I’m lying face down on the floor of a Thai boxing ring in Bangkok when I’m reminded of “Rembrandt”. That was the nickname of a tough old boy in a boxing gym back in London. I’d always thought he was called that out of respect, because he was an Old Master, or maybe because he was considered an artist in the ring. “Nah, ” my coach told me. “It’s because he spends so much time on the canvas. ”
I could write an entire travel guide to the various canvases of Thailand: at the Muay Thai Institute it’s springy but smelly; at Fight Lab it’s soft but non - absorbent; in Koh Samui it has the best views down to the ocean; and at The Siam, it feels like velvet.
Twenty years ago – the last time I was in Thailand – most of my fellow UK travellers were rich kids gazing at the cashmere lint in their navels, squaddies on benders and creepy Radio 1 DJ types. Back then you avoided the few oddballs who came to learn Muay Thai: weedy kids who’d watched too many Van Damme films and thought rat - infested accommodation and one - handed press - ups were character building.