The Old Bugger's Life Story

	The Colonel's wardrobe. Note first aid kit and other emergency medications

Col. Ken is an enigmatic expat who lives an idyllic existence on Koh Samui, Thailand. Born in 1946 in Australia, he was a military man for much of his life. His claims that he fought in both the Boer War and the Vietnam War are to be taken with a grain of salt, some lemon and a shot of tequila.

He is now a keen philanthropist and is a regular speaker on the corporate lunch and dinner circuit throughout Asia. A true bon(k) vivant that pops up everywhere there is free booze. Or pretty ladies.

The Colonel was married (the second time round) nearly 25 years to his Hong Kong-born wife, and believes "happily married" is an oxymoron.

Col. Ken is an avid rugby fan, and has never missed a single Hong Kong Rugby Sevens tournament since its inception. He was also a champion dragon-boater in his youth, but once again his medal claims don't tally with the record books.

	Washday at the Colonel's modest digs, Koh Samui. Not a lot of pin-stripes, then.

He can usually be found lazing in his hammock athis beachside villa, with a bevy of beauties fanning his fevered brow.

For speaking engagements, function MC'ing and other assignments he can be contacted by email ColonelKen@hotmail.com or through the publishers, who usually know which bar to find him in.

Col. Ken shot in Thailand

Cut to Dux Restaurant in Bangkok. "I've got two of the most gorgeous girls imaginable. a real coup," enthuses Shrimp over some cheeky red at lunch. Well-oiled, we proceed to the location - an expansive house in the Bangkok suburbs, surrounded by lush tropical greenery. Perfect! The crew has already set up the lighting.

Whilst we wait for the models, the maid serves us double gin and tonics.

The girls arrive, and from the verandah we watch them disgorge from the car, limb by luscious limb. Wow! Fern Farida is a noted dancer and photo model, and Phat Sarapa is one of Thailand's leading fashion models. They are bright and bubbly, but speak limited English (a bit like myself after a dozen beers!)

I have enough wood growing in my shorts to start a plantation.

We change communally in the living room. I get generous glimpses of perfectly-formed titty and I know for sure they are trying to sneak glimpses of my legendary apparatus. Problem - no hair gel. Someone scurries back with a tube of KY. The girls kill themselves laughing. The laughter changes tone when a pair of rubber handcuffs are produced from the props bag. "Just in case," they're assured.

Finally the girls look good enough to eat, and Thai has long been my favourite cuisine.

By now the afternoon has clouded over, and the garden shots are abandoned in favour of using the tiled terrace in the pre-storm stillness. Polaroids are taken, lights re-arranged. More drinks served. Then it's time for action.

The girls get the idea straight off - adorn the Colonel! Be arm candy to the sensitive new age dirty old man of Asia. Make grown men weep with envy at that salacious old bastard, me!

A few shots with me in an antique Asian chair. Then a few standing. Shrimp softly directs proceedings, mixing Thai and English. "Get closer, girls", "Look straight at camera, Colonel," and "Squeeze". "Squeeze" is my favourite, with a handful of firm butt-cheek on each side. The girls giggle and warm up with each successive shot. Warming up is not my problem in the 32 degree swelter (significantly higher in my boxer shorts). More drinks served. Different props tried.

Positions changed more times than a quick romp through the Karma Sutra.

Then - the spanking shots. With Fern over my lap, she fulfilled several fantasies of her own, but of course a seasoned professional like myself just took it in my stride. Not content with play-acting, I gave her prime rump several good hardy whacks that she enjoyed greatly. She even asked Shrimp for the polaroid of the spanking shot. I tell the maid it's now her turn for a spanking shot - she disappears promptly into the kichen.

Then disaster strikes - the gin runs out; we switch to rum and cokes you could fuel a fleet of fighter planes with. Shrimp tries to coerce the girls into some more revealing poses and downright naughty stuff.

Then, two and a half hot, sweaty but ultimately fun hours later, it's done. We sit around chatting, exhausted by the lights, the cloistering Bangkok humidity and the marathon of wicked thoughts inspired by this gauche tropical bacchanalia-fest. The rest I'll leave to your fevered imagination. All you need to know is the moustache was a big hit.

Just thinking about it now months later, I'm going to have to slam this thing in the fridge door just to get it down!