Day 2 in Indialand – to the Himalayas, pronto please!

The old body clock wasn't in too good a shape this morning. More to the point, if you've ever had that morning after feeling following a couple of beers and an Indian after the pub – well I kind of had that, but instead of one Indian I'd now consumed about eight curries. And I felt like I had.

I seemed to be surrounded by an aura of pilau. Bhaji and tikka masala – so I felt great as we were propelled at some horrendous speed in a 1959 Ford Pop to the airport. The New Delhi Airport road is no place for the faint hearted at 6.30 in the morning – think North Circular at 78 rpm and you have an idea. To make things interesting, our driver was keen on demonstrating how to go around roundabouts the wrong way, how to T Bone an Ox and Cart and how to collect rickshaws on the bonnet of said Ford Pop. To be honest by the time I arrived at Indira Ghandi airport I was a quivering wreck – and so just to make sure the driver knew who was boss I decked him for giving me such an awful ride.

The MOS was complaining that the shops were still not open, the Half Share was sweating under the weight of all our luggage and even – wait for this – suggested that I carry some of my luggage! Err excuse me. Did Madonna carry Guy's luggage? Does Bobby Davro ever carry his own luggage? Err I don't think so Coco!! So I gave that suggestion short shrift and went to look for the VIP lounge.

They didn't seem to have my details at the VIP lounge so to avoid any further diplomatic incidents I decided to join the Half Share, the MOS and her Personal Shopper in the cafeteria for ordinary people and women. And guess what was for breakfast? Yep more spicy stuff, eggs and a curious drink – tea made in a cappuccino fashion. You would have thought that after all those years as part of the Empire they could have perfected the art of tea making eh?

After a quick visit to the shop to be ripped off for the last time for a week (200 whoopees for some flippin' chewing gum I ask you!!) we boarded the flight to Bagdogra. We arrived after a 2 hour flight and with the temperature nudging 30 degrees I was glad I was wearing my fleece. Bit of argy bargy with Himalaya Charlie when I found out I hadn't got a car but that I'd have to travel with the plebs on a bus. Me – on a bus!! I haven't been on a bus since I was in Class 5 at St Gabs Junior School in the 1960's – but I made sure I couldn't be seen and settled down for a bone breaking 2 hour journey up through the tea plantations towards the Lake Resort of Mirik.

I remember thinking that I was very impressed with this country – all the work in the fields was being done by women which I thought was a good idea. I'm not sure what time they finished work though – what happens about making dinner and cleaning duties I mused? But what a journey it was! We climbed high up into the mountains along switchback tracks and rough roads – this place was looking more difficult to find than Barns Green!!

Eventually we arrived in Mirik – which is in a place called Gherkinland. Apparently the local Gherkin people fight for the British army because there's no other work for the men – so its kind of like Scotland but not quite as wet.

Mirik was to be our base for the next couple days whilst we acclimatised to the altitude. I did try and insist that having spent three weeks in Fairlight, near Hastings I had no need for altitude training but this fell on deaf ears as well.

Our arrival in Mirik was slightly chaotic. No make that very chaotic. I met with Himalaya Charlie and was slightly disappointed to receive nothing more than a hand shake from him. After all I was here! I'd arrived! Ron was with him. He seemed more pre-occupied with people from other countries to spend all his time with me – and like, right Charlie – how many of them foreign people are Olympic medal hopes?

As well as me, the Half Share, the MOS, the MOS's Personal Shopper and about 20 other Brits, the assembled crowd of 63 participants was a motley crew. I think most of them were probably out of work by the look of them and most seem to have been ravaged by alcohol and good living (apart from a man from Scotland who was just plain white - all over). I made a mental note to try and make some contacts for future Olympic training locations. There were people from South Africa, New Zealand and the USA – so no shortage of bag carriers there. There were a couple of nice people from a place called Canadia which is a small place in the USA. The Europeans were well represented with a man called Captain Underpants from Austria prominent in more ways than one; plus a smattering of Italians, Spanish, Finns and Germans. All in all there was nobody there that I could see causing me any problems in the racing – if I was going to race – but the thing is ... could I manage them off the race track?

After a briefing from Himalaya Charlie it was another dinner of curry and bits.

It is at this point in the trip that I'm afraid I have to raise the subject of .... personal facilities. Yes – toilets. Now, this kiddie is made of stern stuff I can tell you. But I also have certain standards and, well lets just say that I steadfastly refuse to poo in anything other than a proper toilet. Holes in the ground and other French-like toilet devices just don't appear on the Ron radar – so tonight I faced my first real test of staying power. But I was determined. I wasn't going in no hole in the ground.

However I didn't mind having a little wizzy wazzy in a hole. And so it was that I found myself standing near one such hole and next to a German man. Both of us were being quite adult about the task in hand ie staring straight ahead and whistling. Then I felt something on my arm. I looked down to see the biggest flippin flying cockroach-y type thing you've ever seen.

I was so shocked at what I saw I let out a yelp and snatched my arm upwards to rid myself of the creature. Unfortunately my hand was, at that time, performing an important function to ensure that my aim was true. And as I wrenched my arm upwards I succeeded in not only ridding myself of the bug – but in giving my German companion a decent soaking well.

How to make an impression eh?

Another bit of argy bargy tonight with Himalaya Charlie over the amount of tips required by his people – 60 dollars each I thought was a bit excessive and probably enough to arm a medium sized third world country. I mean how many whoopees do these people need?

Anyway, after dinner we were then bussed to our digs about 20 minutes away from Race HQ. It was about 8 o'clock by now so I got myself changed, left the Half Share to unpack, sprayed some Old Spice behind the knees and wandered down to find the bar. The place though was in darkness. One local lad was guarding the place and I asked him about where to find a snifter. Well I might just as well have asked him to split the ruddy atom. After some persuasion he eventually told me that the nearest beer was about an hour's drive away. So what, I asked him, was I supposed to do now? Its 8.15 on a Saturday night – where's the action?

But there was none. So there was nothing left but to go back to my room. I opened my goodie bag for something to do – usual stuff, number, pins and .... err bright orange necktie and woggle!! I put mine on and looked like an advert for ruddy Tango so I made a mental note to have a word with Himalaya Charlie about the dress codes he was trying to implement.

And at 8.30 I went to bed. On my holidays!

I felt 10 again.

Keep on tapering.

Ron