“It ain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it…”

The intrepid visitors have departed on their first grand tour through Rajasthan, with the plan being that we’ll go down to meet up with them in Jaipur in a few days.

We organised a driver for them by the name of Raman.

Apparently the joke which has still not lost it’s novelty, is them all getting into the car each morning and one of the girls producing a bunch of bananas and innocently offering one to him with the words “Banana, Raman?”

Truly Oscar Wilde is spinning at high speed.

(P.S. Apparently that's Simon on the right - obvious really as the other two are blondes)

“It´s Christmas time. There´s no need to be afraid”

It always struck me when growing up that this song must have scared a lot of small children. Tiny minds with vivid imaginations all thinking, “What aren’t they telling me.? Why shouldn't I be afraid?”

Anyway, it’s the 25th and we need to come up with a Christmas lunch for Leigh, Simon and Anne. This ends up meaning spending several hours in our favourite Italian restaurant in Delhi. Italian = Good Catholic = Jesus. The magic works for me.

More visitors

Simon, Leigh and Annie are arriving. Christmas eve in Delhi. It’ll be lovely. We’ve already told Annie that as we’re 5 hours ahead Santa will have already done his deliveries here and them being on a plane means that our presents to them will be in some kind of gift limbo – think Terminal 5 baggage feck-up but more spiritual I say.

She doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Hallelujah, Hallelujah”

Julia is off.

As she runs around with last minute packing, Memsahib and I are distracted discussing the X-Factor cover of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah and whether we prefer the Jeff Buckley or Rufus Wainwright version. Julia comes into the room and tells us she loves the song but has never heard the versions we’re describing. After a few seconds of enthusiastic and roughly on-key rendition of Handels’ Messiah from her, we realise the confusion.

As we carry her bags down to the car and she turns to say farewell, it seems appropriate to say “Time to leave I guess” and then follow it up with Memsahib and I belting our the words “Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Halleluuuuuuuuuujah”.

You just can’t beat a good goodbye.

“You're gonna need a bigger boat.”

Miss Julia has bought several things since she’s been here. At last viewing it was two entire suitcases of stuff of which we’re carrying back one for her on our next return trip (because we’re nice that way). There’s a lot of packing and repacking to evenly distribute the weight, preserve the fragile items and generally try not to look more over the limit than an American family on their third visit to the “all you can eat” buffet.

Our bathroom scales once again bear the brunt of delivering unwelcome news as we heave cases onto them and the girls quibble over how bathroom scales “always over estimate”. I keep schtum, for once, demonstrating my mouth doesn’t always run ahead of my brain.

“I’m too cold. No, wait, I’m too hot”

We get up at 5:30 to catch the sunrise from the terrace.

It’s absolutely freezing in the dark. The girls have pashminas while I have to make do with grit and pluck. Thankfully we all have hot chocolate being ferried out from the kitchen. I keep knocking it back until the sugar rush gives me a toddler mood flashback.

After twenty minutes, the sun comes up and the temperature climbs fifteen degrees in as many minutes. It’s amazing how fast the bare sun at altitude can change things. Five minutes later I’m comfortable and the girls are complaining about being too hot.

The problem with women is they just don’t know what they want.

“A bit like British builders then”

Off to explore Shimla proper.

We have a local guide, a young guy who used to be a climbing instructor/guide but decided to take up tour guiding as he thought if no-one told people about the history, it would just be forgotten.

As we’re walking along we’re looking at all the houses built several stories high on the side of the mountains. When he starts mentioning how this is a high risk earthquake zone and there have been many big quakes in the past, we ask if there has ever been any serious damage with houses falling down.

He says no as apparently when they have a quake, they pray and then nothing collapses.

Reassured, I make sure I’m not standing under anything for the rest of the day.

Where Eagles Dare

Finally we arrive at our destination – Wildflower Hall.

It’s a grand old hotel which used to be Lord Kitcheners residence. It even has an infinity hot tub perched on the side of the mountain (which I guess was added after the old guy lived there). Everything about it is exceptional, but the high point for Memsahib is when the chef comes out at dinner to inform us that the menu is more of a guideline than a set list and he’s happy to make anything we want – I resist the temptation to ask “Like Burger King?”

Mr Kapur then spends the post dinner digestive session attempting to set a new record for the number of logs fetched and burnt in a single evening. “More logs, more logs” – the cry rings into the night way past the point we retire, having secured all windows as warned against Miss Julias nemesis – monkeys.

“Take your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape”

We’re heading up to Shimla with Miss Julia. This is a fun trip for several reasons.

First we fly to Chandigar. As I enter Delhi domestic airport, the check in clerk looks at my Australian passport and makes a face which I understand to mean “boy, have we just stuffed you at the cricket big time”.

Then when we land, we still have a 5 hour drive up some winding mountain roads with Mr Kapur (Memsahib’s #2) as the pace car. Rishi does his best to keep up which necessitates some overtaking on the outside of people who are already overtaking. Nail biting, stomach churning stuff and we have to take a few breaks to let our internals settle down.

During a break for lunch a local monkey attempts to steal Miss Julias handbag. Their bag snatching would have worked if it wasn’t for those pesky drivers who raise the alarm and scare them off. Temporarily at least, as they then turn and starts hissing at us and advancing which prompts everyone to dive into the cars and secure the windows.

After the drama of the primate crime spree, we’re back on the road. Suddenly lunch seems to be a badly thought out action. Mr Kapur may be a man who appreciates the finer things in life, but he has missing his calling as a Delhite taxi driver.

“Sir and Brad Pitt – not so much”

Our driver Rishi is a man who knows what side his chapatti is buttered on.

As he is driving Madam, Miss Julia and Sir onto another purchasing expedition, Miss Julia asks him about his previous employment. Before becoming a contracted driver for B.T., Rishi used to be a driver for the Sheraton and his previous human packages put any London cabbies stories of “I had that in the back of my cab” firmly in the shade.

He has carried Bill Clinton, a man with his finger firmly on the (intern) trigger. He has carried Robert De Niro (and when you’ve dated Naomi Campbell, Delhi traffic holds no fear for you). But the cherry on the cake is he has driven Angelina Jolie. And then he utters the words that ensures large tips for the rest of his employment with us

“But Madam is much lovelier”

"Well, it's one louder, isn't it?" - Nigel Tufnel

The visitors have started rolling in.

I (Memsahib is still in Sydney for a conference) had Anita and Pete for a flying one day stop yesterday on their way to Calcutta.

Next in the pipeline is Julia. To say she’s excited is an understatement of legendary proportions. She’s only been here for a day and the driver has already started referring to her as “the talking machine”. She’s loving all of it and running around like a big toddler trying everything.

Her shopping excursions are a wonder to witness when you’re a man who views places that sell things like cushions as citadels of non-functionality. My favourite game is asking “but what’s it for” and consistently being told “you just don’t get it”. Which is, I understand, what a lot of cults say to outsiders.

“You’re gonna need a bigger plate”

Time for another food photo. This is what you get when you order spaghetti with prawns in our favourite Italian restaurant in Delhi.

You can see the gears whirring...

We're now in Singapore. Which really has very little exciting about it except for our friends and their baby daughter. Who is very personable and quite good at mimicking the blank look of the person looking at her.

We’ve shot through

We manage to leave Australia just before Sheila develops a twang

One of the few holiday photos I liked.

Highlights for Sheila were experiencing the local culinary delights of Dim Sims, potato cakes and Chiko rolls (only the finest Australia has to offer for the Sheila); watching the tearful reunion of mother and son (I cried, but only because the DNA tests proved parentage) and actually hearing at least two Australians use the phrase “Fair Dinkum” in a non-ironic manner.

Highlights for Bruce were the departure lounges of Melbourne and Sydney airports respectively.

“It never strikes twice, so you stand outside first”

I turn on the laptop in the hotel room in Melbourne and there’s a headline – “Siege still ongoing in Mumbai” with all kinds of not very nice looking pictures of general chaos. Trying not to panic the Sheila I turn on BBC World News and get more of the same. As we’re both sitting there watching it all (having slept through the first ten hours) we both decide that we’re still keen continue staying in India. The grab hand of Fate plucks you out when it will so no sense in worrying. Besides, this puts it all in perspective.

You can't go home again

We arrive in Melbourne.

After Sheila not getting any better we call the hotel doctor who naturally blames it on something she must have picked up in Delhi. We don’t care as he hands over s script for something stronger. Much, much stronger. Whatever it is, it takes the nasty gastrointestinal beasties in hand and slaps them about hard. Which is good as it means she’s well enough just in time for the road trip - the maternal road trip. The fun never stops.

But first we do the family catch-ups. Mother, Sister + her husband, Grandfather, Uncle + Aunt.

It’s good to see them all over the next few days. My sister does a one woman marketing effort on behalf of Melbourne telling me how it’s really developed in the last few years. “Do they have an Opera House yet?” I ask. That shuts her up. The weather holds up reasonably well after the flash flood rain of Sydney, It all goes swimmingly, even my Uncles really atrocious jokes which haven’t gotten any better in 20 years (which is good as I had promised Sheila they were bad).

We even manage to see on old friend of mine who is now shockingly a mother with a grown up job and everything. Luckily she brings her husband and daughters along to dinner where I get the chance to tell her young girls about their mothers’ days in the circus as the low clown on the totem pole (meaning she was the last one out of the tiny car and got hand-me-down putty for her nose). It’s good for them to know these things. They are the future after all.

Just drive she said

We set off down to Melbourne with Sheila violently ill after eating in Sydney’s finest restaurant and having to drive two days down a scenic coastal road packed full of Imodium. The wide open spaces and beading of small towns along the way were the same as I remembered from childhood Christmas holidays. It’s nice to know a new generation will have the opportunity to suffer the same character building process of a fortnight of 35 degrees in the shade boredom.

After stopping overnight in Eden, Sheila started getting very excited about viewing the Melbourne Opera House and Melbourne Harbour Bridge after I’d told her so much about them.

Sometimes it’s hard to shatter those dreams.

Strewth!

So we’ve done the family visit/trip down under. It was full of "wonderful" adventures. On first landing in Sydney after having cleared immigration (the only time in my life when I go native and the Sheila endures the foreigners desk – cue much “But you’re all convicts, why are you checking me?”) we then proceeded to get lost heading to our first port of call – Dr. Rahuls. This was even with a SatNav and Sheilas helpful advice to “turn it upside down as we’re in the southern hemisphere”.

Eventually we got there and after a short rest and catch-up with little Oliver (the brains of the outfit) we then set off to explore the finest Sydney has to offer. Sadly we missed out on any chance of seeing Dr. Rahuls place of work a.k.a “The Love Shack”. Still it was probably for the best, nobody wants tourists with cameras in the middle of a ObGyn session – although I’m sure Dr. Rahul would be great at pointing out places of interest.

The puppy ate my blog

I know I’ve been a tad lax in updating this but I have a good excuse. Actually I have several but Memsahib says none of them are believable and this is the best of a bad lot. Two of the local dogs round our way have had puppies. Very, very cute puppies. They sleep in a nearby culvert and the local guards keep an eye on them.

The big question I have is how two dogs with predominately orange colouring have produced such a doggy rainbow. I mean look at them - chocolate brown, tan, black, black and white, and even grey. Maybe the female dog has some explaining to do.

Anyway I have been so overwhelmed with the cuteness of them that I have neglected all my duties. But now I’m back on track. Clean and sober. Ready for a second chance. (Is this the bit where I mention letting God come into my life?). I’m all geared up to shovel a backload of updates into the maw of you the audience over the next day to bring us all back up to date together. But first I just need to go pat the puppies…

Dodged that bullet

We’re back in Delhi for a few days before heading onto Australia for a overdue obligatory family visit.

When we flew back the in-flight entertainment system was playing up and at first they tried restarting it several times (ground engineers advice apparently - "have you tried turning it off and on").

I was expecting to hear the call "Is there an IT consultant on the plane" but sadly the opportunity for glory never arose.

I went to sleep and when I woke up all the screens were playing the closing scene from "Mama Mia" - Memsahib explained that they'd jury-rigged the system to show everyone the same single film - whether you wanted it or not. I have never been so happy to sleep in my life.

Dr Strangelove lives next door

We had Diwali happen around us a few weeks ago and now we've returned for a London visit just in time for Bonfire Night. Ignoring the underlying reasons for either event and simply comparing fire-power, leads me to believe that pyrotechnic yield is another area where the Asian Tiger is kicking the U.K. Lion. I strongly suspect the only reason India even developed nuclear weapons is because somebody had to one-up his next door neighbour and his paper wrapped barrels of gunpowder they call crackers in the shops here.

Get in there my son!

A holiday romance blossoms.

It would seem Spare Ads has managed to cop off successfully. Obviously the footprint is from the “walk of shame” conducted the next morning. I wonder how many fermented yak milks it took him to talk her into it?

Cleanse, Tone, Moisturise

Spare Ads has arrived, been shown around places and has now set off for his intrepid adventure. We’re a little concerned about how his Bear Grylls experience is going to play out after hosting him. First day here we took him for some lounging round the pool. “Is Oil of Ulay with a 15 SP factor as good as a real factor 15 sun screen?”

The next day we all went for dinner and discussed his trek and what kind of personal hygiene facilities are laid on (e.g. who digs the hole in the ground – you or the Sherpa and does the answer vary depending on how up-market the tour company is? If it’s a flannel wash every day, do you get your own flannel or is it shared?. Etc, etc).

When we got to the personal grooming issues he revealed he had bought a battery powered electric razor to ensure he maintained a certain standard but that “I tried it and it was like putting an Epilady on my face”.

Memsaab and I fear if it turns Lord of the Flies, he won’t fare well.

The canary for the coalmine arrives

Our first visitor arrives on Wednesday. Spare Ads is showing up to sample everything we have to offer before running off to spend two weeks trekking and camping in Nepal with some tour company who seem to have a large Australian customer base. I suspect he's either hoping to prey on the loose morals of Sydney girls or sell photos of the men two weeks into the camping, claiming to have discovered proof of the Yeti. Actually that may be his plan with the women also.

My body is a temple

One of the things we wanted to do when we arrived was to take advantage of the change of scenery to kick start a few other changes. What’s the point in moving physically and culturally and then just repeating the same patterns? So in comes the healthy diet, made easy by simply accepting the vegetarian dishes and piles of fresh fruit prepared by the cook. Along comes the regular gym every morning, made easy by a 4.5 hour time difference allowing the opportunity to get the gym, eat the healthy breakfast and still be in the office before anyone in the U.K. cares. Not bothering to wire up a television connection means more and better sleep.

The real deal breaker was when I suggested that we resist the temptation to stack crates of wine in the flat and instead reduce our consumption to evenings out and visits from friends. The look received was on par with having announced I was cancelling Christmas…. because I’d killed Santa…. by repeated blows from a sack of puppies.

Through gritted teeth and with grudging agreement Memsaab went along with it. Until the first return trip back from London. When I found her in duty free quietly clutching a bottle of VSOP brandy and telling it that “Mummy and Daddy will always love you no matter what happens” I thought maybe the occasional nightcap wasn’t too much of a fall from grace. So far it seems we’ve struck a happy balance and Memsaab using the Courvoiser as rubbing liniment seems to have helped her yoga no end.

I've seen a peanut stand and heard a rubber band.

Cows are an everyday thing on the roads. This was a little more uncommon. The oddest thing was that they were in the slow lane.

Driven to distraction

When we arrived we took over not just the apartment of one of Memsaab’s colleague, we also inherited the cook and driver. The cook is wonderful so more on him later. The driver situation was also wonderful but unfortunately too good to last. Due to certain “issues” between his employers’ company and Memsaabs employer we lost him barely a week after we settled in. Cue a string of replacement auditions.

Driver #1 lasted a day – his inability to understand directions to the gym and an insistence on heading to the office even when Memsaab is wearing lycra and a sports top ensured a redeployment to some other lucky soul.

Driver #2 was more exciting. Toll booths – they’re for losers, just shoot through ‘em. Security checkpoints at hotels – why stop unless you’ve got something to show? After four days of nail-biting adrenalin and growing concern that a multi car punch-up was only a matter of time, he too was sent to seek a brighter future.

Now we’re on Driver #3. He’s good. Calm, unruffled, a family man with no need to break any records from A to B. Also has the admirable habit of ensuring there’s a newspaper in the car and is willing to stretch the truth to Madam over when exactly the other half set off to meet her. He cemented his position the other week when after discussing the fact a leopard had been knocked down on the motorway near Gurgaon, he stated “Madam if we see a leopard, I shall throw myself in front of you for him to eat me first”