You get off your 13-hour flight from London drunk from socialising with that interior designer from Hong Kong sitting next to you.

The drive on the 12-lane double-decker freeway into town makes you feel nostalgic about the last time you were here.

Suddenly, you remember seeing that elephant-shaped office building before.

You check into your suite at the Met. A group of New York advertising executives are huddled in the lobby around their laptops discussing the launch of a new shampoo.

Of course you head to Vertigo for dinner and a 65th floor view.

Your Sunday ritual. Skytrain to Chatuchark market. Artists, designers, painters, gorgeous ceramics. Too bad they’ll never hit the shops in London. Such a waste of creativity.

Was that Vanessa Mae shopping around at Siam Center?

You hang out with those Fine Arts students you met at UCLA that summer, cruising in their convertible European sports cars (daddy paid for it…)

The Prada shop girl at Emporium remembers you. You feel underdressed.

School girls are screaming. You’re guessing the guy who walked past was a movie star. Or a model. Or a popstar. Wait, this is Bangkok, of course it’s all three…

The skaters are still hanging out at Benjasiri Park.

Gold everywhere. You’re at the Grand Palace. Time for a traditional massage at Wat Pho temple.

Naomi Campbell is sitting with her entourage in your hotel lobby.

You almost forget the England game! Thank god for O’Reilly’s pub around the corner.

Tonight, you’re just loving the Sneaker Pimps concert at Bed Supperclub. Oh look, there you are having a drink with them after the concert.

The Skytrain is a giant iPod billboard. Again, you feel underdressed.

That old guy carving elephants out of teak logs is still there, doing just that.

You still love taking a river taxi on the Chaoprya river.

You still love staggering back from the Qbar to Sukhumvit Road searching desperately for a taxi and a 7Eleven.

You still love the sounds, the smells, the people, the culture, the concrete.

You still love the City of Angels.