101 Challenges:

Location: Mamalapurilalum, East India

It’s Lee’s birthday today. Finally, he’s 33 years old. That’s 5 years older than his more youthful brother Lindsay, who’s still only a child at the fun-loving-care-free-age of 28 years young.

Lee has issues with his numerical timeline in life. He refuses to acknowledge that he ever left teenage-dom. It’s all a bit sad really, but as he likes to go on; He doesn’t look in his 30’s (mid 30’s now Lee) and Lindsay humours him by agreeing.

With age comes wisdom. But, at what age does this wisdom manifest itself in a man? 34? 35? 72? Lee hasn’t found his yet – hence the 101-Midlife-Crisis-Things for an entire year.

As a surprise, Lindsay got Lee nothing!

NEWS FLASH! --- NEWS FLASH! --- NEWS FLASH! --- NEWS FLASH!

Lindsay’s on strike now. Lee's being a constant pr*ck and scrutanising all the journal entries. All said journals (bar three) have been written by Lindsay. Even the three that weren’t, Lindsay still had to grammatically alter them to represent something resembling proper English and make numerous sentence structure changes and spelling corrections etc...

Lee does nothing (apart from put Lindsay's work onto this webernet site) and so – as a form of protest, all the future journals will be written by him. Expect them sometime in July.

This isn't a hissy fit or fall out. Lindsay's just reached breaking point and is sick and bloody tired of writing everything and inventing interesting ways of conducting all the Challenges we're to do. This is far from a 50/50 venture. More like a 96/04 one. So, let's see how the site and the project pans out. I (Lindsay) refuse to do anything else until Lee wises up.

Make or break time.

Location: Mamalapurilalum, East India

We left Pondicherry on the 28th after borrowing a strangers Lonely Planet at a restaurant the previous night. See – we never needed to buy one!

We hopped on a little tin bus and 3 hours later crawled off. It’s amazing what being tight will lead you to do. For less than £1 between us, we sat extremely squashed, at the back of the bus (which everyone knows is the best part – cause the front’s always in a huff) and travelled for miles and miles and miles.

We’re now in a place further north called Mamalupuram or something like that. Everything’s a little dearer here and drink’s still not allowed – please God, deliver us from this dry patch! Since costs are higher, much to the delight of Lee, we’re back to sharing a bed again.

There is nothing to do here. We’re now just killing time before we catch the flight to Thailand. At the same time we’re forever avoiding complete boredom. As a distraction, we’re focusing all our attention on saving as much cash as we can. We’ve only had one tuc-tuc ride (an extortionate 30 Rupees for less than half-a-kilometre) since coming here, and that was from the bus station to our place of residence.

As per Pondicherry – the food here is appalling and the place is absolutely infested with flies. Millions upon millions of the buggers! But, the webernet connections are fast enough for us (geeks) to update the site, so we’re happy to stay until the night we leave for Chennai airport.

For the first time since coming to India – we’ve seen a lot of clouds, but not a single droplet of rain – so everything’s still fine and dandy weather wise.

Finally, God succumbed to our constant moaning prayers and delivered us to a “Wine Shop”. 98 Rupees for a 180ml bottle of Gin. Tastes like licking in between your toes but the alcohol level is 42.8% so we bought four. May have to go back later and purchase some more – once the stuff has burned your taste buds away, it’s actually alright.

Mallalulapurallium is not a place we’d recommend. It’s (like most places in India) filled with Hippies and old-folks – but as an added insult, there are hundreds of French here and none of them know Emmanuelle.

Conversation between the two of us is mainly saved for breakfast and dinner times. This is because we fear looking like gay-lovers-who’ve-just-had-a-massive-hissy-fit (again) to onlooking fellow diners. We’re now risking moving to the stage of hating each others company and so, we’re staying apart as much as possible – until Lee feels the constant need to spoon his cuddlier and younger brother.

We just received a text message from the EFG. She’s apparently happy with the footage that Mark brought back from India. Thank feck for that – if she hated it, all she’d have to do is extend an arm into the skies above, bend it at a 112 degree angle and slam it down – instantly squashing us. Remember – she’s huge!

At the end of the message though, we’re two x’s. We don’t know if one was intended for each of us or, since the EFG sent the text to Lindsay’s mobile, if both were for him alone. Plus, we don’t know any telly jargon so maybe an x means something bad and two of them means something bloody horrendous… oh no.

There’s really not much else to say. It’s a boring place, but with that comes a lesser temptation to spend cash. We like that.

Location : Pondicherry, East India

We wake up about 10 minutes before our train is to stop at some junction starting with a consonant and consisting of a few vowels. Mr Evil has finally left us and Lindsay is back to his normal happy-chappy self.

We wait for about an hour for our connecting train to some other unknown place. Once we climb aboard we face a 3 hour journey in cattle-class. No seats at all this time. Instead, Lee parks his ass on the floor next to one of the doors and Lindsay stands precariously close to a wide open door as the train rushes past beautiful open vast spaces of South-Eastern India.

It wasn’t that bad a journey – truth be told. Even though our carriage (and the other 112 similar carriages) had 150 people over capacity in them, everyone smiled and greeted us like friends. It was nice – and that’s a very pleasant change.

We finally arrive at somewherenearly an hour away from our aimed destination, and after a 40-minute wait we hop on another train to take us straight to that place - Pondicherry. Even though we had a full seat to ourselves, this journey was nowhere near as pleasant as the last. We think the driver;

1. Was on the first day of his new railway job and was incredibly excited
2. Brought his 9 year old kid to work in accordance with the India Rail Annual “Bring Your Kid To Work Day” Scheme
3. Was out of his face on drink or drugs
4. Was indeed, a 9 year old kid.

The reason we’re assuming at least one of the above options is because, for the entire 40 minute period, our train driver honked his horn at least (and this is no lie) 400 times – more than 10 times every minute. We were right up at the front of the train and it was deafening. So, naturally, Lindsay put his headphones on and melted the torturous noise out with some… Lilly Allen (he fancies the hell out of her but we’ve heard that she’s got one in the oven and that makes Lindsay very sad indeed).

Pondicherry station meets us and we quickly get off that bugger of a train and gesticulate our discontent at the driver’s cabin. Luckily, a tuc-tuc is already at the station and so we jump in and give the driver the name of where we wanted to stay (this reluctant decision was based on the recommendations of Footprint).

27 wrongs turns, 19 stops to ask people for directions and eventually, 56 minutes later, we arrive at a completely different location altogether. Annie Dare said that the guest house we “wanted” to reside at over the next few days was to be found 15 kilometres from the railway station – this distance was used by the tuc-tuc driver to calculate his fare of 150 Rupees.

Not surprisingly, we only travelled no more than 5 kilometres. So, still holding onto our Scottish roots, we diplomatically and calmly debated with the man, explaining that we were not paying £2 for what ended up being a third of the distance initially agreed upon.

We don’t think the man liked our get-our-moneys-worth-stance and so he stole our luggage. Lee (uncharacteristically) went berserk – shouting at the man and rather unconvincingly threatening to call the Police (neither of us knew their number). Whilst distracted, Lindsay took the opportunity to free our kidnapped luggage from the taxi and moved it into a small restaurant.

Sensing that Lee was making idle threats, the tuc-tuc driver walked over to the bags, which were now on the ground beside Lindsay’s feet and began to pick them up one by one.

Excuse me friend, but I think you’ll find that’s theft – Lindsay said in a very polite, and calm manner (extremely uncharacteristically). The driver continued and so, Lindsay resorted to puffing his chest up like a cock(erel) and a lot of pulling from each party finally resulted in us having full control of our belongings.  

Lee continued to shout and wave his arms around but the will of the tuc-tuc man was too strong. We finally gave in and handed him 150 Rupees. When did we fall so weak?

Anyhow, with no help whatsoever from Annie, we eventually found a decent room just off the main road in a little place called Auroville, or somthing like that. Finally, we could afford to each have our own rooms! More importantly, each room had a telly!

You have not truly lived until you have sat down and watched an entire Bollywood movie – Lindsay has learnt so many new dance moves and can not wait to show them off.

We stayed here for three days and nights – there was nothing to do whatsoever, and we think that’s exactly what we needed. Me and Me time.

Pondicherry is ok. If you are 93 years old, Swedish or a Hippie, you’ll love it. The beach is appalling but one good thing is, you can hire a moped for the day for only 120 Rupees!

Prohibition is in force and nowhere sells alcohol (if you stumble across a restaurant that does, then the taxes on the drink are extortionate) so, rather than face a forced detox, on night one, we hired another tuc-tuc driver to take us to a bar.

We agreed a price of another 150 Rupees. This time the driver was instructed to take us to beer and wait for us whilst we drink lots of said amber before taking us back to our guest house.

He turned out to be a nice tuc-tuc driver and chatted away to us in broken, but charming English. We decided to buy him a drink as a token of our appreciation. Expecting that he’d say no, or at the very most, that he would opt for a small (and cheap) cola – it failed to shock us when the small-framed man ordered a bottle (yes… a whole bottle) of Brandy.

Luckily it was only 40 Rupees and, considering the way the average sober Indian drives on the roads, we didn’t batter an eye-lid at the possibility of a tipsy taxi drive home.

We’re going to make a stereotypical comment here – and it’s fact. Indians can not drink. Our little driver (who was a 37 year old, married man with two kids) had a few sips of dark matter and within minutes he was out of his tree!

After much stuttering and swaying he left us to join some of his friends. We continued with our beers which tasted so much better, knowing that they were forbidden here.  

An hour or so passed and the driver came wobbling back over to our table. We told him we were ready to be conveyed home after his enquiry into our status. But, he insisted that we should go and see his family first.

Fearing we’d insult the poor man’s generous invitation, we hesitantly accepted the friendly offer. Into the tuc-tuc we got and after a five-minute-all-over-the-road petrifying ride we pulled up at his house.

He shouted over to a group of people and we assumed that the extremely disapproving and angry woman, was our chaufers wife. He must do this sort of thing a lot. But, we shook her hand and the hands of about 9 other locals and eventually pleaded with the driver to take us home as we were extremely hungry.

He finally obliges and 15 minutes later we arrive just outside our pad for the night. Lindsay handed over 200 Rupees and awaited the change. Our driver, by now, was incoherent and all over the place. He took the money and put it straight into his top left shirt pocket.

“Change please?” Lindsay patiently requested. “No. I don’t take any money from you. You, you and me – we are all friends. I see you tomorrow” came the reply from our drunken pal.

He had, in all of 6 seconds, forgotten that he had just been handed 200 Rupees and was insisting that we didn’t need to pay him. Obviously we had shown him a great time and this was worth more than any value of money.

Eventually, after much explaining and pointing to his pocket, Lindsay managed to get 100 back from the man and so, Lee ran to a nearby shop to get change. We then handed over 50 Rupees and both of us ran away like little school-girls from our scary new friend.

The next few days went rather smoothly and very relaxingly. Needless to say, both of us had no more alcohol.

We washed all our clothes ourselves (Mummy will be so proud) but, Lee forgot to separate the colours from the whites. His entire wardrobe is now of psychedelic tie-dye style. Lindsay washed all his clothes but confusingly, everything now smells like stale curry. Never mind though, he ate lots of coconuts and that’s always a good thing.

You may have noticed that there are no bad words in this journal entry. That’s because we’ve become aware that a lot of kids are following the site. Plus, our Mum has shown her disapproval and asked where we learnt so many swear words.

We’re quite f*cking impressed with ourselves.

Location : Allepey and Cochin - Kerala, India

After the crappiest night’s sleep in the World… ever! I woke up with my scrotum stuck to my left armpit. What was “called” a “pillow” was indeed a bit of hard wood and this was stuck to the lower right of the back of my now crooked neck. My entire body was saturated in sweat and my ankles were bitten to hell by those b*stard mozzies.

I raised myself slowly from the “bed” which was more uncomfortable than booking some fat, spotty bird as a £23 hooker for the night. I took a look outside and realised that we’re still at the same spot we had dinner in and there’s only 30 minutes of this “Luxury” boat trip left. It’s a bloody square!

Lee had already left the bedroom so I took the opportunity to make the best effort I could at washing my stenching body – using a shower that had as much power to it as Stephen Hawkins has running abilities. The boat had begun to move by this point and after I failed to remove my B.O, I stinkingly made my way to the “dining area” and had a b*llocks breakfast.

Lee was sitting like a twat – he stared at me and patronised the hell out of me – going on and on about Zen sh*t. Completely out of the blue, he tells me I have B.O. Well done bro – clearly I already know that – possibly the fact that I had to share a bed with your sweaty, clammy ass contributed somewhat to the whiff.

Stupidly and arrogantly, he suggested that we each leave a 150 Rupees tip for the 3 staff who had failed to look after us for the previous 22 hours. I said no. I made numerous reference points to our appalling journey; the square map we had “navigated”, the 3 hour lunch, the b*stard of a stupid walk to see coconut and banana trees and the skin-melting room we had just endured for at least 9 of those 22 hours. Finally, he saw sense to my reasoning and so, I reluctantly handed over 150 of my hard-earned Rupees and so too did my b*stard of a brother.

With breakfast over, I packed my bags and ran off the boat – thank God it was all over. I knew that we had been taken for mugs and ripped off – the locals knew this too. Nearly every single one of the 46 people we passed between the harbour and the main street, grinned and laughed as they pointed at us saying something similar to “hee hee hee”.

Onto another rip-off-chancing tuc-tuc where we were charged well over the odds for a 2 km doddle to the “bus station”. It was now about 10am and as we stood on the main road, attempting to stop 70 year old cans-on-wheels – we finally and miraculously managed to hail one over that started us on our way to Pondicherry.

Sat right up at the back on a chair made of bricks and with a metal bar precariously positioned at the exact height of my temple – we set off. If, which is always very likely in Indja, we were to collide with a wall, another vehicle, a cow or even a thrown-away packet of crisps – I would certainly be dead – that bar would crush through my forehead like Mike Tyson would go through a prosthetic ear factory. So, the Indian bus companies fail to adhere to any health and safety rules and regulations. Tw*ts.

Two hours later, I once again had to remove my scrotum from an unnatural position on my body. With yet another t-shirt ruined with sweat, I peeled my ass off the chair and got off the b*stard bus at Cochin.

A dirty, dusty, smelly, hot, clammy, and extortionately priced city. I hated it instantly. We got into yet another overpriced tuc-tuc and made our way to the city’s South Railway Station. Once there we stood in a queue, which only we interpreted as one. Indjan’s don’t know what queues are and so, after 7 of the buggers pushed past me, I started to barge anyone who made an effort to jump the line. Hell hath no fury like my sweaty ass scorned!

2nd AC Class was, not-surprisingly, all booked up and so – yippeedeedoodaa – we could save 1000000000000 Rupees by settling for cattle class. Oh how my ass was delighted at the expenditure prevention.

For less than 400 Rupees altogether, we had bought two train tickets which would convey us almost 1000 kilometres. But as the day was determined to go on as it had started, I looked at the ticket to find that the train didn’t leave at 16:30 as some lying tw*t back in Allepey had told us – instead, we’d have to kill a total of 10 hours in a stinking city that quite clearly hated me as much as I despised it.

Off to an internet café we went. I envisaged murdering at least 7 of the 10 hours by surfing for flights to Thailand, or replying to emails, or simply looking at free porn sites. Well, the “made in 1972” computer that I was using had a different agenda – it wouldn’t let me load Google without making me wait 6 minutes. Feck!

As I simply stated that this place was indeed a sh*t-hole and that everything in it was crap – Lee decided to throw his dummy out of the pram and ran away from me – probably to look for the pacifier which was spat away at such a venomous speed.

He finally came back (must have realised he was being unreasonable and childish) and we left the dial-up café and headed into the heart of what was most certainly not a beautiful or enchanting city.

No fecking way was I waiting another 9 hours and 54 minutes in this place, so, I spotted a travel agency a few hundred yards down one of the stinking streets and entered. I begged the man to get me the hell out of here by any means possible – he offered me an 800 Rupee bus journey that would leave just round the corner in 4 hours.

Being forever wised-up to the way of the Indjan, I said I’d think about it and then trailed the mucky streets for another 28 minutes until so I could find a second guestimated price from another travel source. B*llocks – 800 again. My haggling skills were utilised beyond comprehension – even crying at one point – but the man in front of me would not bargain. Pr*ck.

Sensing my self-worthlessness, Lee decided to mock me by suggesting we waste more money and buy a 1060 Rupee copy of the Lonely Planet Guide to India. No. That’s a pointless waste of cash. We’re only scheduled to be in the country for another week and if I have my way, we’ll be on a flight (even though I’m petrified falling out of the skies in a blazing ball of flames) out of it by dusk!

So, off we trail through manky streets and markets searching, and searching, and searching for this bloody book. Eventually we stumble upon one and as I’ve just stated, no way was I handing out 530 of my Rupees to share a book which would only serve a purpose for 7 days.

Another 3 kilometre tuc-tuc ride and waste of money later – we arrived at the North Railway Station after Lee was told by the disgusted book shop owner that a poor-persons 2nd hand book shop was near there.

By this point, the crotch rot I am suffering is unbearable. My legs are grinding together and the heat and sweat is causing my privates to ignite in balls (pun intended) of flames.

An hour of torturous walking incurs and I can’t take it anymore. I genuinely heard my willy shouting for me to stop. He was in excruciating pain and his neighbours were going through even harsher times. Lee slowly goes on and finally finds said 2nd hand book store.

Now, if we were Hindu’s or Muslim’s then we would have been in Hindu or Muslim book heaven. Unfortunately we’re not and so, the 48,944 editions of “Hindu For Beginners” (we can’t speak the squiggly language so I’m guessing that’s what some of the books were called) and “Mighty Muslim Men” (One for the Laydee’s or certain-tasted Gentlemen perhaps?) meant nothing to us.

Somehow though, the shopkeeper pulled out an edition of “Footprint” which is like the Lonely Planet, except it doesn’t tell you where all the cool places are and what prices you should expect to pay.

Instead, it’s written by some 72-year-old-hippie-woman who feels the need to tell her readers that if you travel 331 kilometres to this or that place, then the laundry facilities may be crap (no offence to the authoress – Annie Dare – who amazingly managed to tell us absolutely everything we never needed to know about South India and everything we couldn’t give a sh*t about either)

Still, Lee managed to get 75 Rupees from my tight pockets (not because I’m Scottish, but because the sweaty crotch I was enduring had now caused my shorts to shrink) and we bought the book at an extortionate price of 150 Rupees. Still, I’ve managed to kill 16 mozzies with the weight of the useless thing – so Annie, thanks luv.

Brilliantly, the time had jumped to the 4pm mark and so, unable to walk a single step further, I found one of the very few bars in this place and we went inside. If only I could have slept through this day, I’d still be on the wagon now. Unfortunately, due to circumstances out with my control – namely India – I ordered the first of four huge beers.

A couple of hours later, and with me now being in a more peaceful state of mildly tipsy mind, I asked for the bill and we duly paid – even leaving a 20 Rupee tip between us. But oh no – that’s all too bloody easy isn’t it.

No more than 25 seconds after handing the delightful little waiter his money, he came back to us, a no-longer-delightful-little-waiter, and he was carrying a 50 Rupee note in his hand. In some garbled language he told us that the note was not acceptable as it had a small hole in the middle of it and, we would have to pay with another one.

After a lot of talking which then turned into a bit of shouting and with a hell of a lot of gesticulating thrown in for good measure, we asked for all the money back, including the tip. We then handed over new notes and snatched back the 10 Rupees each we had only minutes before, put into his family’s pockets. Disgusted, we left. Was the entire World out to get me today? I think so.

Another tuc-tuc back towards the station and another needless spend of money later, we decided we’d have a shower in the building of the trains. Well, that was a bloody experience and a half.

With no soap, no towel and no self-respect left I walked into a “cubicle” and looked down at a small bucket. Was this what I was to fill up and pour over myself or was this the bum-cleaning bucket? Either way, I consigned myself to using the only implement that was there, fully aware that it was guaranteed to be covered in faeces.

A 9 minute drip-dry later, I left that cubicle, and all my dignity and headed back into town for dinner.

We passed another internet café and so, I tried again to find another means of escaping this living-nightmare. I checked flights to Thailand, ones that Lee had looked at two nights previously and, explained to him that the prices had gone up – most likely because we were getting closer to the date of our expected date of departure.

Lee went mad – I think the heat and crotch rot got to him too, or, he was upset at his lack of forward planning and angry at himself for costing us both more money rather needlessly.

Yet again he spat that dummy out (it’s going to get filthy if he keeps doing that) and he stormed off in a hissy-fit after shouting some profanities. I remained at the computer. 15 minutes later, he came back to me – obviously well aware that I would be his only form of protection against being kidnapped and sold into the sex industry by some big burly Indjan men.

We left the webernet café and on spotting a shaving place – we went to let some 89 year old shaky hand man put a blade to our throats. Our concerns of the blade were quickly banished as we realised that the towel he put over our necks was indeed covered in mozzies. Fecking hell – I sustained 5 bites to the face and neck in no more than 8 seconds.

Refusing to let any more of this horrible World get to me – I thereafter put myself into a self-induced state of comotosation – like meditation, but conducted in the form of crossing my arms, frowning continuously and stamping my feet.

We had dinner – which was crap. Knowing that it would have to endure a 9 hour train journey, my bum made me do a crap – which was crap. We got on the train – which was crap. I fell asleep – which was nice. I woke up in India – which was crap.

Location: Cochin, Kerala

Had a great night's sleep despite the intense heat that engulfed our bedroom. Hot as Hell it was (was this an omen? If so, I didn’t recognise it as one) but I just soaked up the heat and the calming sounds of the backwaters. The beauty of it all, being just one of the many fantastic experiences over this (just started) year.

I woke up first and didn’t bother with a shower. I simply headed to the top deck. I was wearing only my green fisher-man trousers and I felt them softly flap in the gentle whispering of the morning breeze. I stood there, shooing the mist away from the golden oak wooden floors.

A deck chair beckoned me to rest upon its sturdy bamboo structure. Its arms seemed a lot bigger than they were yesterday. In fact, they appeared to be outstretched, ready to snuggle me as a mother would her child. And so, I rested on the chair, and it did feel like a hug. I was calm, I was at one with the World. I was at peace.

Whilst sat there, my soul lifted up through the bone, muscle, blood and tissue of my mere vehicle of a body. I was now looking down at myself. I had left my body, yet my body had not passed away.

My heart still pumped, there was still colour in my cheeks and the smile on my face remained. I was free. Free of thought, free of worry, free of pain, free of wants, needs and desires. I soared above my body and I felt like I belonged to something much more powerful and beautiful than I could ever comprehend.

Then suddenly, I was back in my body. Now alert and sitting upright in the chair. The chair, which was so loving just minutes before, now looked like a chair - nothing more nothing less.

I felt fear creep into my mind. I felt like crying. Something bad had just entered the world. My world. Deep inside me, I hear a voice. It’s talking to me. The words and language is indecipherable, but, I know what it’s trying to tell me.

“Be strong Lee. Be prepared to fight if you have to, but above all, keep to the light.” I didn’t recognise. It wasn’t the voice I use when talking to myself. It was a soothing and reassuring voice - I knew it to be good.

The feeling is too overwhelming for me and it starts to flood me from inside. It begins to leak out of my mouth, eyes, nose, and ears. I begin to see the celestial power attaching itself to and cover everything around in the brightest of light. Then The Voice spoke again, this time perfectly audible and I now realise who it is. “Spread the light Lee, spread the light” it says as the last word echoes for what seems a lifetime.

Then I see it. It looks like him, but he is surrounded by darkness and does not seem his usual self. Despite not a spoken word or a gesture, I feel that something evil has crept its way in to him.

Like my celestial power surge (but a dark one) it too is trying to spread. As he clambers his way up the staircase, black matter is left where his feet have tread and his hands adorned the railings. It is him. It is premenstrual Lindsay

And so he shouts “So were still parked here then? Cant be bloody far from the start then can we?” and goes on to roar “Bloody square. I bloody knew it”. Unstoppable, he continues “I knew there would be nothing round that corner but the car park for this bloody boat and the 30000 other bloody boats that are on this square roundabout”. He went on and on, and I tried to block him out.

Each one of these statements or rhetorical questions was interrupted with the odd snarl and grunt. They started softly enough, but I was aware that they were growing louder and heavier as the ranting continued.

As all this was happening, I could see the dark plague of a cloud in which he was cocooned stretching out and slowly but surely gluing itself onto nearby things. Like the grunts and snarls, it too was growing.

Breakfast was called and I headed downstairs first. I placed myself at the table with the serene beauty of the boats gently swaying. I waved to other passengers on other boats and watched the hustle and bustle of the crew as they made great efforts to create an enjoyable meal for us.

The breakfast, as in with most things that morning (with one evil exception) looked divine.  The coffee aroma mixing with the sweet smells of the land, entwined like passionate lovers. As I inhaled this sweet sexual delight, a cold acidic gust blew in quickly, followed by darkened air. Somewhere in the middle he was there.

It sat down beside me. Instantly the celestial aura that cradled me was at war with the demonic mass that encompassed him. Was this the time I was to be strong? Was this the time I would have to be prepared to fight.

Then  came back and calmly told me “Not now Lee. He is too strong and he is growing. You have to be patient. Before going to war, you have to make sure your army is strong and prepared. At this moment you are not strong enough Lee. But the celestial force you keep going on about within you, is still growing. Believe Lee, believe” and again it echoed a few times before tailoring off. 

I moved over to the far corner of the table and watched as the infectious manifestation took hold of where I had just sat. The coffee no longer mixed seductively with the smell of the land.

There was only one smell. Its stench was offending me and began to bug my happiness. The repulsive odour was rising and engulfing everything around it. It too was trying to suck anything it could grab into the darkness - but I remain distant.

I tell Lindsay he has bad B.O and I am about to tell him about his satanic state but I stop short. As I commented on the B.O, the evil mass flared as the fires of Hell do and then settled back. The mass had grown due to my negative but nonetheless true comment.

So, instead of feeding the evilness with another negative comment, I hit him with “Your hair looks great”. He growls and snorts wildly. It is obvious he does not want any good today. It is also obvious that when I said something nice and fluffy, the darkness calmed ever so slightly. Again I grow.

We depart the boat with me merrily skipping along the side of the banks - humming “Feeling Good” by Nina Simone and we then make our way to a Tuc-Tuc. All the way the grunting and groaning continues and I’m sure I hear the first signs of sulking. Yep – it’s scuffling his feet.

I wave to everybody we pass. In turn, they all wave and shout “Hi” to me. I then jumped in the Tuc-Tuc and smiled to the driver. I enjoy the smile I am given in return  as I watch the celestial force massage his shoulders tenderly. The loving light is just about to envelop the driver when premenstrual, snarling, growling, and sulking Lindsay jumps in. I’m just about to ask the smiling driver how much to the bus station but it’s too late.

Lindsay has caught his stare and the darkness, rather than massaging the friendly driver, looks as if it’s strangling the poor man. As the evil grows, Lindsay demands “How much to the bus station?”. He did use only those simple and otherwise innocent words but, with the tone and hatred in his voice, he may well have said “Your Mother's a whore”. So, 50 Rupees is quoted. Bargain!

After a nice and quick ride, we arrive at the bus station. Not too soon I may add, as the stench and darkness is eating away at the seats on which we were sat. I smiled and said thanks to the driver, but no smile back this time. The driver is now wearing a cloak of darkness. It’s too late for him and I feel a deep sadness that I was unable to stop the spread of the demonic mass.

Again I hear . “Look at this as a battle lost. Lessons can be learned, and the war can still be won” and then it left me abruptly, with no echo at the end. I liked that soothing echo.

The bus arrives quickly as if some greater power had sent it directly to us. With this divine intervention - I grew.  The bus was busy with people storing their bags and settling themselves into their seats. Watching them for a second I notice that they too have the celestial power around them but, it’s not as strong as mine - which has grown thanks to “” and my ongoing learning and self-realisations.

I sat down in one of the last two seats on the bus and I hear it pounding up the three small steps into the bus. Here he comes again. Argh, snort, grrrrrr, snort, scuff, scuff. I’m sure I feel the bus shake as he sits down. I imagine that this is not due to his weight but from the conflict of celestial-ness of the bus coming in contact with this beast’s evil presence.

The journey passed quickly but a little disturbingly. For the first half hour I watched the celestial force of people on the bus darken and listened to the grunting of the beast beside me growing louder. Then I remembered the lesson I learnt.

This was a battle, not a war. So I closed my eyes and performed an inner chant until reaching Cochin. There we departed and I watched the bus pull away puffing and spluttering black fumes (not just from the exhaust) into the distance.

After another repeat of the Tuc-Tuc episode earlier that day, we are dropped off at the train station. We get straight to the box and buy two tickets to Pondicherry. The smiling clerk gives us general tickets as that’s all that’s left and I get all excited. I can’t wait to meet the real people of India in the class for the masses. It got even better as the train did not depart until 22:15 that evening. This gave me ample time to explore the wonderful delights of Cochin.

Then the grunting and snorting jumped up many a decibel and all sorts of profound comments were spewed out about seats and times. I face the beast and stretch my smile so wide that it must have looked like really bad plastic surgery and chirp “Cheer up my dear brother. I will make this day good. I will make you feel good. All will be good”. Grunting and snorting, the evil bugger tries to claw at me.

Then, it keeps on calling me. “Save Lindsay, save the world” and this time, it thankfully echoes at the end. I grow and now know it’s time to wage war. The beast shall not win. It can not win. Today, Good will prevail.

I lead the way into town and suggest we buy the Lonely Planet to aid us on where we could go and what we could expect when we get there. It would also help us get the most out of the beautiful and joyous Cochin. Again, as we walk I am at the front smiling and saying hi to everyone we pass. They all smile and nod their heads side to side like the Indians do and it makes me happy.

Behind me, the snarls and the groans are only too forthcoming. I think of the people I have passed who were smiling and saying hi being grunted at and attacked by the black virus surely removing their heavenly smiles. I hope I can stop this evil from becoming epidemic.

The beast demanded a quicker exit out of Cochin and started to look at buses at 800 Rupees each. He wanted me to react – by starting an argument he could attack my celestial force with his weapons of negativity, anguish, despair and hatred. I kept cool and followed him from shop to shop looking at alternatives. There were none and the Scottish beast could not commit to spending any cash.

The beast mistakenly thought this later departure by train would induce him to grow using the bitterness of not having a quicker getaway than he had wanted. What actually happened was more good feeling. The Scottish beast had just saved another few hundred Rupees. The beast tries hard to vanquish the good from his now contorting body but the struggle is there for all to see and the darkness is in remission.

Never mind feel victory I could taste it. It tasted sweeter than the coffee would have done in the morning had I been allowed to sample its elegance. By just keeping him away from badness I would surely get rid of the beast that had manifested itself within Lindsay. I would have my brother back.

Brilliant! I find a Lonely Planet and as I’m about to purchase it the beast denies me this liberty – based purely on cost. A mere 1080 rupees. About to debate the stupidity of his reluctance, I remember the war-philosophy and say “Dear brother. For you I will enquire where we can get second hand books. Not only will you pay less, but brother, you shall be helping this beautiful planet by recycling”.

He does not like this “save the planet” malarkey but he can not resist the allure of spending less money. I am told of such a shop and beckon him to follow. He grunts and stubbornly obliges. The darkness disperses ever so slightly.

The book shop is found without any real ordeal, but from the grunts coming behind me it sounded like the small trip was pure hell and the beast savoured up all the badness he could find to help him grow.

Chirpier than ever, I declare to him that there are no Lonely Planets but they do have something similar, called Footprint. What’s more - it’s only 150 Rupees. I really want to admit I want the Lonely Planet but I don’t want to play into the demons hands.

The book is bought and although the beast grunts and snarls, I know this is a small victory for good. A beast he may be, but a Scots beast he truly is, and the thought of only spending 150 Rupees compared to the alternative made him feel good. Good is the beasts bad and he tries to put this disgusting good feeling to the back of his mind and snarls. I notice the darkness has shrunk a little more.

We headed for lunch - to savour some of the delightful Indian cuisine and great service which go hand and hand with each other. The beast is not as strong as he had been earlier. His ability to darken things has somewhat diminished. He still snorts and growls but his overall breathing seems hardened and you can tell he needs more badness.

Just as I could see the end of the war was almost within reach, it’s gone again. The waiter brings back a damaged note that he won’t take. I could see the waiter had the dark plague too. It was as if the devil himself had sent Lindsay a gift, a gift of nourishment.

This replenished the beast and he fed from the waiter’s darkness by arguing and demanding all money back including a tip I had insisted upon leaving. I could not stop myself from asking where was ? Where was my help? Had I been abandoned in this time of need?

Lindsay gave new notes for to cover the bill, minus the tip. He then half growled/half laughed, and walked out. Again the beast had experienced a good feeling, the same feeling as saving money earlier. The dark storm calmed again and I sensed victory calling me. Although I didn’t know where it was calling me from, I knew I would find it. It was simple. All I had to do was keep giving out good.

Not long until the time of departure and so, I suggest that we go to an Internet café and book flights to Thailand. The beast’s darkness faded even lighter. This clearly made him feel happiness, and happiness is an antibiotic against darkness.

As he searched the flights I was sat back and watched as the goodness began to fight bare fisted with the remaining darkness which now, barely surrounded my brother. Victory was in sight.

Oh my God. I had been so overly confident I let my guard down. The darkness capitalised on my defensive blunder and flared up bigger than ever. It began to shout about the price of tickets going up and screamed on about how I should have booked days ago.

The venom of evil that circled the room was overbearing and it snatched and pulled at my celestial force - tearing it away from me, ripping at my flesh. The pain was intense and so, I had to back out of the shop. The beast was becoming stronger again and I had been weakened. The beast grew. Having to spend more money on flights fuelled his need for all things bad.

I stood there motionless outside the shop. Startled and dumbfounded. I had been so close to victory and now I was so close to defeat. Then it came to me, I realised that the beast had made a terrible mistake. So, with no energy left, I practically crawled back into the shop. The darkness clustered together and then launched itself at me for what it thought would be a fatal blow. The beast’s eyes were red as he commenced his final attack.

Using what little energy I had I managed to gasp, I quivered “The ticket price was for two. They have not gone up”. As the word “up” had left my lips, the darkness had already reached my throat and was about to squeeze. All of a sudden the Scottish beast must have realised that it would not have to spend more cash after all. The elation in the beast was catastrophic to the darkness - happiness and goodness had the evil pinned back.

The darkness was a faint haze around Lindsay but I did not have the energy to finish it off. I called out in my mind for  but it chose not to respond. Perhaps I was so weak that I could not connect. I just needed a little help to save my brother and the world. “Voice where are you?” I screamed internally. “Why won’t you help me?”

Onwards to the train we walked. Both us equally weakened and none of us being able to get the upper hand on the other.  Lindsay approached an employee and asked for an upgrade. He hoped that he would be told no in order to reignite the black flame.

Then I heard  again. This time it was not coming from my head, but from the mouth of the station employee. Yes -  had entered the body of the man before us and I could see a celestial glow brighter than the sun itself.

It said “An upgrade is possible and you shall have your own bed”. With each happy and positive word, the celestial force jumped into Lindsay’s soul. The darkness had been banished and only good remained.

I had my brother back.

I went to thank  but it had departed. There, stood only the employee who said “No problem” in his usual Indian twang.

Location: Varkara/Allepey  - Kerala, India

It’s about 10:30am and we’ve just boarded a “deluxe” house boat in Allepey, Kerala. We decided that it was time to take some “me and me” time and chill out on the back waters of this astonishingly beautiful place.

We arrived here yesterday after what must have been the most traumatic taxi ride of our lives. About 25 minutes into what was going to be a 3 hour drive, the driver suddenly and abruptly pulled over and got out of the car. He vanished for a couple of minutes and returned with a bottle of water. As he took the cap off and poured the entire contents over his face – he turned to us and said “I have no sleep in two days”.

Inconveniently and very needlessly making us petrified, he then slowly crawled back into the taxi and, as we watched his eyes slowly blinking in the rear view mirror, we decided that we’d try and take control of our fates, rather than let this insomniac kill us – we decided to keep him awake by singing “The wheels on the taxi go round and round…”

We did this as loud as we could whilst Lindsay rocked his chair and with the two of us stamping our feet. Thankfully, the poor guy had a sense of humour and didn’t turn round and stick-the-head-in us. Even more thankfully, we never careered into the truck that we were up-the-ass-of which was carrying about 150 tanks of gas.

After leaving Nayerdam, we headed off for a place called Varkala. It’s sh*t. Don’t go there. If we were to write the Lonely Planet, this is what we’d say;

“Varkala… Sh*t. A big cliff which over looks a bit of sand and a lot of salty water. Upon said cliff and right up to its very edge are 978 café’s and restaurants. All are sh*t, and all have at least three members of staff standing outside pulling at you to spend your cash at their “amazing” and “fantastic” establishment. The food (if you get it) is sh*t. The service (if you get it) is sh*t. Every shop, taxi driver, hotel and food outlet will try like hell to rip you off. On a positive note though, should you ever find yourself here – you can use said cliff to jump off to an almost certain and instant death. Only come here if you are a) Stupid or b) Swedish.”

And here is said cliff - excellent way to end the living hell;

Needless to say – Lindsay doesn’t like Varkala. Lee (who’s obviously turning into a Swede – and who’s also obviously stupid) thought it was ok. Good waves apparently (especially the one’s Lindsay gave the sh*t-hole on the way out of it)

The only good thing (apart from leaving the place) was that we met two amazing lassies – Sophie (who wanted to headbutt everything) and Lyndsey (who has a boys name). Nice girls – and are genuinely the only positive we can take from what was otherwise a crap-hole!

Anyhoo… Right now we are stinking. The humidity is overwhelming. The 3 t-shirts we each managed to cram into our bulging sacks (ruck) back home in Scotland, are absolutely minging. We have no soap and can’t find our toothpaste. We have B.O and God awful Crotch-Rot!

Lindsay’s went all hippie-like and is detoxing for the next 10 days (only 8 more to go he keeps saying to himself) and his pits are more pungent than a skunk that’s eaten 12 tins of baked beans. Lee can’t get a shave and so, his tan lines are almost comical. We’re both hot, clammy and our feet are horrendously smelly. Lindsay hate’s it here.

Don’t get us wrong – Kerala is beautiful. But with that Ying comes the following Yang. If you want deodorant bring it with you, if you want breakfast – order it 3 evenings before hand. If you want lunch, pack it yourself and for dinner, if you want anything at all – leave Kerala.

Surprisingly, Lindsay still hasn’t lost any weight. Despite nearly every waiter forgetting his order and living on a diet of very dry plain white rice for a week, he’s still huge.

We’ve now just set off (11:45) – the boat is elegantly slicing through the calm waters and as a light breeze whispers away the stench of our bodies, we look onwards and outwards to sensational stretches of turquoise rivers covered in leaves from the leaning palm trees. This isn’t just a boat ride. This is an M&S boat ride.

Hmmmm. That was slightly girly.

We must interrupt this journal – Lindsay just said the stupidest thing ever. He’s made up his mind that when he returns back to the UK, he’s going to start a family. He doesn’t know who with yet – apparently he hasn’t met her – so there you go Mum (Gran). Whoever she is, we’re absolutely positive that Mummy will deem her “not-good-enough” for her little boy.

On another tangent, Mark’s away “home” now and so, we’ve got a couple of weeks to chill before manically preparing the upcoming challenges we’ll be doing in Thailand. That’s all the filming for “show one” over. Thank Feck!

Before he left, Mark said there’s a slight possibility that we may get a book deal.

On hearing the news, Lindsay went “Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay"

Lee said “Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo 0oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh"

How the hell can we write a book? “Oh noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh" we both said.

Turns out – Writing books are a piece of piss. That’s a page done already!

Don’t think we’ll get that book deal :(

Frank enjoyed the ride. For once, the slag stayed with us for the entire day. But vanished at night after a nearby party boat full of Bollywood Bunnies passed us. B*tch!

An hour into this boat journey (12:45) and we’ve pulled over for lunch. Unlike the Kerala we have experienced so far, lunch was at lunch time and was actually sublime. We’re not sure if we have people running this boat that are used to eating on time or whether we have received the lunch order for yesterdays boat passengers. Either way it was welcomed by both of us (especially Lindsay who very foolishly thinks he’s wasting away to nothing). Just to be on the safe side, we’ve placed our order for tomorrow’s breakfast.

(13:20) Oh God, we can’t eat another thing. This isn’t because we’re stuffed from lunch but it’s because we’ve just witnessed something horrible. Our eyes have born witness to one of those things that you want to forget instantly. A horror on equal par as hearing your parents having sex! If they want a baby (what other reason could they give for doing it?) why don’t they just order one from the Stork?

What we did witness, was a staff member from the boat in front of us cleaning the dinner plates in the water that surrounds their vessel. No real surprise as we are surrounded by a vast amount of the stuff. But (as Lindsay keeps on screaming) we know the toilets, when flushed, disperse pee’s and poo’s straight into said vastness, which doesn’t seem vast enough for our plates to be washed in properly.

By this stage you are probably pondering as to why this journal has the time stated now and again. The reason for this is simple. This is first time we’ve been able to write as we are actually doing something. When that happens there’s only one thing for it. Jack Bowers, 24 stylee.

This journal entry is being written with this in mind. We will of course, throw in some flashbacks from time to time if we get lazy. A good flashback always work, think Memento. In fact they work so unbelievably well that they even called a film Flashback. Lee found that film a bit weird as unlike the title implied, there wasn’t a single flashback in it as it was set 100% in the present.

Here's a random picture to break up a rather long-winded journel;

(14:35) Lunch finished what seems like an age ago and we’re still sitting anchored to where we pulled over to eat. Now don’t get us wrong it is amazingly beautiful here but a change of scenery would do wonders, even if they just moored the boat the other way round.

Lee had a peep downstairs and found the staff lying on their backs in the passageway snoring their sweet little heads off. “Oi!” he shouted “get up and do your job, we’re paying £62 for this”. Well, this is what he would have shouted if he had the balls. However, here in Kerala, he was alternatively trying out his telepathic abilities he convinced himself he acquired at our Yoga classes. Needless to say his T-Powers are piss-poor and he failed to rise the lazy louts.

Time for Lindsay to deploy the never-fail-cola-approach.

(14:38) Lindsay donned his hypothetical green beret and set off on mission Cola. Simple mission is this one. Simply go down stairs and apologetically enquire to whether it would be too much to ask if we could get a cola.

He asked once but not loudly enough to wake the snoring staff. He asked again, this time slightly louder. Negative result. Still failing to wake the heavy breathing skiver. Instead, only causing him to roll over slightly and momentarily disturbing his exceedingly greedy intake of air. Third time and the word Cola bellowed through the over reaching coconut and banana trees - inducing a sway that created the biggest Mexican-wave along the Palm fringed shoreline as far as the eye could see.

(14:40) Mission Cola - an astounding success. We’re now moving and on our way to wherever the driver wants to take us – to a lynch mob probably. Lindsay now quickly removes the imaginary beret from his head and puts it in his imaginary soldier bag which, apparently has everything in it that a soldier would ever need. He then imaginarily folds it down to the size of an imaginary box of matches and puts it in his imaginary soldier pants pocket. He then jumps back into reality and catches up on his sunbathing.

The word sunbathing causes an instant flashback. Just before lunch we decided to film ourselves at the front of the boat (remember, the scenery is celestial down here). It is so good that if we filmed us just sitting or standing then we may not be centre of attention and God, that can never happen (Lindsay’s still traumatised that throughout school he couldn’t sit in “teachers” seat so all the kids would have to face him and adore his prime right of being centre of attention).

So, Mission Nudity was duly employed. Down came the shorts, and sunbathing commenced in a vertical position. Naturally (literally) we threw in a bit of dancing and gave the odd salute to other boats – anyone who seen us will surely have appreciated the lovely scenery (we ain’t talking about the trees or waterways).

(14:55) Exit reminiscent flashback trance and focus on the here and now.

(15:45) We’ve both finally chilled enough to allow ourselves to enter the Zen-Zone. For those of you that have never reached the height Zen, we shall explain. Zen-Zone, for us, occurs when we are both sitting motionless, soundless and starring at the wonder of it all. 

Ahhhhh… pure bliss!

 (15:47) “Hello Sir Lindsay, Sir Lee. Please, you come”. Crash, bang and wallop out of the Zen-Zone and back to reality with an instant hangover equivalent head.  We’re met with a smile from the ships manager and he says again “please, you come Sir’s”.

Reluctantly, Bitterly and Begrudgingly, we oblige. Why has this man tore us from our  Zen?. Thinking it must be of the utmost importance we jumped off the boat as if Armageddon was taking place right here and right now. Maybe the man broke our Zen as only we could save human existence.

Alas. No. We were snatched from the best state of mind we had been in, in months, to be shown a bloody banana tree, a crappy coconut tree, some piss-poor Paddy fields and a couple of d*ck-head ducks. Now that wasn’t called for.

We don’t want to seem excessively and unreasonably harsh but, once you’re off a plane in Indja and out of the city, which we clearly were, then you kind of notice that down every road, there are paddy fields, banana and coconut trees everywhere. As for ducks, well, you can go Old-Fecking-McDonald them. Indian ducks are not magical or miraculously special – they look the same as Scottish ducks, the only difference being their accents.

We did see some "nature" though - and although we couldn't bother our asses over it - we thought we'd film some birds in flight. Ooooooooh;

(16:03) Back on the boat. We quickly set about trying to re-Zenerise. We lost count of the numbers of Zenning postures, chants and breathing exercises we performed. The Zen was not forthcoming. Bugger.

(17:50) Lindsay comments on how it appears our boat is just going round a giant square. At this stage, if he’s right, then we would be almost at the end of the 3rd side. Something fishy in the air.

(18:01) We’ve moored just before the end of the 3rd side of the hypothetical (at this stage) square. This is where we would spend the night. Due to our positioning we couldn’t see the sunset and so, we became all sad. We wouldn’t be able to cuddle and gaze into each others eyes, under the reddening skies, as we hoped.

(18:05) We decide to consume some beer which was wisely purchased before heading off. We also try to put the negative thoughts of our broken Zen, wrecked sunset dreams and the biggest of all questions, “what’s around the corner?” out of our minds.

(19:35) Dinner was great and we’re feeling a little more upbeat, so we order more beer and stick a DVD on. Classy travellers. That’s why we opted for the luxury boat. What is luxury if it’s not a TV and DVD?

(20:20) Film quality poor, sound, miniscule. DVD turned off. Lindsay starts composing a letter to the FBI in relation to Piracy. A couple of more beers ordered. A few bites being sustained to the ankles by those w*nky mosquitoes.

Flashback, to around 19:00.

We couldn’t write this before dinner as we were to busy jumping around the boat and screaming again like the little girl’s we are. When the sun faded and darkness did befall us, we opened up the laptop for a wee game of Chess (Lee’s crap at it so it helps him to give Lindsay the opportunity to feel more worthy and manly).

At this point we were on the open air upstairs part of the boat, parked alongside marshlands and loads of vegetation. On goes a little light which over hangs our heads.

Fecking hell!. 32,675 bugs of all shapes and sizes swarmed us instantly. They didn’t just go for the light we switched, instead they decided to use our faces, arms, and legs as trampolines and food targets. As you all know, we don’t like beasties and these b*stards certainly didn’t like us. Girlishly but all too familiarly, we ran away downstairs – screaming and waving our arms in the air like crazed monkeys.

(22:00) Bed time. There were two bedrooms on the boat, so Lindsay got into one bed and Lee jumped in there right beside him. If it ain’t broken don’t fix it. During the night, the room must have reached about 200 degrees centigrade and we were sweating like pigs. Pigs who were wearing wet suits underneath duffle-coats and who were rolling around on a skewer above a campsite fire.

The only option available to us to help reduce the inferno that we were enduring was a p*ss poor fan. We could fart more air than what this could spread. There was an air-con option available, but that would cost another 1000 Rupees. Bugger our Scottish (sweating like mad) asses at that.

(8:30am) We awake after a really bad night of seeing every fifteen minutes on the clock due to the heat. Rather unusually we opted for a head-to-toe position that night. Didn’t work. Lee had to resort to kicking Lindsay for rolling on him. Lindsay having to constantly hit Lee for snoring. Head-to-head is so much more natural – so much more cosy. So much more fun.

Lindsay’s in a foul mood. He’s bitter at absolutely everything. The heat of night, the “square” route – the birds in the sky. Definitely the wrong side of bed – head-to-toe obviously confused him.

As we get out of bed, we start to question a few things. Our trip is scheduled to end in one hour – but we’ve not yet left the mooring spot where we’ve been all night. Is the world in which we’ve lived in for the last 20 hours a square? What’s around the corner? What happens if we reach the edge? Do we fall off?

More importantly – how the hell are you supposed to wipe your bum with a small bucket thing? This is all we had in our bathroom other than the sink and the toilet itself. After a long-while, Lindsay finally grasped the concept of the hose, but we were both dumbfounded by this little physical riddle. Are you to fill the tub with water, dip your hand in and then rub the sphincter? Or are you to pour the water down your back so it naturally reaches the anus? Either way, a hand surely has to be involved? If anyone knows the answer, please email us – quickly!

(8:40) The boat continues on its way, heading illusively to the enchanting corner.

(8:50) We turn the corner - full of desire and child-like excitement.

(8:51) We’re disappointed. It’s the boat park where we had, 22 hours earlier, hopped aboard. So it was a square. Woohoo – Yippee. Conning Feckers. Breakfast was then served on the boat in the original parking bay surrounded by the other 30840331 house boats.

What p*ssed us off is - there was no reason to stay on that boat overnight – especially and insultingly as we were just around the corner from our start/end point. Lindsay is absolutely furious. He’s swearing like a trooper. He’s frowning like mad. He’s huffing and puffing. He is Mr Evil today.

(09:45) Eventually, we catch a bus to Cochin – where we intend to catch a train to Pondicherry. Should be easy enough.

We got a mention in a Broadcast paper/magazine earlier this month. It's all very humbling and nice to have a little bit of our wee project scattered here and there across the media platforms - cheers Broadcast people. However, in this 6 paragraph article we noted the following 4 errors:

1) The £5 people "pay" us doesn't fund any of the challenges. Instead the "High Five" Challenge puts your fiver      directly into the hands of someone who needs it (hence the Goats and Sink malarky).
2) We haven't tickled a Tiger - Instead, we crapped ourselves at the sight of a Lion.
3) We've been nowhere near a Bollywood film set (this is to happen on our return to Indja at the end of the year.
4) We think the World knows by now that neither of us have balls - never mind "Balls of Steal".

Here is that article;


Note:

Our Mum says we’re talking too much about poops, jobbies and crapping ourselves. So we won’t talk about any of that nonsense anymore.

But, for everyone else’s interest;

Poop consistency is rather good. Solid jobbies but, Lindsay is experiencing 60% constipation. Lee’s happy with his babies – but if he needs to go – he needs to go immediately.

Sorry Mum.

Location: Neyerdam - Kerala, India

Failing to prepare is preparing to fail. So, this journal entry was started at 05:35 am on Thursday 17th. The train we hopped on yesterday in Margao was 2 hours and 5 minutes late. Always thinking ahead, we phoned our not-yet-met friend, Graham Bishop down in Kerala and organised our taxi to pick us up 2 hours and 5 minutes later than initially planned. Graham’s a good spud who left Scotland a while back to help other people around the world. A bit like us but less flashy.

The 16 hour journey somehow managed to time-warp itself in to a mere 13 hour journey and we’ve arrived in Trivandrum at 05:25 am. 2 hours and 5 minutes earlier than secondly expected and at the time we should have arrived in the first place. Never knew that India Railways can bend the space/time continuum.

Lindsay, through fear of losing more cash or catching anorexia from the horrible train toilet, has been holding in a poopy for 12 hours now and for the life of him, can not find a bog anywhere in this station.

And so, here we are. It’s now 06:00 am and we’re in an air-conditioned waiting room at Trivandrum Central Station. With only a mere 90 minutes of bum-clenching-hell until we meet Graham – Lee’s asleep and Lindsay’s killing time writing the journals (as always).

It’s now about 9am on Sunday 20th (time flies in these journals!) and this is to be our final day in Nayerdam. Needless to say, we got our taxi and Lindsay’s done a few jobbies since the above paragraph.

Kerala’s been a tricky one. The place is stunning – amazing jungles and villages, dams and ravines, gigantic heights of trees wherever you look, over shadowed by huge mountainous ranges and the people are simply amazing. Never in our lives have we ever said hello to as many people as we have over the past few days.

Our intention was to come here and meet with our now-met-friends – Graham “certainly not a Bishop” Marshall (it appears that Lindsay just made up his surname) and his wife, the gorgeous “Alchy” Allison*. These two Saints are the nicest people we could ever have the privilege of meeting. Amazing folk.

Graham is a walking Wikipedia. You can not say hello to the man without him resorting to a lesson on ancient Greek mythology, explaining where butter beans come from or defining the elements of quantum physics. 56 minutes later, he’ll say hi back and then give you a further education on why cotton is better than silk and the reasoning behind Mozart’s unfinished symphonies.

Allison (our Kerala Mum) is the sweetest and sexiest alcoholic you’ll ever meet. She made us breakfast and coffee. We like that. She did however, within 12 seconds of meeting us, say that Lindsay looked stressed. He didn’t like that and so, he retorted “you’re fat”. After the initial awkward silence – the two fell in love and plan to run away together to Iceland to start a cake shop enterprise. Here we all are in a Toddy shop. Note; Alison (is it one L or two?) is onto her 14th by the time this picture was taken;

Once acquainted, we were to meet with Wilson – the head of a local charity called BGM.

We were kindly invited to have dinner at his home – it was amazing. Proper Kerala food, eaten off banana tree leaves. Even with his fingers – Lindsay can’t reach his mouth;

Then, all very simple and straightforward, we were going to do some good and use some of the cash that you lot have given us and use it help some very, very needy poor folks.

TII. This Is India. A new saying that we’ve grown to love. Anything that takes 20 minutes to do back “home” takes about 4 days to organise, prepare, reorganise (because the preparation fecked up) and then re-prepare a further 12 times as anyone who was involved in the initial organising of whatever it was that needed doing, has simply buggered up somewhere along the line.

Two days ago, we went to a local school and gave out some shirts – it was beautiful. After the kids stopped crying at the presence of two hairy arsed, fat Scotsmen, wearing kilts and accompanied by an Orang-utan hanging from one of their necks – they warmed up to us and even gave us some songs.

It was like Red Nose Day – the serious bits. We tried, but none of us cried – would have made a great photo.

We decided that we should drop off the kitchen sink here as all the school had as a kitchen was an outdoor tap and a concrete slab. We gave £35 to the headmistress to allow everything to be plumbed in, and fitted. This will now provide extra sanitation for the kids. Mrs Head (we never got her name) was unbelievably humbled and so, thanks to the following people for that gesture;

Trish Waters, Amanda Lamb, Scott Lewellyn, Fiona Main, Emma-Claire Hall, and us two – we both put a fiver in the pot. Leading by example!

Sadly, we don’t have any pictures of the sink being handed over (perhaps, may we suggest, that you go to B&Q or Home Base and recreate the moment yourself with friends) as everything was filmed for the telly. Can’t wait – should be riveting!

Yesterday we spent some more of your cash (£155) on some goats. These were given to 3 separate women’s self-help groups. After buying the things – we had the joys of conveying them by tuc-tuc to their final destinations (22 kilometres away). Goats don’t like tuc-tucs and by means of protest, they show their discontent by peeing and crapping all over the legs of their fellow passengers – namely us. B*stards!

Lee gave away Chanoo and Baroo (we never asked them how they spell their names – mainly because we can’t speak “Goat”). Both were pregnant and so hopefully, their new-borns will create a self sustainable and generative future for these communities (as long as the goat-love isn’t kept in the family – maybe a niche in the webernet dating market here? www.goatlovecom)

Lindsay gave away Bethany and her two kids, Frank and George (obviously he renamed them) to an after-school community. All the goats we gave away are to be shared within each community and hopefully in 5 years time – these horny buggers will sprite a few more goats. Cheers for that;

Fiona Brown, Derek Brymer, Christian Carbines, Nicholas Catignani, Deirdre Clarkin, Cheryl Cuthbert, Yvonne Dalrymple, Margaret Drummond, Tracy English, John Foggarty, Sean Frew, Irene Fowle, Leyton Fowle, Christopher Gilmour, Deborah Greenlaw, Romana Grieve, Emma-Claire Hall, Vicki Harley, Kate Hawney, Gillian Hay, Grant Henderson, Ian Henderson, Jackie Henderson, Karen Holt, Brendan Hurley, George Johnston, Lesley McArthur, Jennifer McCandless, Marcus McDermot, Susan Mitchelson, Karen Murray, Eilidh Ness, Stuart Ness, Sofie Norgaard, Janne Norgaard, Michelle Norrie,  and Diane O’Donovan.

We know that £5 spent on goats is much more fluffier and cuter than plumbing a sink – but, the kids needed something clean and functional for their school kitchen. We’ve tried, but we can’t 1) spice up the giving away of a sink and 2) be arsed in trying to do part (1). Trust us – everyone was thankful and everyone needed the helping hand.

And so the time came for Indja to learn the Highland Games.

The games went absolutely brilliantly. A thousand times better then we could ever have imagined. The kids were fantastic and the smiles and laughter were overwhelming.

We “taught” (using that word in the loosest form) the little nippers how to Haggis Throw (with a coconut) and how to Hammer Throw (with some natural rubber which we made ourselves). We then progressed to tug-of-war and Lee, very masculingly, cut down a banana tree so, we began to toss. Naturally - us being competitive pr*cks – the kids never stood a chance of beating us at any of the games! Scotland 7 – Indja 0.

We then gave out the rest of the football tops. The kids were brilliant! More importantly though, we now have hardly any luggage – which is even brillianter!

And for some, the excitement was simply too much.

So, we’ve earned some good Karma by doing some Charidee work – which we don’t like to talk about. What we’ve learned is this;

If you want to do something out of the ordinary and decide to travel and dab a little in the world of charity – do it. There is no better feeling (well, sex is probably better but Lindsay can’t remember what that’s like so we’ll stick with this feeling of inner-well-being from giving to the poor).

If you come to a place like India or any other needy place then we’d strongly recommend that you offer your services as a volunteer. Don’t give money.

This may sound cruel, but one of the harsh truths is, the people who need the most help – want instant results. They would rather have 50 Rupees for a bag of rice today than be given the means to feed themselves for a lifetime tomorrow.

They’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Goats – great. Milk, Cheese, Herds, Meat etc… for generations and communities to come. Sink – grand. Helps keep the little kiddies from catching potentially harmful diseases and the likes. T-shirts – fun. Won’t put food in their bellies, but brings a smile to the wee-one’s faces!

So after emptying our sacks and lightening our loads – we left Nayerdam and the lovely Graham and Alison (who says she’s our number one fan – but so too does our real mum… FIGHT!) Here she is at about 9am in a little tea-shop, dissaprovingly looking at a waiter who's refused her some drink on the basis that she'd already had enough. Tut, tut;

On another nice note – should anyone who reads these journals ever venture to this beautiful place – please use the following taxi driver. He collected us from the train station and drove us around everywhere and anywhere throughout our stay in Nayerdam. He is amazingly polite, helpful, helps to communicate with the locals and will do absolutely anything (well almost) for you;

Saji Kumar
Thadathurikathu House
Pervrokulanutara
Neyyardam
Post Pin : 695572
Thiruvandduapuram District
Kerala
Mobile : 0091 (0) 9846330838

Nothing like helping fellow travellers and acknowledging a brilliant person.

So, to tie things up. Lindsay licked a goat and the two of us attempted to tickle a Tiger. Sadly, that Tiger turned out to be a bloody huge Lion and must have been ticklish – cos the bugger of a thing wouldn’t let us near it without a promising stare of “I’ll rip your heads off boys” given as a forewarning.

And now for a tangent;

Lindsay had a disturbing dream last night. The two of us were on a beach further North in Kerala. With us was a mate from back home. We met 3 girls who seemed pretty up for it but one (Lindsay’s one) wasn’t feeling too well and so, she had to go back to her pad to sleep for a while.

Lee went off with one girl and our friend went off with the other. Lindsay was left on his own and so, as dreams go, he went to fly in his hot air balloon. A short while later the 3rd girl came back and so, Lindsay landed down with amazing precision, right next to her. The two began chatting and it was looking like he was in there. But, somehow, Lindsay’s hot air balloon popped and he had to run away and fix it.

A few minutes later, he returned to the girl and was shocked to see that another mate from back home had inconveniently appeared in Kerala too – and the b*stard was chatting up Lindsay’s bird. Needless to say, the girl went off with the lad and Lindsay was left all alone with his deflated hot air balloon.

Even in his dreams – he can’t pull. And what the hell does the burst balloon mean? Is he impotent now?

* Allison says she’s not an alcoholic. She just drinks by Dublin standards (the whole of Dublin apparently). Oh, and she isn’t fat.

Location : Somewhere between Goa and Kerala, India

Firstly, please excuse the pictures in this journal – Lindsay dropped the camera and so, we’ve got to wait on our Producer friend Mark giving us stills of lots of footage he’s taken. Until then, please enjoy some “art”.

But – Lindsay went back to the Mexican food joint the other day and took a picture of the hole-in-the-ground-toilet. It’s starting to get a little boring this story, but Lindsay still gleams with child-like excitement as he tells anyone he passed of his amazingly-accurate-bum-hole. Just realised, on closer inspection of this picture – there’s a bloody amphibian in it. We’ve all heard of a frog in the throat – but a frog in the ass?

Yesterday was a huge day for us. We had to get up at silly o’clock in the morning (6:45 am to be precise). Yeah, we know that’s very early but as Jimmy Cricket would say, “come here, there’s more”. Ahead of us, we faced a full day of Crazy Canyoning.

At 7.30 am we met with our guide Emmanuelle. A French man who lives in Goa 6 months of each year hosting canyoning trips. This guy is instantly likeable. Lee argues that he’s also instantly loveable and hasn’t stopped texting him since our encounter, but what we both agree on, is the fact that Emmanuelle makes everyone instantly aware that he is a bit mad.

Mad in a good way, not just the French way. We arrived with our colouring-in books and crayons and asked him why we had to bring sturdy shoes and clothing gear that could get wet without us worrying, just where were we going to be crayoning?

We were drunk the day we organised this challenge (hence, Lee allowing Lindsay to make the arrangements) and we’d only looked briefly at the Challenge on our website. So briefly that we never read the challenge specifics – instead, only reading the challenge name. Suffering from drunken dyslexia we saw a sign offering Crayoning lessons.

We proceeded to book a full day’s course with Emmanuelle. He informed us it would be extremely difficult and asked us if we were experienced enough. Hell yeah, we told him - after all, we’ve loved crayoning since childhood and hardly ever go over the lines. How hard could it be? Frank decided to opt out. Instead, he made arrangements to take a taxi to a nearby town for some kind of S&M fun. India has a Mark’s and Spencers?

In the sober light of day it quickly emerged that we had gotten ourselves into a bit of a kafuffle. The day was to begin with a 1 and a ½ hour 4x4 journey to our starting point. We then had to face a grueling 3 hour jungle trek to the top of Goa’s National Park (The Jungle)

And so it began…

On the way into the National Park we stopped to collect some food for lunch. Emmanuelle had said earlier that we could pick it up ourselves, that way it, whatever it was to be, it would be fresh. How considerate.

The dirt track road we were travelling on had no shops anywhere to be seen, yet we pulled over anyway. Was Emmanuelle so deranged that he hallucinated a line of shops?

All of a sudden, he grabbed two plastic bags and a bloody machete! Naturally, Lindsay crapped himself, but disconcerningly, Emmanuelle told us to join him by a tree. Phew – we were going for some apples or banana’s Lindsay’s nervous heart told his brain. Yum.

But on the tree were no banana’s, not even apples. We both hoped that whatever we were to eat was maybe purchased earlier and hung up high on a branch so it wouldn’t get nicked. Burgers? Chips? Sweeties? No.

Two Red Ant’s nests with thousands of the little angry bastards running all over the shop. So there was a shop involved in some funny way, perhaps this Frenchman wasn’t so mad after all.

Emmanuelle then showed us how to gather up an ant’s nest. Step one: Quickly grab said nest in said bag. Step two: Chop said nest from said tree with said machete. Step 3: Seal said bag before said angry bastard ants attack in huge numbers.

Seemed easy enough, so Lindsay went first. How brave.

He approached the nest with his plastic bag perhaps as nervously as those two Vegas guys - Siegfeld and Roy  (or something like that) would approach the next tiger they want to capture in order to train it to dance on roller skates.

Actually, the above paragraph is an understatement. Lindsay was more scared. He girlishly held the bag up to the nest, not even wrapping the bag around it and then tapped the branch ever so softly with the machete. He must have been hoping that, miraculously, the branch would break on the slightest touch, the nest would fall downwards and then, God himself would intervene and make the bag seal itself, ants and nest inside?

Sadly (for Lindsay but not for Lee) this didn’t happen. What did happen though, was that the ants got a bit upset with the girly prodding and squealing next to their home and so, they attacked.

A few managed to jump on to the bag (Lindsay said he counted and there was at least 3 million) and then raced on to his hand before he dropped everything and ran away –confirming to the World what Lee already knew - that Lindsay’s a terrified little girl trapped in a big Scottish lad’s body.

A few ants remained on him (probably for a laugh) and (probably after pissing themselves at what they were seeing) bit him a few times which turned his screaming even louder. The tone of the scream was so intensely high that the ants eventually jumped off him, ran back up the tree to their nest and put their tellies on really loud to drown Lindsay out.

Lee (who, like the ants, was in hysteric fits of laughter) went up to the other nest. Cock-surely, he put the nest in the bag, cut the branch as instructed and left without any commotion, screaming or any girly actions. Only now did we question why we had just done this. Were Red Ants the prey of bigger predators like Burgers, Cheese Sandwiches or Curly Wurly’s? No, the ugly feckers were lunch.

After a disappointingly disapproving nod, Emmanuelle asked us all to get back in the Jeep. He drove on a few more miles, parked the car, geared us all up and then we headed, on foot out into the jungle. The drive proved too much for Lindsay and his excitement and fear wore him out:

As forewarned - the first 3 hours were as hardcore trekking. A little down hill at first which made us both a bit cocky of how easy it was before the incline kicked in and we seemed to be heading up and up and up. We thought if we kept going much higher, we might bump into the Extremely Friendly Giant. But then we questioned, would she be happy and let us take a giant golden monkey-nut back down to little-earth and sell it to raise funds for a new village well – or – would she be angry and eat us?

Anyhoo, after 3 hours we reached the top of the mountain – 1700 feet above sea level. The river bed at this height was dry. When up so high and surrounded by wild anything's and everything's you start to have slight concerns. Ours was - if we run out of water, then we might die. Very quickly though, we realised there was no risk of that ever happening. If we became stuck, lost or injured, we could survive forever by licking up the sweat that was torrentially pouring down our faces in full waterfall style.

What’s now common knowledge – we’re used to crapping ourselves (well, Lindsay is) we had now both wet ourselves (but thankfully it wasn’t pee). We were both saturated and crotch-rot was starting to set in. Fast. Here we are with a big piece of wood – and a huge tree!

As we walked down the riverbed, the rocks became boulders, the boulders became bigger boulders and then some rocks became bigger rocks (what we’re trying to say here is, everything got bigger). As we crossed another summit, we were greeted by a free and wild flowing river. Water… and plenty of it.

But, before the Crazy Canyoning could begin, first we were to have lunch.

Oh my F*ucking God!

Emmanuelle pulls out the bag of Ants. All of whom are extremely pissed at being kidnapped. Sticks them all on a bit of bread and asks us if we want chilli-sauce topping or honey. Lindsay surprised us both and said almost immediately, chilli.

After (what’s becoming rather expected now) lots of squirms and shrieks – he finally put the slice of bread with at least 80 live Red Ants up to his mouth. Then, frantically, he started pounding the bread with his fists – making a last ditched effort to make sure that the little vicious buggers were dead. Even though some were still alive – although now severely crippled – he crunched into this delicacy. As you can imagine, this was a disgusting sight. Ants crawling out of his mouth and him sucking them back in. He loved it!

Only joking. He fecking hated it. So too did Lee – who, on top of his 78 Red Ants, was given a dashing of Ant eggs too. Equally as squirmish as Lindsay, he battled his body’s natural reaction to reject this meal and both of us, very surprisingly, didn’t puke!

Red Ants do not taste like chicken. Red Ants taste like lemon. Red Ants are little evil twats and so, if you ever get the chance to, please eat one or two.

We then abseiled down what must have been an eight foot drop, nothing really. For once Lindsay wasn’t a girl. That honor was saved for Mark - our Producer and Camera Man (but above all, our bestest friend). He had to be given instructions about 100000 times by Emmanuelle on how to use the abseiling gear. He just couldn’t get it and with each failed explanation he would say “Right explain that to me just one more time”.

As he was saying this, his legs were knocking together at the knees. We felt for him dearly as we had to do all this as we were Challenged (yes, we agree with the double meaning here too!), Mark was only there to film us doing the challenge. Did we heck feel sorry. Turns out, Mark is seriously scared-of-heights.

Now, Mum always told us not to mock people and their ailments – instead just poke them with a stick and shoo them away from us better-beings. We decided to ignore this sound advice as if we shoo’d him, he’d have fallen to his certain death. So there we were, huddled together like two prepubescent schoolboys who had just had sex-education class at school and heard the teacher say “Erection” for the first time. We would have wet ourselves (properly) had we had any body fluids left after the aforementioned trek.

Eventually Mark abseiled. Thank f*ck. The pain of laughter was starting to rupture some internal organs. Lindsay farted accidentally and swore that a little wet poop had come out and quickly circumnavigated his wetsuit and settled under his right nipple.*

We “bigged” Mark up (eventually and with a slightly sarcastic undertone) for his bravery in overcoming his fear of heights and he responded well by egging himself on further and further throughout the day. He was proud of himself at the end of the trip and so were we.

Then our canyon jumping commenced. We had 8 jumps to do. The first was a “mere” 2 and a ½ meters and went without any problems or fears. The second, a 6 meter jump, brought a “no bloody way is that just 6 meters” response from us.

A shared fear then set in. This alleged 6 meter jump was reasonably high. The last jump of the day (which is compulsory if you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in the jungle) involved a minimum jump of 12 meters with an optional jump of 21 meter available to you if you felt confident and Emmanuelle felt there was a chance of you doing it without dying.

Onwards we went and completed jumps of 8, 10 and 11 meters with the butterflies in our bellies – fighting manically with the ants probably. It was after these jumps where we came to the crescendo of the trip.

As we walked to a series of big rocks which simply just… ended, we looked out and down. God this was high. We were above the Jungle trees – and jungle trees are bloody massive! We both rather girlishly edged ourselves to the lip of the 21 meter jumping spot inch by inch. Both our bodies were shaking so much that it was impossible to hide the fact that we’ve got man boobs.

We both looked down and then quickly looked up. No words needed to be exchanged. We were sh*tting ourselves (but not literally – well done Lindsay)

It was decision time. Could we jump from that height or would we take the “easier” option of climbing down to a safer level and 12 meters? All we will say, is at that particular time we were very scared. We were sick to the stomach at the thought of it. Unsure of our ability to do it and really questioning the stupidity and/or necessaryness of it all. The outcome has been saved for the telly show.

Sorry to leave you on such a cliff-hanger (pun intended).

So, whatever happened, happened and the time came to start a three hour trek back to the car. This couldn’t be harder than the 3 hour trek there in the first place. Wrong. Twas an absolute nightmare. The first 40 minutes we climbed up through the jungle at an 80 degree angle. Even the Indians who were there as jungle Sherpa's to carry our gear were struggling. Worse than this climb though was the fact it was getting dark and the Jungle is not a place you want to be when it gets dark, especially if, like us, you don’t like beasties.

We had to trek like the best trekker in the world (who everyone knows is Captain James T Kirk). So we Kirked ass and put everything we had into it. Our group put blood sweat and tears into that last few hours.

Blood provided by a guy called Gene who cut his finger. Sweat provided by everyone - but particularly us (Scotland's current sweat champions). Sounds like a great achievement but it’s not really as nobody really sweats too much in Scotland. And the tears were provided by the fat Indian guy who had obviously blagged his way into a Sherpa job for the day. All in all, we had trekked a total of 26 kilometers!

So... we can not recommend strongly enough that if anyone who reads these journals (Mum) ever ventures to Palolem - Make sure you book a canyoning trip with Emmanuelle. He can be found on the back street which runs adjacent to the beach (in the same Mexican restaurant the toilet pictures above come from). Mention us and mention Crazy Canyoning - you'll bloody love it - and our little French Friend. His number is (0091) 98 50 48 56 41. Give him a call and say Bonjour!

And here we are. One day later and at 22:30 our time/17:00 your time (if you’re in the UK) on Wednesday the 16th of January. We’re on the 16 hour train journey down to Kerala to do some Charidee work. We don’t like talking about it all that much though. We only do what everyone should be doing naturally – helping our fellow man (and some women). Can’t wait to get rid of these bloody t-shirts – they weigh a ton and the sink’s caused Lindsay’s bag to rip. So we’ll throw everything at the poor kids down there and lighten our loads.**

If you’ve ever had the pleasure of travelling with India Railways you’ll know that the toilet on these trains is simply a hole in the ground in a very small and very dirty little room. The bonus to this is - you can do a jobby and feel extremely satisfied that your poop just hit the ground at about 110 mph (great fun to watch).

The downfall is - you have to be careful when pulling down your trousers to do said poo. As Lindsay just found out – not only will the hole make your crap hit the rail tracks, but if careless enough, you’re 400 Rupees will fall out your pockets and also hit the ground faster than the speed of sound.

Right. That’s us off now. Lee’s away to sleep and Lindsay’s off to find his 9th second-opinion about his foot. He’s had a cough for about a week now too – naturally, it’s Malaria or Yellow Fever.

* Turns out, the fart Lindsay did, was, luckily, only a fart and the sensation of warm jobby under his right nipple was only a pocket of methane gas and chilli smells.

** For the attention of the RSPCC. Obviously we won’t be throwing any kitchen utilities at small children. 

Location : Goa, India

Last night, Lindsay went to bed at about 9pm. Lee retired for the evening at 10pm. We were both worried sick. Physically sick. The prospect of having to teach Yoga to anything from 10 to 100 people today was a horrible nightmare.

Throughout the night, we both saw every 20 minutes on the clock. Possibly the worst night of our lives. So, so worried. So, so unprepared.

We set 2 alarms (just in case) for 7am (which would be the earliest we had seen since coming to India). The first one went off. It was quickly turned off. Back to sleep we went. 3 minutes later though, the other alarm (which we had strategically placed at the other end of the co-co-hut) started blaring.

Lindsay got up and turned the annoying b*stard of a thing off and, back to bed he went. But, this time, he went to start revising the ancient history of Yoga. What consumes the entire life times of some people – Lindsay expected to understand and be able to teach within 3 hours.

Lee finally awoke at 0720 hours after hearing Lindsay spluttering and splattering a nervous jobby in the en-suite. The two of us then bastardised and simplified a 394 page book on the “basics” of Yoga and spent 90 minutes revising our “Lines”. During this time, Lee produced two nervous poops.

And so came 10am. F*ck.

There we both were. Standing together on the middle of Palolem beach. Petrified. Bricking ourselves. Lindsay wearing his salmon/peach (pink) flarey trousers and with his upper body covered in sand - we couldn’t find gold coloured body paint and so, in order to create our “Golden Buddha” he had to jump in the sea and then roll around on the beach (like an epileptic beached whale) to achieve the desired Yoga look we had in mind.

Lee, who was very attractively dressed in orange Yoga-like flared trousers and a matching coloured glittery and shiny top (which was a lady’s top and which made the locals think Lindsay was dating a Western transvestite – we’d probably have crossed their lines if they knew Lindsay was dating a Western tranny that was his brother/sister)

Anyhoo (we always say that) as we nervously started our class (with notes and maneuvers written on our arms) and (just for the heck of it we’re putting another comment in brackets here) looked across the shore at our “audience”, we began the lesson.

Now, we must have been given at least 29 promises of attendance by the random strangers we had harassed the night before. Said 29 people further promised to tell their friends and pass on the word of our “Free Yoga Class”. On top of this, we stupidly put a blackboard on the beach to promote the thing. Idiots. Naive and foolish idiots.

The most we ever imagined turning up to the class was a, very maximum, 20 people. Afte