Boonnak Thai Restaurant

Boonnak Thai Restaurant Boonnak Thai restaurant authentic Thai cuisine open for lunch dinner and takeaway
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29/09/2026

šŸŽŸļøāœØ SET YOUR REMINDER - Carnival Magic tickets go on sale from 9.00am today!

Carnival Magic returns to the Blackpool Tower Ballroom at this year’s Lightpool Festival, with giant illuminated puppets, carnival dancers, live drumming and plenty of surprises! šŸŽ­šŸ„

šŸ“… Event date: Monday 26 October at 7.30pm
šŸ“ Location: Blackpool Tower Ballroom

Tickets will be released in two phases:
• Monday 28 September at 9.00am
• Thursday 1 October at 6.00pm

ā° Get ready as tickets go quickly!

Please note: due to a high number of unredeemed tickets at past events, a small £3.50 fee applies. All proceeds will be donated to local community projects.

ā„¹ļø https://bit.ly/carnival-magic-tickets-2026

29/09/2026

Car Boot

29/09/2026

Thai in Britain

Episode: I Thought It Was a Car Show…

My First Sunday Car Boot Sale in Blackpool

Hello everyone and welcome back to Thai in Britain…

The podcast where a Thai person moves to Britain…

…and discovers that British people will happily sell absolutely anything.

When I first moved to Blackpool…

My neighbour asked me,

ā€œFancy going to a car boot on Sunday?ā€

I got excited.

I thought…

Finally!

British people are going to show me classic Jaguars…

Vintage Minis…

Maybe even an Aston Martin.

I spent Saturday night watching Top Gear.

I was ready.

Sunday morning arrived.

We drove into a huge muddy field.

Hundreds of cars.

Perfect.

Then everyone opened their boots…

And started selling their rubbish.

I looked at my neighbour and said,

ā€œWhere are the cars?ā€

He looked at me like I was the strange one.

ā€œThe cars?ā€

ā€œNo mate… they’re just the tables.ā€

Ladies and gentlemen…

Welcome to the greatest misunderstanding of my life.

Back in Thailand…

A market is simple.

Fresh vegetables.

Street food.

Clothes.

Music.

People shouting,

ā€œSpecial price! Last one!ā€

In Britain…

A car boot sale is where your neighbour looks around the house and says,

ā€œI haven’t used this toaster since 1998…

Someone might want it.ā€

And someone does.

The first stall I visited was incredible.

A lawnmower.

Three teaspoons.

A teddy bear missing one eye.

A VHS player.

Two left shoes.

And a ceramic duck wearing a tiny hat.

The seller proudly smiled and said,

ā€œEverything works.ā€

I wasn’t brave enough to ask…

Which part?

The duck?

Then I realised something amazing.

British people don’t throw things away.

Ever.

Some families have been passing the same teapot around Britain since Queen Victoria.

Nothing dies.

It simply goes to another car boot sale.

I saw one gentleman happily buying a kettle.

My neighbour whispered,

ā€œHe sold that kettle here last month.ā€

The kettle had started a second career.

It had travelled more than I had.

Then came bargaining.

In Thailand…

You negotiate.

ā€œFive hundred baht?ā€

ā€œToo expensive.ā€

ā€œFour hundred.ā€

ā€œDeal.ā€

In Britain…

Negotiation sounds completely different.

ā€œWould you take Ā£2?ā€

ā€œHmm… I was thinking Ā£2.50.ā€

ā€œMeet in the middle?ā€

ā€œGo on then.ā€

The entire negotiation was so polite…

I wasn’t sure if they were buying a lamp…

Or signing a peace treaty.

Then I found the Holy Grail.

A box labelled

ā€œEverything Ā£1.ā€

Now…

Thai people hear those words…

And our survival instinct activates immediately.

I started digging.

Books.

DVDs.

Christmas decorations.

A mysterious cable that probably connected Britain to the moon.

Half the fun wasn’t buying anything.

It was wondering…

Who owned this before?

Why did they buy it?

And why on earth did they keep a singing fish on their living room wall?

Then I discovered another strange British habit.

Nobody rushes.

Nobody seems stressed.

People aren’t just shopping.

They’re chatting.

The lady selling homemade jam knows everyone’s grandchildren.

The old man selling vinyl records remembers buying them new.

Two strangers spend twenty minutes discussing gardening…

Without buying a single plant.

It’s not really a market.

It’s a weekly reunion.

Then I met a lovely elderly gentleman selling old tools.

I asked,

ā€œHave you been coming here long?ā€

He smiled and said,

ā€œForty-three years.ā€

Forty-three years.

That’s longer than many marriages.

He wasn’t just selling spanners.

He was part of the community.

People stopped by just to say hello.

Some bought something.

Most didn’t.

But everyone left smiling.

That’s when I understood something.

A supermarket sells products.

A car boot sale sells stories.

Every object has a history.

Every seller has a memory.

Every Sunday…

The whole neighbourhood comes together.

Not because they need another mug…

But because they enjoy seeing familiar faces.

Of course…

You still meet some interesting characters.

There’s always one person convinced their broken radio is a valuable antique.

Someone selling fifty copies of the same James Bond DVD.

A man with enough extension leads to power Blackpool Illuminations.

And somebody…

Always somebody…

Selling a mysterious box labelled

ā€œVarious.ā€

Nobody knows what’s inside.

Not even the seller.

It’s Britain’s version of a lucky dip.

The funniest part?

You promise yourself…

ā€œI’m only looking.ā€

Two hours later…

You’re carrying…

A bread maker.

Three books you’ll never read.

A garden gnome.

And somehow…

A picture frame without the picture.

Exactly like walking into 7-Eleven in Thailand for one bottle of water…

And walking out with toasties…

Seaweed…

Milk tea…

Instant noodles…

A packet of tissues…

And something you definitely didn’t need.

Different countries…

Same shopping disease.

As I walked back to the car…

I realised the real treasure wasn’t the bargains.

It was the people.

In a world where almost everything arrives with one click…

The Sunday car boot sale still asks you to do something wonderfully old-fashioned.

Wake up early.

Walk around.

Talk to strangers.

Laugh.

Share stories.

Drink terrible coffee from a paper cup.

And discover that one person’s clutter…

Can become another person’s happiness.

Maybe that’s why these Sunday markets refuse to disappear.

Because they’re not competing with Amazon.

They’re offering something Amazon can never deliver.

Community.

Conversation.

And the excitement of finding a perfectly good toaster…

For just two pounds.

Thank you for listening to Thai in Britain.

And remember…

If you’re ever invited to a British car boot sale…

Don’t expect Ferraris.

Expect fifty kettles.

Twenty garden gnomes.

A box of mysterious cables.

And one of the happiest Sunday mornings you’ll ever have.

Because sometimes…

The best things in Britain…

Are hiding in the back of someone’s car.

Here I come šŸ™
24/09/2026

Here I come šŸ™

19/09/2026

Have you ever watched someone in Britain apologize to a lamppost
after walking straight into it?
Or heard someone say
ā€œYeah… not badā€
and somehow understood that meant
very good, actually?
Welcome to British politeness.
A system so subtle, so indirect, and so quietly enforced
that you can live here for years
and still feel like you’ve missed a memo.
Because in Britain, politeness isn’t just about words.
It’s about timing.
Distance.
Tone And most importantly what you don’t say.
Today, we’re peeling back the layers of unseen British etiquette
to reveal the invisible rules that govern everyday life.
The ones no one explains.
But everyone expects you to follow.
Beyond ā€œPleaseā€ and ā€œThank Youā€
Most newcomers think British politeness is simple.
Say please.
Say thank you.
Smile politely.
But that’s just the surface.
Real British etiquette lives in the gaps—
the pauses in conversation,
the way someone shifts their weight in a queue,
or lowers their voice on a train without being asked.
It’s not about what you say.
It’s how you say it.
And sometimes… whether you say anything at all.

18/09/2026

SURVIVING A BRITISH WINTER

When I first moved from Thailand to Blackpool, I thought winter would be simple.

Put on a jacket.

Wear a jumper.

Maybe buy a scarf.

In Thailand, when the weather gets cold, you say:

ā€œWow, today is a bit cool.ā€

Then you wear long trousers.

In Britain, winter is different.

Here, the weather doesn’t just make you cold.

It makes you question your entire life.

By December, I had stopped asking:

ā€œWhat time is it?ā€

I was asking:

ā€œIs it still today?ā€

Because at eight o’clock in the morning…

it looked like midnight.

At four o’clock in the afternoon…

it looked like midnight.

At six o’clock in the evening…

it looked like midnight.

I thought the sun had been cancelled.

āø»

THE SUN HAS LEFT THE CHAT

The first British winter morning, I woke up at 7:30.

I opened the curtains.

Darkness.

I checked my phone.

7:30 AM.

I opened the curtains again.

Still darkness.

I thought:

ā€œMaybe my phone is wrong.ā€

I checked the news.

I checked the weather.

I checked Google.

Then I looked outside.

A man was walking his dog.

The dog looked disappointed.

I said:

ā€œGood morning!ā€

The man said:

ā€œMorning.ā€

But his face said:

ā€œIs it?ā€

I went to work.

At lunchtime, I asked a British colleague:

ā€œWhen does the sun come out?ā€

He said:

ā€œOh, it might brighten up later.ā€

I said:

ā€œWhat time?ā€

He said:

ā€œOh, you know… later.ā€

I thought:

ā€œExcellent.

A country where even the sun has no confirmed appointment.ā€

āø»

THE SCIENCE OF BEING TIRED FOR NO REASON

After a few weeks, I started feeling strange.

I was tired.

But I hadn’t done anything.

I woke up tired.

I went to work tired.

I came home tired.

I sat on the sofa…

and became more tired.

I asked my British friend:

ā€œWhy am I so sleepy?ā€

He said:

ā€œIt’s the winter.ā€

I said:

ā€œBut I slept eight hours.ā€

He said:

ā€œYes, but it’s winter.ā€

I said:

ā€œWhat does that mean?ā€

He said:

ā€œIt means… winter.ā€

I thought:

ā€œThis is not an explanation.

This is a national diagnosis.ā€

āø»

THE SCIENTIFIC BIT

Now, there is real science behind the winter struggle.

Our bodies use light to help regulate the circadian rhythm, the internal clock that influences sleep and wakefulness.

Shorter days and less bright outdoor light can make that rhythm harder to keep in sync.

Some people also experience seasonal affective disorder, or SAD, a form of depression linked to seasonal changes.

And vitamin D is important for health, although sunlight exposure, diet and supplements all play different roles.

But in Blackpool, the problem is not just the lack of sunlight.

It is the psychological experience of looking outside and seeing…

the same colour as a wet pavement.

āø»

THE BRITISH THERMAL BATTERY

One evening, I went to my friend’s house.

I said:

ā€œWhy is your house so cold?ā€

He said:

ā€œIt’s an old house.ā€

I said:

ā€œBut you have heating.ā€

He said:

ā€œYes.ā€

I said:

ā€œThen why am I still cold?ā€

He said:

ā€œBecause it’s an old house.ā€

I touched the wall.

It was freezing.

I touched the radiator.

It was warm.

I touched the wall again.

Still freezing.

I thought:

ā€œThis house is not a home.

It is a refrigerator with a mortgage.ā€

British houses are often built with thick brick walls and designed to retain heat.

That can be useful in winter.

But during prolonged hot weather, thermal mass can also store heat and release it slowly.

So the same house can be:

A freezer in January.

An oven in August.

And somehow…

the council tax remains the same.

āø»

THE GREAT BRITISH DAMP

Then I discovered something worse than cold.

Damp cold.

In Thailand, when it’s cold, you know what cold is.

It’s cold.

In Britain, the cold has texture.

It enters your sleeves.

It travels up your trousers.

It sits inside your socks.

You can feel it in your bones.

I said to my friend:

ā€œWhy is British cold so wet?ā€

He said:

ā€œBecause it’s damp.ā€

I said:

ā€œBut rain is outside.ā€

He said:

ā€œYes.ā€

I said:

ā€œThen why is it inside my body?ā€

He said:

ā€œWelcome to Britain.ā€

I bought a thicker coat.

Then a waterproof coat.

Then waterproof shoes.

Then thermal socks.

At this point, I was dressed like a man preparing to cross the Arctic…

to go to Tesco.

āø»

THE ANCIENT SOLUTION FIRE

One day, I read about ancient winter traditions.

Samhain.

Bonfire celebrations.

Fire festivals.

People gathering together in the dark.

And I thought:

ā€œFinally. A culture that understands the problem.ā€

Ancient people looked at winter and said:

ā€œWe need fire.ā€

Modern British people looked at winter and said:

ā€œWe need a pub.ā€

Same principle.

Different heating system.

The ancient solution:

Gather around a fire.

The modern British solution:

Gather around a radiator…

and complain about the price of electricity.

āø»

THE PUB AS A WINTER SURVIVAL CENTRE

By January, I understood why British people love pubs.

It’s not just about drinking.

It’s about survival.

You walk in from the cold.

You see warm lights.

You smell food.

You hear people talking.

Someone says:

ā€œCold one tonight, isn’t it?ā€

You say:

ā€œYes.ā€

And suddenly…

you are part of the community.

The pub is basically a social greenhouse.

It keeps people alive through the winter.

I asked my friend:

ā€œDo British people come here every night?ā€

He said:

ā€œNot every night.ā€

Then he looked around.

Everyone at the bar was a regular.

I said:

ā€œHow do you know everyone?ā€

He said:

ā€œYou just do.ā€

I thought:

ā€œIn Thailand, we gather because the weather is nice.

In Britain, you gather because the weather is trying to kill your mood.ā€

āø»

THE NATIONAL SPORT OF COMPLAINING ABOUT WINTER

British people have a special winter language.

They don’t say:

ā€œI am suffering from seasonal emotional exhaustion.ā€

They say:

ā€œBit grim, innit?ā€

They don’t say:

ā€œThe temperature has fallen below comfortable human functioning.ā€

They say:

ā€œProper nippy.ā€

They don’t say:

ā€œThe persistent darkness is affecting my circadian rhythm.ā€

They say:

ā€œGets dark early, doesn’t it?ā€

And everybody agrees.

This is important.

Because British people may not always discuss their feelings directly…

but they will discuss the weather for forty-five minutes.

And somehow…

that helps.

āø»

THE LIGHT BOX

One day, my friend showed me a strange machine.

A bright white light.

Sitting on his desk.

I asked:

ā€œWhat is that?ā€

He said:

ā€œLight therapy lamp.ā€

I said:

ā€œWhy?ā€

He said:

ā€œFor the winter.ā€

I said:

ā€œYou bought a sun?ā€

He said:

ā€œSort of.ā€

I looked at the lamp.

It was shining directly into his face.

He looked like he was being interrogated by heaven.

I said:

ā€œDoes it work?ā€

He said:

ā€œI think so.ā€

I said:

ā€œHow much did it cost?ā€

He said:

ā€œĀ£80.ā€

I said:

ā€œFor a lamp?ā€

He said:

ā€œIt’s a SAD lamp.ā€

I said:

ā€œMy friend, I am also sad.

But I am not paying Ā£80 to be interrogated by a desk light.ā€

Of course, light therapy can be useful for some people with seasonal depression, but it should be used appropriately, and anyone with significant symptoms should seek medical advice.

Still…

I couldn’t stop thinking:

ā€œThe British have invented a portable sun because the real one refuses to cooperate.ā€

āø»

THE WINTER PROTOCOL

By February, I had developed my own survival system.

Step one:

Wake up.

Step two:

Check if it is still dark.

Step three:

Make tea.

Step four:

Check again.

Step five:

Put on coat.

Step six:

Make another tea.

Step seven:

Go outside, even if it is grey.

Step eight:

Return home.

Step nine:

Turn on every light in the house.

Step ten:

Say:

ā€œNot long now.ā€

ā€œNot long nowā€ is a very important British phrase.

It means:

Spring is coming.

The sun will return.

The darkness will end.

Possibly.

Eventually.

Hopefully.

āø»

THE FIRST SPRING SUN

Then one day…

in March…

I woke up.

Opened the curtains.

And saw…

SUNLIGHT.

Actual sunlight.

Not a bright patch of cloud.

Not a suspicious yellow reflection.

Sunlight.

I ran outside.

I stood in the garden.

I looked up.

I felt warmth on my face.

A British neighbour walked past.

He said:

ā€œLovely day.ā€

I said:

ā€œYES!ā€

He looked shocked.

I said:

ā€œTHE SUN IS BACK!ā€

He said:

ā€œDon’t get carried away. It’ll rain later.ā€

I thought:

ā€œOf course.

Even happiness in Britain comes with a weather warning.ā€

āø»

WINTER IS NOT JUST WEATHER

So what have I learned from surviving a British winter?

I’ve learned that the lack of sunlight affects more than your skin.

It affects your sleep.

Your energy.

Your mood.

Your motivation.

And your ability to remember what colour the sky is supposed to be.

I’ve learned that British resilience is not about pretending winter is easy.

It’s about building rituals around it.

Tea.

Pubs.

Warm food.

Friends.

Light.

Fire.

And complaining together.

Because sometimes…

the best way to survive a difficult season…

is not to pretend you’re enjoying it.

It’s to sit with other people and say:

ā€œThis is absolutely miserable, isn’t it?ā€

And have someone reply:

ā€œYeah But at least it’s not raining.ā€

Then it starts raining.

Until next time…

Stay warm.

Keep your socks dry.

And remember:

The sun always comes back.

Eventually.

Probably.

11/09/2026
11/09/2026

Punk Podcast Decoding the Thames Unearthing Roman Secrets from the Mud

āø»

Picture this.

You’re standing on the edge of the River Thames in London.

The tide has retreated.

What’s left behind isn’t a clean shoreline…

But a stretch of black, glistening mud.

It looks slippery.
Unstable.
Honestly… a bit disgusting.

But to a certain group of people—

This isn’t just mud.

It’s a 2,000-year-old archive.

āø»

A Time Capsule Beneath Your Feet

Beneath that thick, oxygen-starved mud lies the lost world of Londinium—the Roman version of London.

This river has been swallowing objects for centuries.

Coins. Tools. Personal belongings.

Things dropped, lost, or discarded by people who lived nearly two millennia ago.

And every time the tide pulls back…

The river reveals a few more pieces of the past.

āø»

Racing the Tide

But there’s a catch.

You only have a small window.

A few hours at most before the tide returns.

Serious searchers study digital tide charts carefully—timing everything down to the minute.

Because when the water comes back…

It doesn’t negotiate.

It floods the area quickly, cutting off escape routes.

And the mud itself?

It can trap your feet like wet cement.

This isn’t just a casual walk.

It’s a race against time—and nature.

āø»

The Mudlarks

The people who do this are known as ā€œmudlarks.ā€

Modern-day treasure hunters.

But not in the Hollywood sense.

They don’t find gold chests or sparkling jewels.

They find fragments.

Everyday objects.

Broken pieces of real lives.

And importantly—they don’t just dig freely.

The area is regulated by the Port of London Authority.

You need a permit.

Because what you find…

May not belong to you.

It belongs to history.

āø»

First Contact with the Past

Imagine stepping into the mud.

Your foot sinks slowly.

A wet, sucking sound follows every movement.

Cold seeps through your boots.

You scan the ground carefully.

Then suddenly…

Something catches your eye.

A small, pale object poking through the surface.

You reach down.

Gently pull it free.

It’s smooth.

Delicate.

A Roman bone hairpin.

Nearly 2,000 years old.

āø»

Small Objects, Big Stories

At first glance, it’s just a hairpin.

But it tells a story.

It tells us that someone—likely a Roman woman—stood here once.

That she cared about appearance. Grooming. Identity.

Some of these hairpins are intricately carved.

Still detailed after centuries underground.

Preserved perfectly by the mud.

It’s not just an object.

It’s a moment of someone’s life—frozen in time.

āø»

Why the Mud Preserves Everything

The secret lies in the environment.

The deep layers of Thames mud are anaerobic—meaning they lack oxygen.

Without oxygen, bacteria can’t break materials down as quickly.

So organic objects—like bone, wood, even leather—

Survive far longer than they should.

In a way, the river doesn’t just bury history.

It protects it.

āø»

Coins from a Forgotten Economy

Another common find?

Coins.

Small, rusted, often barely recognizable.

At first, they look like scraps of metal.

But with careful analysis, they reveal incredible detail.

Where they were minted.
Which emperor ruled at the time.
How trade flowed through the Roman world.

Each coin is like a data point—

Connecting London to a vast ancient network of commerce and power.

āø»

Mapping the Ancient City

Over time, discoveries like these begin to form patterns.

Certain areas yield more objects than others.

Clusters of finds suggest former docks.

Trading zones.

Busy areas where goods—and people—once gathered.

By mapping these discoveries, researchers can reconstruct parts of ancient Londinium.

Right beneath modern London.

āø»

A River That Takes and Gives

The Thames is constantly shifting.

It erodes. Deposits. Moves.

It hides history.

Then reveals it again.

Objects disappear for decades—sometimes centuries—

Only to reappear after a single change in tide or current.

It’s not a static archive.

It’s a living system.

A river that both buries and returns memory.

āø»

Saving the Past—Quickly

But recovering an object is only the beginning.

The moment it’s exposed to air…

It begins to deteriorate.

Materials that survived for centuries underground can crumble within days.

So mudlarks must act quickly.

Keeping objects wet.
Stabilizing them.
Reporting significant finds.

Because without proper care—

A 2,000-year-old artifact can vanish almost instantly.

āø»

The City Beneath the City

What makes this all so powerful is location.

This isn’t some remote archaeological site.

This is London.

A modern, fast-moving city.

Trains. Offices. Tourists.

And beneath it all—

Layer upon layer of human history.

The Thames quietly flows through it, carrying fragments of the past.

Waiting for the right moment to reveal them.

āø»

Final Reflection

Next time you walk along the river in London…

And see that dark, uninviting mud…

Take a moment.

Because just beneath the surface…

There could be something extraordinary.

A lost possession.

A forgotten story.

A small piece of a life lived two thousand years ago—

Waiting to be found.

āø»

Because history isn’t always locked away in museums.

Sometimes…

It’s right beneath your feet.

Hidden in the mud.

Waiting for the tide to fall.


09/09/2026

Randomly asking Where are you from?

Address

60 Topping Street
Blackpool
FY13AQ

Opening Hours

Tuesday 12pm - 3pm
5pm - 10pm
Wednesday 12pm - 3pm
5pm - 10pm
Thursday 12pm - 3pm
5pm - 10pm
Friday 12pm - 3pm
5pm - 11pm
Saturday 12pm - 3pm
5pm - 11pm
Sunday 12pm - 10pm

Telephone

+441253290647

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