The King of Vietnam and A Giant Gecko Chase
‘The king of Vietnam just invited us to his house. ‘ ‘Eh?’ ‘That man was the king of Vietnam. And he just invited us to his house.’ ‘Bollocks.’ ‘Really, ask him.’ The retired king of Vietnam was a fairly unassuming chap, in a sunhat. We found him at the border. His compadres cheerfully boasted about who he was before he had a chance to get a word in edgeways. He invited us to his house, but we were too shocked to ask him for his address. Afterwards I was a bit upset about that. If we can find his address we will go and see him when we get there. (Thinking about it, maybe its polite to courtesy-call the king before a visit. Especially as pretty much the only thing I could say at the time was “Is it nice being the king?’.) We’d just been in to customs to get our papers sorted for the border. It was a nice relaxed border. The guy behind the desk had told us in a laissez-faire sort of way that the carnet stamp was locked in the...