned out my camera was an illegal alien and had been imported from Japan. Therefore, it was a “grey market” camera. Quite a cool and mysterious title, but rendering the warranty useless. It's not a knock-off, so providing it doesn't develop any problems (no pun intended), it should be OK. But I'm hoping for no awkward questions at customs.

Tune in to the next exciting episode to find out if I return the belt and end up with my trousers round my ankles or if I get stopped at customs and end up with my trousers round my ankles.