Waking up it looked like we'd avoided all of the potential nightime 'visitors' that our hut allowed access to. Nevertheless, since we'd taken a bit of a shine to Trat and had decided to stay another night, we took a look around for alternatives and found Da' Guy - which was very cheap and had a private bathroom.
Since Matt had sheepishly owned up to finally actually losing his hat for good in the songthaew we took yesterday, we ventured to the day market. There was a stall selling manufacturing samples of the hats from company uniforms and Matt was predictably enchanted. He was captivated by the McCafe or Chicken Shack ones but I reminded him of the Chairman Mao bag and the fact that people could not read his mind and eventually convinced him that no-one would know he was being ironic. Having spent several tortorous and laborious months shopping for hats with Matt before, I gave him a time limit. The end result was his selection of a black cap with a sports logo on that neither of us could recognise. Which reminds me, I really must take a picture to see if anyone else out there can help us to identify it. Though please tell me rather than Matt so I can can judge whether it's going to make him want to get rid of it and buy a new one!
Still on the search for swinwear so I could avoid any more primary-school-reminscint underwear sunbathing, we asked the lady at the guesthouse where we could buy a large bikini. She was convinced there was a shop that would sell them and drew it on our (already hand-drawn) map. We walked around all afternoon looking for it (and yes, I am a hypocrite but Matt did misplace his hat at least once!) but couldn't find it. The nearest we got was a store called Chickee where we were attended by a tiny lady with HUGE boobs and disturbing bright blue contact lenses in. They had no bikinis with tops to fit but had some larger looking bras so I gave them a look while we were there. Bizarrely, their bras only had one size measurement on them and when I tried to unsuccessfully determine whether the number referred to rib size or cup, I struggled to make her understand. Determined to make myself understood, I then tried to use the attendents unlikely frame as a reference point and we left very shortly after that before it got any more embarrassing.
As we searched further, we came across a lady selling sugar-cane juice. It was (unsurprisingly) too sweet and (more suprisingly) made me incredibly silly. Unusually, I had been craving sweet drinks though so on the back of coconut juice, chocolate soya milk, iced-coffee, (Thailand's own invention) Red Bull, perhaps it wasn't so surprising that I ended up as giddy as a schoolgirl as we walked around our last-ditch attempt of Tesco - where there wasn't a single bikini to be found.
As we headed past Trat department store on our way back, we decided to try and work out my bra size in a more conventional way. I soon regretted this. The lady measured me and then spent the next half hour passing me massive looking, over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder type affairs; none of which fit me. I decided to stick to my sports bra after all.
After dinner at the night market, we spent several hours sat outside trying to make cards on Moonpig. While Matt was doing his technical bit, I had decided to investigate why mosquitos find us so damn attractive. Unfortunately, this led to following links about bed bugs (we've met several people who've been blessed) and subsequently led on to be being so paranoid that I could not settle. It really didn't help that our hours outside had led to countless bugs dropping off us when we sat on the bed and so we had to remove a whole manner of ants, beetles and general crawlers. Icky!
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