Paaaaaaaarp

Why is it when Michael Palin is travelling the globe so we don’t have to, we never see him stuck in the toilet with the screaming habdabs? I’ll tell you why not because he doesn’t go anywhere apart from a nice studio where he walks about in front of a blue screen. The places and incidents are all added later by sophisticated digital witchcraft. I know it can be done because I have the pleasure of working with two sophists of the art of digital chicanery. I’m looking at you Peopleprint! Ok, I’m quite prepared to admit that he just might go on these fantastic trips but come on; he must get the galloping gut rot from time to time?

You can see where today’s entry is leading can’t you? Well, I’ll flag the warnings up early then no-one can have a go at me later. So, if you’re of a weak disposition, are adverse to common language depicting scenes of graphic filth, skip the next bit. Oooh, I know, I’ll sound a warning siren and then, when it’s all clear, I’ll sound it again! Bloody hell, If it works I might patent the idea. Ready? Good because here it comes……

…..PARP PARP PARP PARP….

Ok, if you’re still here you deserve it. Nope, sorry, I meant Yay! Now you too can share my most intimate experience of being a traveller. So, I was freezing my nads off in a filthy hellhole. I’d gone to bed in what I’d worn all day, it was that cold. I had my sweatshirt on with the hood up, and a beanie cap on top of that. I’d asked for an extra blanket and by around midnight, it seemed to be having some effect. Being the devil I am, I removed my hat and scarf. An hour later, I threw caution to the wind and stripped down to my thermal combies. Oooooh, it’s a good job we told the softies to leg it, they’d be getting all hot under the collar now. Dear Sir, I write in reference to your NE India blog. I began reading it under the misapprehension that it might just remind me of my time in the colonies. My wife, Cynthia and I were horrified when, upon further examination, it turned out to be nothing but a stream of filth (quite right there Major - rob) I therefore wish to end my subscription to this blog forthwith. I intend to stay with “Horse whipping, pig sticking and other fetishes” Yours sincerely Major Bagshot (Rtd)

It was all going so well too.

In the early hours, my normal morning trumpet voluntaries had begun. But by three, it had turned into a full blown Reveille, with lumps. I know, I cringe even whilst typing it. I did worse at the time I can assure you. It was straight out of bed, bloody hell it was cold. Into the bathroom, with no light as they were experiencing their usual power outage, to endeavour to remove the long johns asap. Bollocks, the bathroom floor was slippy as hell. Remember the plumbing was crap? It’s hard removing long johns at the best of times but in the dark, on a wet floor, with a seat pant full of stuff you just don’t want to touch. Well, it should be made into a gameshow! It’d be a damned sight more interesting than Strictly Come Dancing or X-Factor, or whatever else the TV schedulers think we’ll swallow. Eeew, what a terrible analogy considering the current subject matter, I do apologise.

Where was I? Ah yes, so its pitch black and I’m attempting to do a Houdini from my long johns, in the dark, on a slippy floor. Yay, I succeeded without breaking my neck! I’ll just sling these in a bucket of water to soak and I’ll sort them out in the morning. Wrong! Every tap I turn, not one drop of water. Ironic really when you consider how much water is on the floor already. Ok, I’ll wait till morning and perhaps the water will be on by then.

I’m glad I didn’t hold my breath. I’d be as blue as Krishna, or is it Siva… the blue one anyway. No water, full stop. Not in the shower (not that there’s a shower head), not in the taps, not even coming out of the tap at the side of the toilet that you are supposed to use for… need I elaborate? So, there they stay. I’m buggered if I’m putting them back in my case in the state they’re in. Even if I find a laundry person, there’s no way they’ll dry. Sod it, Matalan should be having a sale on by the time I get back. They can have a new life in India. With a bit of luck the manager of this shit tip will spot them after my departure and fancy a new pair for himself.

…PARP…PARP…PARP…PARP…

Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends, we’re so glad you could attend come inside, come inside…(I never thought I’d be quoting ELP ever, least of all sat in a hotel in NE India and talking about…oops, nearly forgot you’re back with us)

It’s a crisp, wet morning and I’m in no mood for breakfast. So we’re off to the main purpose of my visit to Tawang, the Gompa (Monastery). It’s a stunning place. It’s deserted apart from a couple of monks strolling about with that smug look on their face, knowing something about life that I haven’t sussed yet. But on the whole they’re pleasant enough people and once I’ve visited the library (with content created using the blood from some dalai lama’s nose – what’s that all about?) and the prayer hall, complete with humongous gold Buddha, it’s time for off. We’re going to the mountains to see some beautiful scenery!


No, we’re not. There’s been heavy snowfall in the mountains and we are turned back by the army. Remember, we’re less than ten miles from China. Bugger, that’s it, that’s my day. I return back to Tawang town, have a brew, buy some tablets to stop the diarrhoea and by the time I’ve messed about cleaning camera equipment, it’s almost 4pm. The town is closing, it’s still raining heavily and it’s as cold as Anne Widdecombe’s bedroom. I might as well go to bed, so I did. Bollocks to “Strictly come Dancing”, “X-Factor” or even “Celebrities dancing on ice with a banana up their nose”; I’ve got one that’s perfect…. “I’m a tourist, get me out of here!”