Throughout history the husband has been the last to know and this truth holds true to course in Pattaya, the Last Babylon. Most farang men come for sex and it doesn’t take long for them to fall in love with a bargirl or go-go dancer. These novices tell their friends that their girls is different from all the other girls in Sin City.

They are sadly wrong, for Thai women have histories and these stories include old boyfriends from near and far. Plan B and C and D are somewhere in the distance and infidelity are a plane or bus ride away Plan A’s failure.

Sex means nothing.

Security is everything.

Unfaithfulness in Pattaya is a given. Nights out have a 100% success ratio, but Thai bargirls have an extensive spy network designed to GPS their ‘man’ within seconds of his contemplating sex with another woman. The NSA and MI5 are pikers in comparison to the tracking capability of a bargirl.

On the other hand farangs operate in the dark about their loving tee-lat’s Thai cousins and farang ‘friends’. Ignorance is so very bliss and men are better off not knowing the truth for it will not set them free.

Last year an Aussie friend of mine spotted another mate’s girlfriend entering a hotel with a farang.

There was no mistaking the purpose.

“What should I do?” Alex asked me at the Welkom Inn. He was an accountant from Sydney. Numbers added up to sums. His love of math forced him to be honest.

“Do nothing.” This was my standard advice for almost every situation. Doing something tends to open a can of worms.

“But he”s my mate.”

“You drink with him and play golf with him every Monday. You tell him about his girlfriend and all that changes.”

“I’d want someone to tell me.” Alex was recovering from a bad divorce. His wife had left him for his best friend. He was the last to know, because he chose to be blind to the truth.

“No, you wouldn’t. I’ll ask you one question. Is your friend happy?”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with it?” Accountants have trouble being human.

“Happiness is the rarest commodity in the universe. Leave it alone. It’s his business and not yours.” I hated snitches.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Do that.” I could tell Alex had no intentions of heeding my suggestion and a week later he entered the Welkom Inn with a black eye.

“Let me guess. You told your friend about his girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“And?” I would have bet the house on what he was about to say.

“I told him what I saw and my friend confronted his girlfriend. She said that I had asked her to sleep with him and was telling a lie to get even with her. The next time we met for playing golf, he punched me on the 1st hole.”

“And he never wants to see you again?”

“Something like that.”

“So I was right.” There is something very satisfactory in saying ‘I told you so.’

“I did the right thing.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” I got up from my stool and went outside to speak with Fabo, who had arrived in Pattaya that afternoon after a month off-shore of Greenland. No drinking for 30 days and the young Belgian was ready for a case of Heineken. I told the seismic engineer about Alex and Fabo laughed with a sneer.

“If you see ever see my Poo with another man, ferme ta guele.”

“Silence is golden.” Keeping your trap shut was a blessing for all concerned parties.

Our bottles clinked together in agreement.

We were two happy fools and neither of us would have it any other way.