In a move that has sent shockwaves through the sunburnt ranks of British holidaymakers, Thailand has slashed its visa-free stay from 30 to a paltry 15 days. The Foreign Office, in a rare display of urgency, has issued an 'urgent travel advisory' that reads like a eulogy to the great British two-week bender. The bureaucratic coup, executed with the subtlety of a tuk-tuk driver in a Bangkok traffic jam, means that the dream of a month-long gin-soaked sojourn on Koh Samui is now as dead as a British summer.
The decision, ostensibly to 'crack down on overstayers' and 'improve tourism quality', is patently a conspiracy to deprive Her Majesty's subjects of their inalienable right to indefinite sunburn and hangovers. I can only assume the Thai tourism board has been infiltrated by the same people who removed the snacks from my Virgin Atlantic flight. The news has already triggered a wave of panic among the great unwashed, who now face the existential crisis of having to choose between the elephant sanctuary and an extra 15 days of pad thai-induced constipation.
Foreign Office advisories, typically written in the language of bureaucratic stone, now carry a subtext of pure panic: 'Ensure your visa status is correct, or face the horror of being politely asked to leave.' The subtext: 'You are no longer welcome in the land of a thousand smiles, unless you smile and scram in under a fortnight.' As a journalist who once spent 45 days in Chiang Mai 'researching' the effects of Singha beer on journalistic integrity, I can only say this: I feel your pain.
But the great British tourist will adapt. They will learn to pack a fortnight's worth of Marmite, sun cream, and self-loathing. They will squeeze their annual two-week holiday into a frantic 15-day sprint through temples, beaches, and bar fights.
They will return tanned but broken, clutching a receipt from a 7-Eleven that is now the only proof of a former life. To the Thai tourism board: You have cut us deep. But you have also given us the greatest gift.
The gift of knowing that every second counts. Tick tock, Britannia. Your holiday is now a sprint.
