IT’S amazing what a holiday can do for your disposition.

When I left for a spontaneous two-week break in Bangkok last month, the first thing I did upon taking my seat on the plane was to release.

Not just any release, but one so explosive and prolonged that the man sitting next to me flinched badly, a flight attendant asked me to “refrain from doing that again” and a teenage Asian boy smirked knowingly at me as, moments later, I waddled down the aisle towards the toilets, head bowed.

It was an involuntary action. It felt like my body was trying to rid itself of months of stress that had built up like a giant underground methane gas bubble.

But while my embarrassment quickly subsided, my anger didn’t.

I boarded that plane more hostile than a drunken People’s Liberation Army soldier stationed in Tibet, and felt the same way when I alighted.

It was a different story when I returned home a fortnight later.

The aggressive, surly man was gone. I felt calm and compliant. I was strangely different.

When I realised the Bangkok cabbie who drove me to the airport en route to Australia had not turned on the meter and then presented me with a palm on which I was meant to deposit the grossly inflated fare, I didn’t place him in a chokehold, like I once did to a Thai taxi driver who ripped me off, but paid the money without fuss and bid him farewell.

And when I was handed a $105 bill for the seven pints of beer I consumed at a bar in Singapore’s Changi Airport while in transit, I didn’t spit on the floor and threaten to set fire to the place but, again, politely handed over the money.

I didn’t even castigate the fellow passenger who had the temerity to fall asleep on my shoulder on the late-night flight to Australia.

The stranger’s face was inches from my face, yet I let him lay there – a pseudo, transient girlfriend with a shaved head, full beard and foul odour.

I’ve been back on the Coast almost a week and the old me is resurfacing again. I don’t want him.

I have given much thought to his initial exorcism and have come to this conclusion.

My transformation was the result of a sustained hen-pecking blitz, the likes of which ultimately left me with very little fight but, surprisingly, more contented than I’ve been in a long time.

I suspect my Thai wife, perhaps broken over her largely unsuccessful and unreasonable attempts to restrain me in Bangkok, might not return to Australia, so I need to act now.

I’m looking for a woman – age and appearance irrelevant – who has an innate ability to emasculate men. She shouldn’t be too hard to find.