I take the bus

Since I'm working Saturdays, I get to take a 5 day holiday in lieu each month. I just took my first one to Jaipur and Delhi.

Much to my colleagues' displeasure, I insisted on giving up the car I'm supposed to be provided with and travelling by bus. Apart from environmental objections, I was in desparate need of a little independence.

I felt quite proud of myself, heading off without a guidebook and a few pages printed off googlemaps. The pride died, however, when I got on the bus to Jaipur, got off again to buy a magazine and then returned to find the bus had driven off with my luggage inside.

In a panic I asked people where it was and they advised to chase it by auto and try and join at a secondary stop at the edge of the city. I jumped into the nearest auto and the driver sped off. He was a champion, yelling at people to try and get to the front of the queue at each red light.

We arrived at the stop and got sent round a corner by a ticket seller. I shoved 100 rupees into the auto driver's hand and we both started running. As we rounded the corner I could see my bus just starting to drive off.

I caught up and ran along banging the side of the bus. The door opened and I jumped in, almost collapsing in relief at the sight of my bag full of Darjeeling tea, battery chargers, Diesel jeans and other preciouses. Apart from the fear of losing those, I'd worried I'd never be allowed to take a bus again!


And the trip back from Delhi was no less exciting. I groaned inwardly as a very talkative Delhi police officer sat down next to me. Once we'd got friendly and I'd heard all about his children and views on the death penalty (totally against), he lowered his voice and started to tell me (over a bag of Kurkure chips) about encounter killings he'd made.

Possibly another thing I'd be better off not telling colleagues. Who'd drive and miss this kind of excitement?

Fun and games

If anyone wonders what life was like before health and safety regulations they need come no further than Jaswantgarh (which is quite far enough from anywhere, believe me).

Our school's Independence Day function threatened to be incredibly boring. I sat through a rant from the local Hindu equivalent of Pauline Hanson, listening wistfully to Bollywood numbers blaring from the school 2 streets across.

Just when the ceremony couldn't get any worse, I was shoved unexpectedly onto stage to counter some of the bile about cow eaters who deny the bridge to Lanka and tell their children to eat quickly incase Indians come to steal their food.

Luckily, the organisers had another trick up their sleeves. I smelt petrol and then gasped when I realised what was happening. The kids had been practising all week but I'd never imagined the thing was to be set alight!


All the boredom was forgotten and our ceremony wrapped up quick enough for me to go check out the other school's performance, getting garlanded and stuck in the VIP section in the process.

Events took a similarly positive turn at a festival last night when I thought I was getting myself in for a night of chanting and ended up (in the VIP box again) witnessing 2 hours of human pyramid-pot smashing madness.


At midnight, the festival culminated with half the village's population stuffed into a temple, popping balloons, yelling, ringing bells and getting a handful of sweets to go home with. And I thought midnight mass was fun!

Now reporting from India: Oh my gourd

Due to local laws, I have now been pure veg for over three weeks. Not only have I not had meat, eggs or alcohol, I pretty much haven't eaten anything that doesn't come from this stall or an identical one opposite. My cook does his best but there's only so much taste you can get out of a bitter melon and a few spices.


I've now reached a point where I look at any animal suspiciously, from camels to beetles. The other day I put a piece of potato into my mouth and somehow the texture led me to mistake it for egg. My heart started to beat fast but, alas, as I bit in I realised it was just a trick of my meat starved mind.

I've noticed that the gypsies on the outskirts of town keep chickens and I'm making a good job of ingratiating myself into the local Muslim community. There are plenty of goats around for milk and with Eid coming up I can't imagine they're going to sacrifice a bitter melon. And I'm planning my long weekend trip. Anywhere with meat.

Suspicions

I took a hiking backpack today on my weekly shopping trip to Dalston. It seemed like a good idea because I had three bags full of unwanteds to take to the Oxfam store and I wanted to bring a big load of groceries back.

I also took cardboard for recycling. Our building doesn't recycle cardboard or plastic bottles and I usually end up carrying it halfway across London to drop in a bin on the way to work.

After a few false leads I remembered that there was a bin for cardboard on Ridley Road and took it there. As I opened the bin a market stallholder walked past and said 'You won't find anything in there mate. It's just rubbish, only cardboard'.

I hoped he thought I was a freegan scavenging for ideological reasons rather than someone homeless and desparate! That will teach me to go several days without shaving.

After dropping my donation at Oxfam I headed to Sainsbury's. As I went through the door I noticed the security guard perk up and make some hand signals to the staff on the cigarette counter.

In the spice section a few minutes later, I felt that someone was following me. I looked up and a Sainsbury's employee (disguised with a civilian jacket and empty trolley) quickly diverted her gaze towards the tinned tomatoes.

Was it just the backpack or do I look genuinely dodgy? Eitherway, appearing destitute has advantages. After Sainsbury's I went to pick up my bike from the shop where I'd taken it to repair the damage caused by an aborted theft attempt outside the Barbican on Sunday. £3!

A weekend in London

The camera has been replaced so here's a record of last weekend:

Saturday evening on the South Bank...


returning via Waterloo Bridge.




Sunday morning strolling down Ridley Road in Dalston.




and Sunday afternoon admiring open gardens in De Beauvoir Town...


before returning home along the canal...


to admire my own garden again.