The Further Adventures of an Idiot Abroad (20 page)

I had a bath back at the hotel. My legs were covered in monkey scratches. When I saw the Seven Wonders of the World last year I had to have injections before I travelled, one of which covered me
in case I was bitten by a dirty monkey. I never thought it would come in handy. I lay in the bath feeling a bit disappointed after visiting Monkey Town. I thought I’d really enjoy it. Just
goes to show that you don’t really know what you’re gonna like. I think I enjoyed dressing up as a woman with Viv more than visiting the monkeys. Bit of a worry, innit?

Next day I woke up to a message on my phone from Stephen. He said I’d be visiting Snake Village! What is it with this country letting animals take over places? I asked the director if they
are dangerous. He said they are king cobras and they’re very dangerous. That’s when I noticed an ambulance was tagging along with us for safety. It’s mad to think this whole trip
was meant to be me swimming with dolphins in Australia, but here I am in Thailand piss-arsing about with king cobras.

When we arrived I was given some protectors to put round my ankles, so they couldn’t bite me. Last time I wore something like this they were leg warmers. It was a trend in the 1980s. I
think
Fame
made them popular. I didn’t buy any, as they were too expensive, but me dad made me some from an old shirt of his. He just cut the sleeves off and then rolled them down me
legs. I was the only kid in Manchester who had leg warmers with cuffs.

There were three paramedics. Don’t know why three. I’d have preferred just the one. If I got bit they’d all be discussing who was gonna suck the venom out instead of just
getting on with it. I was told I would be fine because the medics carry anti-venom. Who knows? It might not work. I suffer from a bit of eczema, and the chemist keeps flogging me E45 cream for it.
It doesn’t work. I need something stronger. When I have headaches I need to have Nurofen Extra ’cos normal paracetamol doesn’t work. It’s ’cos everything is constantly
evolving as we make it stronger by fighting it. It’s like bacteria. Years ago bacteria was bad, but now we have friendly bacteria that we have in yoghurt drinks. It’s like it got sick
of fighting and became friendly, but then in a few years it will become so friendly we’ll have groups of people saying, ‘Don’t eat friendly yoghurt, its cruel!’

We got to the village. There was a small gathering of about twenty people. There was also a type of priest. It was a funeral. For a snake. They worship the snake, as they bring tourism to the
area. This was the first funeral I’ve ever been to. I’ve always avoided going to funerals. I avoid weddings, as well, but I have been forced to go to a couple of them. I don’t
really like get-togethers. My dad says I would prefer funerals to weddings, as it doesn’t take all day and you don’t have to take a gift, but you still get fed well.

The dead snake was in a glass box, and a live one was slithering about on top of the box just a metre away from us (must have been related). I never found out if they bury, cremate or stuff
’em to make a draught excluder, as a man called Bualee came and said hello. He was a snake charmer. I shook his hand. It felt odd. I looked down and noticed it was lacking fingers. I was
gonna ask him how many times he’d been bitten, but I’m guessing he’s not good at adding up with so many fingers missing. He ended up telling me anyway.

‘I’ve been bitten 21 times,’ he said. I don’t think he’s cut out to be a snake charmer. 21 times! He’s clearly not charming enough. The snake charmers
I’ve seen in cartoons normally play a flute to the snake, but I suppose Bualee’s lack of digits would mean he wouldn’t exactly be able to knock out a good tune on a recorder.

He took me to his home where there were boxes lined up outside, but they weren’t for recycling like all the boxes we’re given from the council. They were for his snakes. Six or seven
big boxes. It was like
Deal or No Deal
with Noel Edmonds. He lifted the lid on the first box. It wasn’t even locked shut. He got a snake out. It must have been about five feet long.
Of all the people to show me a killer snake I wish they could have got me someone with fingers to grip hold of the snake tightly. I wouldn’t trust this fella to hold a vase on
Antiques
Roadshow
, and yet here he is wafting a king cobra in my face.

He then got out an even bigger king cobra. It must have been eight feet long.

The ankle protectors I was wearing were a little bit pointless, as once the snake is upright it could easily have me by me neck. It’s like when people wear bulletproof vests. They
don’t protect you from a bullet in the head, do they? Bualee wanted to show me how the king cobra eats. A young lad who seemed quite upset came along with a snake in a jar. I managed to work
out that it was this lad’s pet snake and they wanted to feed it to the cobra because they didn’t have any rats. I said I didn’t want the kid to lose his pet, just so I could see
how a cobra eats. So the pet snake got to live another day.

He then let the king cobra loose. It’s amazing how quickly and quietly they move. I didn’t move. Bualee was down low on the ground shifting from left to right, getting up close and
then moving quickly when it got too close. It just seemed like a pointless risk to me, like having a chunk of radium as an ornament. I don’t think there’s enough for people to do round
these parts and that’s when you get people doing silly things like this. They need a local youth club with table tennis or something. Everyone watching was deadly silent. That’s when I
heard a fart noise. I thought it was Bualee. It wasn’t. It was the snake. I didn’t know they did that. I had to tell Ricky about it.

It was time to leave Thailand. After a flight to Sydney, another on to Adelaide and then a small plane to Port Lincoln, I eventually arrived at a harbour for the main event. Except that’s
when I found out I wouldn’t be seeing any dolphins. Ricky left a message saying that they had changed the plan a little bit. I would be swimming with sharks instead. I don’t think the
Make-a-Wish Foundation ever changed plans at the last minute for the sick kids like this.

The boat I would be spending my time on was called
Princess 2.
I didn’t want to ask what happened to
Princess 1.

I met Rodney Fox and his son Andrew who were going to take me out to see the sharks. Rodney knows everything you need to know about sharks. He was a surfer when younger and was attacked by a
shark in the ’60s. It tore open his side, broke half his ribs, punctured a lung and exposed the main artery to his heart. I don’t know what he’s playing at wanting to be anywhere
near a shark after that, but I guess they do say, ‘Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’. Unless it’s polio.

The plan was to lower me in to the water in a cage. It turned out that Rodney was the one who came up with the original idea of using a cage to get close to sharks, which made it difficult for
me to slag off the design when I saw it. There was nothing to it. They might as well lower me into the ocean in a shopping trolley. Luckily he said I was going into a bigger cage. I still
wasn’t that happy. I felt like Goldilocks. Maybe if I say I’m still not happy they would have the perfect third option. But he didn’t. This was the cage I would be getting in.
There were big gaps between the bars. Rodney said the sharks might be able to get their heads in the gaps, but they wouldn’t be able to open their mouths, so I shouldn’t worry. Rodney
took it upon himself to show me a photo of his shark bite. It looked like a jam tart, bright red with a ragged edge.