Any talk of visiting Thailand inevitably raises the subject of Ladyboys, or, as they are called in Thailand, Kathoey. They are those peculiar creatures who deign to be women, but only go halfway. So for appearances sake they are women, until such time as you realise that south of the hipline they are not. By which stage it is probably too late.

That said, some of them are incredibly striking. They strut, shimmy, pose, prowl and preen better than most women. Understandably they tend to be slightly longer of limb, so when turning on their (very) high heels, mane arcing and ivories flashing, they look like catwalk models. Prosperous of breast and curved of buttock (how do they do that?) they actually seem to be über-women.

A closer inspection (not too close!) sows the first seeds of doubt. Is the jaw a little too square, the voice a little too croaky? A quick check for an Adam’s apple is sensible, but that’s not a certain thing. Apparently there is reduction surgery available for that.

In one bar we visited there were some quality hijinks going on, involving soap suds, nudity and whips. A poor chap was getting flailed in a bath by half a dozen go-go dancers; the rest of us sheltered our glasses from the flying suds. I began to take some covert photos from waist level (taking them wasn’t allowed) and managed a few shots before I was caught. Two waitresses yelped around me, grabbing at my camera and calling for the management. Bouncers edged forward.

The manager arrived quickly. Slender and elegant, she stretched forward her painted hand and demanded I hand over my camera. I protested that the shots were so blurred as to be unrecognisable, but she remained unmoved. ‘Delete!’ she ordered, her sable hair shaking with anger. Giggling stupidly I deleted the photos one by one, while she got more and more cross. It wasn’t so much the alcohol making me laugh, nor the antics carrying on immediately behind. It was the fact the manager had a beard.