Today, after nearly two weeks working on the island, I literally scraped myself together and hobbled on to the ferry to do an inevitable visa run. I spent the first hour on the boat staring out the window,slack jawed with that totally dazed expression you see on so many people that work on Phi Phi – especially during the day. I can’t tell you what was going through my head, because I genuinely don’t think anything was. I was just existing, seeped in the aftermath of Valium and vodka, two of the life forces of the islands. After about an hour (some would say its because I was waking up/sobering up/coming down, this is not so, I firmly believe that coherency is directly proportionate to how far away geographically you are from the island) some semblance of senses returned, and I remembered that I could infact, move my head. This turned out to be a fairly shocking revelation as it allowed me the opportunity to take in my appearance. Shoes have not been in my life for some time now (if you ever want to spot someone who works on an island, look at their feet), and being aware of a dull pain under my toe and a considerable amount of swelling I decided to inspect further and found two large infected cuts, that have evidently sneaked up out of nowhere. Lovely. There is an unknown yellow substance on my shorts. I REALLY need the toilet, and for reasons that obviously seemed logical at the time, im wearing a rain mac. Chipped green nail varnish from long yore hangs on grimly, a sad shadow of my former glory, and flakes of neon paint from the multiple flowers, ‘P.P’s’ and ‘ WOODY 2013’s’ scribed territorially all over me by the fire boys last night, still proclaim their message feebly. Remnants of yesterdays makeup blink back at me in the reflection, my hair would make my friends back at home cry and there is a faint smell of bonfire emanating from me constantly. Couple all this with the raging chest infection I have from doing fire limbos and skipping fire ropes all night (if you listen closely when I breathe in there is a wheezy whistling sound, not unlike a death rattle, that Mutley would be proud of) and I look to be quite frank, completely deranged. Deciding to yawn, it is interrupted by the necessity to hawk up God knows what, but it’s black and was probably once part of the fire show. A tourist looks at me in a vaguely alarmed kind of way. I maintain dignity. It was probably a sign when the wonderful Rob who shares my room started leaving electrolyte sachets and rehydration salts on my pillow, and also changing my bed sheets, I wish id grabbed one of the packets before i left and wonder absently what on earth im going to do if he moves out.. it was bad enough when Bruno left and my food intake went down by half. By two hours time I’m musing the fact that I’m voluntarily going back to the island for more. Voluntarily. Going. Back. I’m still musing this three hours away, as I’m currently wedged in the front of a mini van headed for Malaysia, with the driver, two rucksacks and a really unimpressed French girl (can’t really blame her, I look downright dangerous and sound like i have the plague) At the moment I’m still in Thailand and therefore far too close to be able to think about this in any kind of rational way…. But my rucksack resides in the refugee camp, guarded by my lovely if insane Russian friend, just waiting for my return and all said and done, I do have a cracking tan……..