Being away from my normal patch (on the other side of the big pond) catching up with uncles, aunts and cousins in a long-overdue reunion has been terrific. Over a fairly sunny weekend, we ate, drank and laughed together, catching up on the news and each others' lives, in between a couple of games of Pétanque (French Bowls) and a jam session or six with one of my cousins who is learning to play guitar (left handed) and who has made impressive progress in a very short time.

As always when you get more that a couple of McKenzie blokes in a room at once, the views and opinions we hold about politics, religion, the environment and current events get expressed in a fairly forthright manner and a lively discussion is always sure to follow. Surprisingly, it never gets nasty or personal; there's never been an incident which ended in an outraged party storming out of the house or anyone inviting anyone else to step outside and settle any debate in a more physical manner. We are all grown up enough to understand that everyone is entitled to hold whatever opinions they like on whatever issue and as a result, the discussions and debates are often lively and interesting (albeit it a bit loud! )

But during our recent get-together, a story which ran in a number of local papers (and also picked up by a few UK broadsheets including the Telegraph) had us all shaking our heads in disbelief.

The article described how, during a recent visit by reps from Tescos to one of its largest suppliers in New Zealand, Silver Fern Farms in Fairton, the buyers were "upset" at seeing the dogs "running riot", according to a spokesman for the supermarket colossus, who then added:-

"We don't have a problem with sheep dogs, but we need to make sure they move the sheep in a considerate manner, so they don't stress the sheep out,"

WTF?

Firstly, how exactly do sheepdogs under the control of a good shepherd "run riot"? What were they doing...waving placards, throwing empty beer bottles at the abbatoir walls and setting fire to the tractor? And secondly, how exactly can sheepdogs be trained to muster sheep in a more "considerate manner"? Perhaps the Tesco's numpties can see a "glorious" future where sheepdogs, dressed in olive green tweeds (with leather patches at the elbows), smoking briar pipes and carrying clipboards can be trained to offer counselling to the sheep as they enter the killing pens.

"Crucifiction? Good. Out the door. Line on the left. One cross each."

From the sounds of things, the reps that Tescos sent out to NZ have probably never seen working dogs before. Every country has its little quirks and one of Britains' is to take an overly protective and softly-softly approach with both animals and children. While both need a certain degree of protection and support, the city and suburban-dwelling PC British middle classes (who have often only seen the country through the windows of their air-conditioned Chelsea tractors) have in recent times, developed a rather weird Beatrix Potter view of nature and rural life. The result is often as damaging as it is farcical and unrealistic. Want to see the evidence? Simply take a look at the fat, miserable, spoiled and lazy little members of many families up and down Britain (and the kids are even worse!)

New Zealand farmers treat their sheepdogs extremely well; not out of some misplaced sense of politically correct dogma, but out of practical necessity. An out-of-condition working dog is a liability, not an asset. Working dogs are therefore worked hard, but fed well and looked after properly.

The same is true of the sheep. They are grazed on rich fertile pasturelands, comparatively free of pesticides and fertilisers. They are also moved regularly by the working dogs which keeps them in good condition, fit and healthy. And when their time comes, unlike the British environment where sheep must be trucked live to a handful of abbatoirs left in the UK (a process which in itself is likely to cause far more stress than a sheepdog ever could), many farms have small abbatoirs close by or within a short mustering distance. This means that they arrive at the abbatoir in conditions that the peabrained humane-treatment hypocrites in Britain could never comprehend. The net result of this approach is what produces the finest lamb and mutton in the world.

Only the muppets at Tesco's don't seem able to see it.

The problem is also compounded by the fact that Tesco's is used to being the big boy on the block. The spoiled fat one with all the best toys who expects everyone else to play his games his way and who has a little temper tantrum if anyone else dares to question or contradict him.

My advice to Silver Fern Farms is to tell Tesco's to get f**ked go (complicated pictogram) themselves. Then get the dogs to see their fat, ill-informed, santimonious asses off the property at high speed. Even in tougher economic times, there is no shortage of other markets for top-quality meat and wool and there are plenty of other buyers (starting with all Tesco's rivals in the UK). It's about bloody time the seller had a bit more of a say anyway...

Perhaps a little time in the doghouse will do them good!

Well here I am, sitting in a Bangkok internet cafe, on the last morning of a flying visit to Thailand, sipping a freshly brewed cup of Jasmine tea and collecting my thoughts...

I arrived yesterday afternoon into a typical late Thai summer day of 40°C with 99% humidity. The roads from Suvarnabhumi Airport to my hotel (the Royal Princess Larn Luang in the old part of the city) were choked with traffic (thank all the Gods for airport limos with air conditioning) and it took about an hour and a half to get to the hotel. It was also a public holiday (Chakri Memorial Day) and most of the surrounding area was closed, but that didn't bother me too much as I was fairly knackered from the 12-hour flight and not really looking to party. After a short recon of the immediate area and a visit to the nearest 7-11 for a 6-pack of Singha Beer and a couple of packets of nuts, I retired to my room, ordered room service, sunk a couple of beers and fell into a semi doze for the rest of the evening.

At around 6am the following day, I rolled out of bed to the sound of the morning rush hour traffic (jeez they must start work early around here!) and after a quick shower and light breakfast, I headed out into an already hot and humid day and boarded a mini-bus bound for the Grand Palace.

Awesome! That's the only adjective I can think of to describe the palace and grounds. The architechure is just stunning; both in terms of it's scale and the incredible level of fine detail. The same is true of the Wat Pho temples, home of the vast golden statue of the reclining Buddha and the birthplace of traditional Thai massage. The sheer level of artistry and craftsmanship is testament to the Buddhist virtues of beauty and patience.

Back at the hotel around 3pm and after a quick shower, the jet lag caught up with me a little bit and I decided to take a short nap before heading out again. Around 6pm I was awoken by what sounded like a huge explosion, but was in fact a tropical storm which was hammering the city. My hotel window looked like it had been repositioned under a waterfall during my slumber and ball lightning crackled overhead. The streets below quickly turned into fast flowing rivers as torrents of water gushed from the rooftops of the buildings. Quite a sight!

By 8pm the storm had passed and the waters receded, so I headed on out to the Patpong Night Markets - the most touristy of the Bangkok markets...but also the only night market open during the week. Between the go-go bars blaring out their boom-boom beats are nestled a mish-mash of stalls offering the obligatory tourist tat, t-shirts and nick-naks, there are also some interesting curios, some good food stalls and other unusual bits and pieces. It was a bit disturbing to see how many of the stalls sold pretty much every kind of non-firearm weapon you could think of; from throwing stars and nunchakus to samurai swords, flick knives, switchblades and tasers, you could find it all there! Remind me never to pick a fight with anyone in Bangkok - half the population must be tooled up!

After a few hours of browsing the markets, politely declining offers from scores of touts to view the "Pussy ping pong" shows and a few solicitations from the working girls ("400 Baht cheap cheap"), I settled down to a good meal at a roadside stall (at 30 Baht the cheapest thing I found in the market by a long way!) and then boarded a tuk-tuk driven by a young bloke with dreams of breaking the tuk-tuk land/speed record.

We roared through the back streets at breakneck speed, the driver weaving through the traffic and the occasional group of startled pedestrians, while I hung on for dear life. Ten minutes later we pulled a handbrake turn into the hotel parking lot. The driver was 200 Baht better off and sped off into the night looking for his next hapless victim and I shakily retired to the hotel bar for a shot of two of Thai Whisky to calm my nerves.

Wicked!

Well - almost time to head back to the airport.

Cheers Bangkok...it's been fun - and I'll certainly be back!

Check out the Bangkok Photo gallery.