In 1972 Bhutan’s King Jigme Singye Wangchuck attempted to reform his country’s feudal economy on a Buddhist spiritual level rather than a capitalistic model. To best judge his efforts the king created a Gross Domestic Happiness Index based on life satisfaction, life expectancy at birth, and ecological footprint per capita. The Wall Street Journal ignores the Happy Planet Index, which placed the Pacific nation of Vanuata at the top of the list. Zimbabwe understandably was dead last in 178th place.

Thailand ranked 38 in the 2006 survey, however by 2011 the Bangkok Post reported that Thailand’s Gross Domestic Happiness Index skidded into the 4s.

Thailand ‘mai mee sanuk’ or is not having fun these days. Inflationary prices ravage the wallets, unemployment for underpaid jobs remains high, people are worried about this year’s flood, and the constant political drama over Thaksin’s return have everyone on edge, but The Thais have about 43 smiles for every expression much like the Eskimos have 23 words for snow. The present smile is known as ‘sao sokh yim’ or unhappy smile. This mask of chagrin hides the basic dissatisfaction of the nation’s present state.

7/11s do not answer all our needs.

Although a little beer drinking never hurts.

Last year I stopped into the Janet Bar on Soi Excite. It was past midnight. The temperature was still in the high 30s. The fans were useless. This was high dry season and everyone was praying for the rains.

Twelve ladies sat on the stool eating fried chicken feet. A single elderly farang sat at the bar nursing his beer. Natalee joined me for a drinking. The free-lancer was typically looking very sexy, but complained, ‘Mai mi kak’.”

“There aren’t customers anywhere.” The hot season offered lean pickings for the bargirls.

“No good.” Her eyes begged me to bar-fine her.

“Mai mi taeng.” I lied about my finances. Natalee requires training and my long-term devotion to sloth has relegated my sexual prowess to an amateur level

“Wah.” She faked crying and resumed sucking on rubbery Chinese chicken feet.

The nearest westerner smiled sadly and said, “You speak Thai good. How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” My first arrival in Thailand dated back to 1991. I was only 39. A mere youth. So innocent. I never thought I would live here, but neither did I think GW Bush would win a second term.

“I’ve been here two years.” The old git’s accent was East end London. East End. He was dressed better than most of the beer slobs of Pattaya. “Married a girl and lived up-country the last year.”

“How that working out?” I immediately regretted the question.

“Left her a week ago.” Alan introduced himself and signaled the bartender for two beers. “She was as good as gold, but her family was stitching me up for money. Her step-father was an ex-cop and drank whiskey all day. And her mother took all the gold I brought my wife to pay off her gambling debts. The old man wanted 50,000 baht for a tractor. They cost more than that and I told him no.”

“Good idea.” I had heard this story a thousand times.

“He called me a cheap farang in my own house. Okay, not much of a house 5000 pounds and I spent another 300,000 baht on a wedding.” Alan sounded more disappointed than mad.

“That doesn’t sound gra-dook kat man to me.” Up-country Thais think farangs consider farangs milk cows.

“No, but the worst was that my wife didn’t back me up.”

‘Supporting you would go against the grain. Thai women place their mother first, father second, then the rest of the family, the village, every other Thai before you.” I had experienced this first-hand with all my girlfriends here. The Thais are natural zenotropes.

“The old man came to house later with a gun. he still wanted money. I told him I was leaving. Asked my wife to come along. She said no, so now I’m here.” He was looking for advice. Advice he wouldn’t follow, because he’s still in love. “My girl ain’t so pretty, she’s 31, but we had sex twice a day.”

“Sex has nothing to do with love.” Although spending a night with Natalee might come close. “Best to cut your losses. You’re from the East End. You’re not a square. Don’t let a rice farmer sucker you.”

“I don’t know.” Weakness of the heart is blood in the water to a Isaan grifter. “My friends that there aren’t no kids and I’ve been married before.” These failures rankled him. “I wanted this to work out.”

“Sorry.” I ordered another round and wiped the sweat off my face. it almost felt like it was getting hotter.

Natalee came over to massage my neck. “You still not want to go home with me.”

“I want, but have no money.” It was a lie. I’m faithful to Fenway’s mom. “What about you, Alan?”

“My heart’s not into it.” Dry thunder rumbled to the north. There was no moisture in the air, except for perspiration.

She frowned and walked to join the other menless women.

Alan’s happiness index had dropped below the UK average. Mine was someplace near Peru, which is #3, because while drinking beer makes me happy, hearing someone having it worse than me does my heart good.

Alan and I changed the subject and drank two more beers. It was 2am when I left for home. I wished him luck. Natalee blew a kiss. Alan stopped to speak with her. She smiled with enthusiasm. There wasn’t another man in sight.

I arrived back to an almost empty house. Mam and Fenway were asleep in bed. The three fans were arranged around them. They almost looked comfortable. Drops of rain flittered on the roof and I went outside to see how hard fell the rain.

My dog Whitey was happy to see me, but then dogs are the only animal who loves you more than themselves.

Happy?

You should see his tail wag.

Now that’s happy.