The many tribes who gather here

There’s the “convert the world” brigade, ably represented by Eric Bahrt, who write from the ivory tower of truth and regard opposing scribblers as loons and worse. Next come the “bread and butter” keyboard warriors, in the camp of David Brown, who write eloquently about the price of plums and naughty airport taxis. It’s good stuff.
Let’s not forget the Thais, including Vint Chavala and Songdej Praditsmanont, who represent the “I was born here” line of reasoning and wisely keep us farang in check when we cross a bridge too far.  Then there is the “papal bull” approach of JC Wilcox and others who represent worthy scholarship from on high.
For myself, I am clearly in the “bored with nothing to do at work” cohort, although some of my better pieces were written under detention at the police station for playing bridge. I should also mention the anonymous contributors to this column, seemingly scared of their own shadow, who can be categorised as “the secret seven”, the child detectives invented by Enid Blyton.
Barry Kenyon