“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.