Every single pair of pants that I’ve ever bought in Asia, the stitching has gone in between the legs. Gone at the crutch as my Grandma would have said. Every. Single. Pair. Either somebody is playing a cruel joke on me here, or my bum cheeks are gradually inflating by the day.

The only positive to this Thai haberdashery error is that there’s always a gentle cool breeze wafting through my knickers. To calm me down. An onsite fan to cool the hot flushes that accompany a woman of my age who is prone to bouts of frantic rage.

Welcome to the Travel Bog Diaries.

Brian announces that we are to rent some bikes and go to explore the city of Chiang Mai.

Chaing Mai is supposedly cooler than Bangkok, but my built-in sweat thermometer is telling me differently. Either that or Tessa’s Dove stick deodorant – the one that she hides in her sleeping bag because she doesn’t want me to use it, is out of date.

It’s too hot to wear a bra in Thailand.

Still, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go for a bike ride braless.

What if I accidentally pinched my dangling nipple while pulling on the brakes?

No.

Too risky. Too painful.

That’s all I need, me, swerving into the oncoming traffic. Laying hobbled on the road. My poor children having to come and identify me. Tessa, having to admit that, yes, that is indeed my mother. And Oh. My. God. How embarrassing. She is clutching her nipple…

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