A Cunning Plan
By Joe Barker
I find looking through rose-tinted glasses at life back home to be one of the great challenges of expat life. I miss family and friends, genuinely forgetting how annoying they really are. Obviously if you’re family or a friend reading this, I don't mean you—it’s the other really annoying ones I’m talking about. I fondly remember long spring evenings and golden sunshine, and forget the never-ending rain, the grey clouds, and the bitter cold. Above all, I think of England as a place of perpetual holiday because now when we’re home, we’re on holiday, and if holidays aren’t fun you’re either doing them wrong or have accidentally taken your children with you.
Last year I hatched a cunning plan. With my wife on maternity leave and me unhampered by the ties of gainful employment, we’d make an extended stay in England and my rose-tinted glasses would be shattered by the freezing realities of November in Northumberland. Two days of sleet and fog should have me yearning for the warmth of Thailand and put paid to any silly ideas of moving to rural England. I’m not sure my plan worked as we seemed to have a wonderful time, in our own special way.
A fair division of labor
I don’t think regular readers of this column can be in any doubt that my wife is a very lucky lady to have such a generous and considerate husband. These endearing traits of mine were at the fore when I nobly allowed her to run parkrun every Saturday while we were in the UK. She was concerned that I was missing out on the fun, but I assured her that I didn't mind her getting up early to run five kilometers up and down steep rainy hills while I stayed warm and dry with the kids. It was a sacrifice, but one I was prepared to make. Pretty noble, I think you'll agree.
Having nobly looked after the children for the thirty minutes of a weekly parkrun, I felt no qualms about demanding two or three hours for my own runs every couple of days. It seemed totally fair to me. Martin was all in favor of these excursions as he got to watch YouTube while I was out. Each morning I'd be greeted with a cheerful “When are you going running?”, and this most demanding of coaches would allow no procrastination, as he brought me my shoes and reminded me that I hadn't left yet.
In an attempt to make myself appear less selfish, I'd suggest meeting at a cafe with a playground so that it would seem like a family outing. Obviously I only did this for the tasty post-run cake. Whether they actually enjoyed these trips or whether an exhausted father was any use for entertaining children once he finally arrived at the cafe they'd been waiting at for two hours were questions I was very careful not to ask.
Seasonal eating
After parkrun we’d always have ice cream. In August this seemed reasonable—even essential. By November, when Marty refused to let the need to wear a hat and gloves, or even the sleet, interrupt his ice cream time, it seemed a little less sensible. While I shivered in two coats and a hoodie over a steaming mug of tea, Marty relished a raspberry ripple. The red ice cream just about hid his increasingly blue lips. Probably a good thing we came back to Thailand when we did or he’d have gotten frostbite.
A lucky escape
My favorite day of our holiday was the Saturday when I didn't lose any children. Now to be clear, this wasn't in contrast to all the other days when I was shedding children like confetti; rather it was the day when an unfortunate series of events made it seem very probable that I was about to lose at least one of them.
It started innocently enough with a decision to take Marty's bike to parkrun. He cycled everyday in Bangkok but he’d been without a bike for several weeks and was excited that his cousin had lent him her bike. Now in hindsight there are differences between pedaling up and down our pancake-flat soi and the mountain bike routes of Hamsterley parkrun. Most obviously, I thought, the absence of motorbikes, but also, it turned out, a need for a much greater understanding of brakes and their usage.
Excited to be reunited with a bike, Marty decided we’d chase Mummy on her run. I’ll draw a veil over the bribes, threats, and struggles required to get me, two children, a bike, and a stroller to the top of a very small hill. Suffice to say that it was not a pleasant experience and everything was, all too literally, about to go downhill from there.
Precariously clinging to a bike and a stroller on a hill that suddenly seemed to have become a mountain, I swiftly discovered there was no way I could control six wheels on the descent. With a despairing shove, I pushed Alice's stroller towards a passing bush, and hoped it would stick.
As we plummeted down the slope I failed to explain braking to Marty. Just as it seemed impossible for my legs to keep up, the slope leveled out, the bike slowed, and we were able to stop before the river became much of a concern. Glancing back I could see no sign of a stroller. With shouted instructions to Martin not to drown himself, or move, I sprinted back up the hill.
Thankfully there was the stroller snuggled in among the stinging nettles with Alice giggling happily to herself. We descended at a more sedate pace, until the abandoned bicycle appeared, whereupon our pace and my panic increased substantially. Thankfully Marty was not in the river. Instead he was welcoming the runners around the final corner, in the traditional manner, by peeing at their feet. Having stopped this idiosyncratic form of cheerleading, we agreed not to discuss any of this with Mummy and went to see the Gruffalo. Oh, the relief that everyone had survived.
Family time
One of the best things about going home is the free childcare. Marty and his granny would happily spend hours building train tracks and reading books while I lazed on the sofa and caught up on my reading. Sadly, my lazy idyll was ruined by others’ selfishness. Apparently Marty’s cousins also liked to see their granny, and work didn't consider playing with grandchildren a valid reason for calling in sick. Worse was to come as I realised the 800-mile round trip between my parents house and our house would limit their usefulness as babysitters. Whining all the way, I was forced back to fatherly duties.
It was this rather than the weather that may have made my cunning plan a success. Much as I loved our months in the UK, I was yearning for our nanny by the end. Children are so much more tolerable when someone else is looking after them.
About the Author
Joe and his wife Diane moved to Thailand in 2018. Since the arrival of their son Martin in 2021 and daughter Alice in 2024, Joe has been a stay-at-home father. The whole family enjoys BAMBI playgroups and Thai beach holidays.