I had a most pleasant experience earlier this week in the unlikeliest of places — Phra Khanong Police Station. I hasten to add that my presence was not due to any transgression of the law — I’ve actually been a good boy lately, apart from the odd spot of jaywalking.
I was simply there to renew my police book, a requirement every five years.
In the past it has involved another police district and invariably meant a lot of hanging around, sometimes spread over a couple of days.
So I arrived at the station well prepared, with the Bangkok Post cryptic crossword as an anti-boredom back-up.
I was directed to a policewoman in charge of “alien” documents, handed her my book and let her get on with it.
The station has just experienced a facelift and I spent some time admiring how clean and tidy it was for a cop shop.
Police station smells can also be a bit malodorous, but the only smell at Phra Khanong was a slight whiff of drying paint.
After signing a few formidable-looking documents, to my surprise I heard the magic words reep roi (it’s all in order) and the lady handed me back the book with a big smile.
I hadn’t even had a chance to start the crossword. As I paid the fee, the policeman standing nearby bade farewell in his best English with a chirpy “see you again in five years”. The whole procedure took just 15 minutes. Gulp!
Rogues gallery
Stuck in traffic on the taxi journey home, I was thumbing through my battered police book, which I’ve possessed now for more than 40 years.
It was not a comforting experience. The first stamp was for March 1972 and the book is falling to pieces, just like its owner.
One problem with the police book is that you are required to submit a current photograph. On that first page there is a mug shot of a “youthful” wide-eyed 25-year-old Crutch.
But turn the pages and there is a frightening five-yearly progression of images depicting distinct physical deterioration, all the way to the 2015 shot of a confirmed wrinkly relic.
Also, in one of the earlier photos I was definitely suffering from a “bad hair day” and disturbingly resembled Bozo the Clown.
On the more recent mug shots, despite efforts to appear like a “mature youth”, the face cannot disguise that weary look of resignation of someone who knows his best days are behind him.
Dull and duller
My attention turned to the passport, not that it contained anything remotely of interest. It was just a series of dull departure and arrival stamps from Thailand and neighbouring countries.
Nearly all of the stamps featured that drab faded purple tincture so beloved of rubber stampers around the world.
It would be nice if they triggered memories of pioneering trips to exotic locales, but invariably they were reminders of lengthy immigration queues and panicky waits at the luggage carousel hoping your baggage hasn’t disappeared into space.
To think, there was a time when my passport accompanied me on journeys to exciting places. These days I only seem to use it at the bank.
Blazing a trail
I recall my first passport, acquired in the 1960s, with some pleasure. For a start I had to travel up to London to collect it, which felt like an international journey in itself.
A couple of months later I actually found myself “abroad” on the Spanish island of Ibiza, with half-a-dozen schoolmates. Upon my return to England, the passport bore a couple of “Espana” stamps, of which I was really proud.
I had become an “international traveller” — what’s more, I had even picked up a couple of Spanish words, “vino” and “paella”, so I was also a linguist. The following year it was “Italia” and before long the whole of Europe beckoned — a globetrotter no less.
An overland trip from England to India livened up the passport’s contents no end.
The stand-out item was the Afghanistan visa, which in 1969 covered a couple of pages with dozens of exotic excise stamps. It made you feel you were going to somewhere really different — which in the case of Afghanistan in 1969 certainly proved to be the case.
Ides of March
For anyone planning on doing something important today and who might be a little superstitious, it is probably best to stay at home and play with the dog.
It is the 15th of the month, known in Roman times as the “Ides of March”, and marks the anniversary of the assassination of Julius Caesar in 44BC.
However, I am happy to report that not too many dreadful things have occurred on the Ides of March since Caesar’s unfortunate demise.
However, in 1877 it marked the day that Test cricket was born, with the first match being played between England and Australia, which some might regard as extremely grim news.
Et tu, Brute?
It might have been a long time ago, but the story of the events leading to Caesar’s downfall at the hands of Brutus is still relevant.
It’s a tale of the pitfalls of power, political conspiracy, treachery, betrayal and backstabbing, something that politicians around the world are quite familiar with.
Of course we wouldn’t know about that sort of thing in Thailand.
Contact PostScript via email at oldcrutch@hotmail.com.