India Blog – November 2012

 

Part 1

 

Welcome to India.  Palms of hands together and slight bow of head (and smile).  Namaste.

 

Here is another blog of a Keen trip – this time just Mrs K and I.  If for some reason you have missed out on previous adventures you can find them at www.maple3.co.uk/blogs.

If you object to receiving such intimate details of our experiences abroad…….use the delete button

 

We arrive at Delhi airport at 1.25am after an uneventful BA flight from Heathrow, apart from the fact that I was given a complimentary foot spa en route. The carpet under my seat was soaking wet for some reason and my socks got a bit damp but fortunately the BA crew sprang to my aid with spare pairs of tube socks. My seat also refuses to stay upright so I am in a permanently reclined position which is great for me as I spend most of the flight asleep but not so great for the girl behind me who opts to move to another seat.

Delhi airport is vast and modern. Surely there won't be too many people around at this time of the morning? Wrong.  The queues at immigration are long and we are competing with a plane load of blue-capped UN soldiers who arrived around the same time.

We are met by Lahli. He is holding up a sign saying "Welcome Mr Caroline and Mrs Jeff".  Ha ha.  Outside we have our first experience of the real India.  Even after 2 in the morning the place is teeming with people. A 3 legged stray dog wanders around the suitcases. Luckily he can't cock his leg otherwise he would fall over. The air is thick with smoke - a bit like bonfire night - but I am told it is due to most people burning wood to keep their homes warm. Some of the security police are wearing hoods and balaclavas to keep out the chill. It is about 12 degrees.

Lalhi calls the driver and on arrival he presents us with garlands of orange flowers (marigolds?). We are escorted to our hotel and Lahli starts to nod off in the front seat – well, it is 3am after all . Our guide will pick us up at 10.30am (5am UK time) so we hit the sack.

Next morning Rajesh, our guide for our stay in Delhi, meets us as arranged. Our driver is there again which is a shame because I am not a fan of his driving style. He is continuously pumping the gas which makes the ride very jerky. Admittedly that might be partly due to the need to avert collisions on a fairly regular basis. As we drive out of New Dehli (which is the bit the British built in the 1930's) with its wide avenues and multitude of roundabouts and head towards the south of the city, the traffic gets increasingly frenetic. Horns are being pressed every few seconds. Pedestrians appear to be oblivious to the chaos, standing in the road and crossing 6 lanes of busy traffic seemingly without looking. A dog even lies in the outside lane of a 3 way highway forcing cars to weave round him. At roundabouts there is no giving way - you just drive straight out and work it out from there, usually with a blast of the horn.

We obviously stand out a bit - two pale faces in the back of a people carrier. At traffic lights, two young girls, probably not more than 10 years old, pretty but also scruffy and dirty, do cartwheels and other double jointed acrobatics. One starts knocking on the window for money. The driver locks the doors and we all ignore her. At a monument a young woman begs me to buy a friendship bracelet and puts it on my wrist to show me how nice it is. She is asking 2 rupees (about 2.5p) but I try to explain it is not really my style. She halves her price and I am tempted but we walk on. It is tough to see such hardship but there are nearly 20m people in this city and I presume most of them are desperately poor. Where do you start?

As we walk round the India Gate monument, Mrs K is pulled into a family photo.  The picture has been censored.

 

We are back in opulence, in our vehicle with our guide and driver. We leave a car park and the attendant says he needs more money - he wants 20p not 10p.  Almost everywhere you go there are police roadblocks and there is strict airport style security at all the hotels.  Cars are checked under the bonnet and in the boot before being allowed in.

We spend about 3 hours touring various sites - mosques, tombs and government buildings.   There are so many in Delhi – you could spend weeks and weeks going round them.

 

 

 

Rajesh seems to be very knowledgeable although I find it very difficult to understand his accent. Mrs K is more tuned in and at times it seems like she has learned Hindi overnight, getting into deep conversations.  Rajesh prefers to be called ‘Swami’ which is his last name and apparently means ‘saint’.   Perhaps, because he is kind enough not to mention England’s dismal defeat in the first test at Ahmedabad.   No doubt we will get to know him a bit better before we leave Delhi on Wednesday.

This evening we went to a restaurant recommended by Mr D called Bukhara.  It is Indian cuisine but there no sign of pilau rice, samosa, sag aloo or onion bhaji anywhere on the menu – we are not sure if it is authentic or just different.  Apparently tonight is a wedding night for Hindus so the hotel has all sorts of smart cars arriving with some very well dressed people including one woman that Mrs K thought must be a princess.  We ask for a cab and the bell man points to it across the busy arrival area. Mrs K thinks it is a nice white Merc but he is pointing to the car behind which is one of those little Toyota flower vans which we struggle to squeeze into.  Not as nice as the old Morris taxi we got on the way to the restaurant – I reckon it was pre 1960.  No seat bets in the back and you could feel every gear change. Just like my Dad’s old Morris Cowley.

 

We have now been here 22 hours and have a lot more to see in Old Delhi tomorrow.  Mrs K is extremely pleased with the hotel and the pillow menu was a particular hit.

 

Good night.

 

Part 2

 

Tuesday was an amazing day.

We were taken to the Red Fort which was the Emperor's palace from the mid 1600's (I think, I am still struggling with Swami’s accent). In some ways it reminds me of the Japanese Imperial palaces because of the vast open spaces between buildings. The structures seem very open but you have to imagine the carpets and drapes that would have enveloped them. There are channels for running water everywhere to help keep the place cool but now they are dry. In his wisdom the emperor housed his wives and concubines close to his court so even after a busy day he didn't have far to go. It was when he spent a little too much time in the building next to the court that the empire started to disintegrate.

The British took over the fort and built their barracks inside the complex but those buildings still look in very good condition but are sadly not open to visitors. One of them would make a perfect visitor centre. To be fair to the Brits they did their best to restore the historic buildings but the task was massive and remains so today. With an entrance fee of just 12p the Government is not raising much of a restoration fund either.

From there we go on an adventure, the first part of which is crossing a 6 lane highway by foot. There are traffic lights but not everyone is taking notice. On the way here to Old Delhi when travelling down this same highway with cars bumper to bumper we passed a man doing a pee in the fast lane. We make it across with Swami's help and walk along the main street until we find a rickshaw which takes us through the bazaar. The street is no more than 8 feet across but supports two way traffic consisting of pedestrians, rickshaws and some motorbikes all fighting for space. Our rickshaw driver is probably thinking he should have charged more for his two well fed Westerners. Actually I have no idea what Swami paid though there was of course the customary negotiation process in which we threatened to walk on and find another rickshaw - there are plenty to go round. The chap is tiny and it takes all his strength to get us up the inclines but he is expert at finding the gaps and forcing people to clear the way for us. The shops on each side are tiny but busy and overhead there is a spaghetti of wires and cables which I assume most of which is illegally tapping the power grid.

We emerge safely and visit a mosque which was once the biggest in the sub continent. We leave our shoes and pay a fee for the camera and wander round the huge square. Mrs K has to put on a full length garment to make her decent even though she thought she was already. There are no statues or adornments to look at, just a wall with alcoves and a large chandelier where men and their sons kneel to pray at the wall, their women sitting just behind.

 

          

 

     

 

Back at the hotel we have to say farewell to Swami and wish him well with his studies in International Relations. His mission is to change the world but in particular to help the Government develop good relations with Russia. Good luck with that.

 

After lunch in the sun on the lawn in front of the hotel we decide to take a chance and visit a local shopping centre. Swami was a bit hesitant in recommending somewhere to go but having survived Old Delhi in the morning we are eager to get out there and see the City before we leave. We ask a taxi driver to take us to a place called Connaught Place which is effectively a shooping district and we are dropped outside a Government owned craft shop. Inside we are given VIP treatment with a demonstration of carpet weaving and needless to say I am a bit poorer when we come out after an hour, proud owners of 2 rugs and a pashmina. That's Xmas taken care of at least.

I am determined just to have a walk round and explore the area but we are the only tourists in sight and we attract a bit of attention. One chap tells us that we shouldn't go into Government shops - they are way too expensive. Great. And just by chance he knows the perfect place to shop. Less than 1km away and a 20p ride on a tuk-tuk. And as if by magic one appears at the kerbside. For some reason we jump in and after a 4km ride we arrive at the shop. Our driver Nanek offers to wait outside for us and drive us back to the hotel when we are finished. At this point I have no idea how far that might be and I ask him how much. "Whatever you think", he says. This is a tactic we come across again and it works because these guys get paid so little any number you can think of will be more than acceptable. After spending a fortune in the rug shop I don't see any point in arguing over pennies so we agree on £1. We pick up some gifts for the family and more for Mrs K ( I thought this was supposed to be my birthday trip?) and sure enough Nanek is waiting for us. He is disappointed that we don't want to look round more emporiums but speeds us back to the hotel through rush hour traffic, negotiating tiny gaps while pointing out the sights on the way and smiling at the video camera in his rear view mirror. When we tell him we are from the UK we get the classic response. "Lovely jubbly". At the hotel I give him a bit extra in return for his photo. Here he is. Note how he expertly parked right on a zebra crossing.  He ferried us around for about 2 hours for £1.50.

 

That evening in another instance of obscene contrasts we visit 'The Spice Route' restaurant at the Imperial hotel which claims to be in the top 10 restaurants in the world. Not sure about that but we both opt for the Chef's signature collections menu and I must say it is one of the best meals I have ever had and the service is first class.  Check it out on the web at …..

http://theimperialindia.com/imperial_dining_rooms.php?page=dining&rid=8

We travel to the restaurant by cab, in one of those old Morris Oxford type taxis and this time it is driven by Rajinder who tells us he has been driving since 1974. Again he agrees to wait for us while we dine. When we emerge two hours later he starts to tell us more about his career as a taxi driver, showing us his diploma, awards and various letters of recommendation from satisfied customers. He has a 'guest book' which I agree to write in - all in the back of his cab in the hotel car park.

I ask him to take us back via the india gate so we can have a final glimpse before we leave in the morning. We stop where Gandhi was assassinated, just two hundred metres from the hotel, but Rajinder promises us this area is very very safe. He won't tell me how much he wants for the evening but he seems more than happy with what I give him. I am ashamed to say it is less than 3% of the price of our meal

What a character. The charm of the Indian people is definitely working on us.

Next time I will tell you about our adventure travelling by train between Delhi and Agra, home of the Taj Mahal.

Here are some videos of our travelling exploits in Delhi.  Bear in mind that during the most hairy moments I was holding on for dear life and couldn't get the camera out  – these are the more tame bits. 

 

Part 3 - Agra and the Taj Mahal

Our train leaves Delhi at 6.15am on Wednesday so our pick up from the hotel is 5.15am – ouch.  Our sleep patterns are still a bit upside down. I have managed about 3 hours sleep and we have more very early starts to come in the next few days – but needs must.  Such a lot to see.

 

The beauty of an early train is that the roads will be relatively clear and the ordeal of finding our train should be quite simple.  Wrong again.  The scene outside Delhi station resembles Piccadilly Circus at rush hour when the traffic lights have broken down.  Absolute mayhem.  Fortunately our driver is expert and he gets us there in one piece and our tour company rep grabs the suitcases and leads us into the station.  In the main ticket hall we have to weave our way across to the platforms avoiding all the people that are sleeping on the floor.  He takes out a couple en route but no one complains – they just pull the covers over again and go back to sleep.  We advance to the end of the platform – we will be in the first carriage in ‘chair class’ which means we get a seat!

 

After some swapping of seats so everyone is seated next to their travelling companions, we settle down for the journey which is about 2 hours to Agra.  We are seated opposite two American ladies, one of whom works in the American embassy in Delhi.  She has brought her own breakfast so we follow her lead and decline the offer of the breakfast supplied on the train.  We get on to the subject of university fees – they are still quite a bit higher in the US – the Americans always have to be first.  Talking of such things as we pass by extreme poverty across country seems so callous.  We are shocked to see people using railway sidings as open toilets – just squatting down and doing their business in full view of passing trains.

 

As we arrive at Agra station my biggest challenge is to make sure I don’t leave behind anything on the train.  So far I have left my camera in a car twice and a restaurant once – luckily Mrs K has been watching out for me.  We are expecting to meet a rep on the platform.  A guy rushes on to the train to help me with the luggage and at first I assume it is him but it is a hopeful porter.  He carries the suitcases to our car, one on his head – they are not light.  Our driver has driven from Delhi to meet us here and is waiting for us outside.  There is some altercation between the porter and the rep as he complains his tip is not enough and then another with the parking attendant – but apparently this is all perfectly normal and we should just ignore it.

 

Admittedly we don’t see much of Agra but what we do see is not great.  We are staying in a tourist hotel which is an oasis from the lack of civilisation on the main street.  Our car is checked in the boot, under the bonnet and underneath before being allowed into the hotel complex.  We also have to pass through an x-ray machine as we enter the hotel.  Before I know it I have been given a Bindi (red dot on the forehead).  There we meet our new guide.  I try to catch his name 3 times without success so in the end we agree to just call him Khan.

 

We head off to see the Taj Mahal.  It is 10am and the streets are just crammed with people trying  to get somewhere.  Only the cows appear to be chilled.  They are owned by the community and looked after by the temples, supported by donations.  They wander around but seem to stay out of the way of the mayhem.  Khan says you need 3 things to drive in India – good brakes, a good horn and good luck.

 

We board an electric powered buggy for the last kilometre to the Taj – there is a 500m pollution free perimeter around the mausoleum to protect it.  The Taj is one of the wonders of the world – the 1^st according to Khan.  It is a breathtaking sight.  Foreign visitors pay about £9 to enter the site whereas Indians pay only 25p – but queues are separated which means Indians have to wait much longer to enter the tomb – actually the replica tomb.  It was built by a man who kept just one wife at a time when it was customary for powerful men to have hundreds – she must have been special.  The Taj Mahal is built with marble which is inset with semi precious gems and obviously all hand carved.  I wonder what it would cost to make in today’s money? 

 

We spend the rest of the day visiting other sights but also a couple of craft shops.  We are shown dishes and plates made with crystallised marble with gems embedded.  They look like they would make nice souvenirs but when we hear the prices we have to move to the room with smaller plates.  How could you spend £900 on a plate?  It was nice but not that nice.  Soon we have exhausted all their rooms and decide not to buy anything.  Well actually I decide and have to drag Mrs K out of there.  These guys are very good salesmen – apparently they will be happy just for us to look, not necessarily buy.

 

Khan excels himself even further on our final stop of the day.  Yet another craft shop but this time we are ushered into a private room where we are given a recital by a sittar player and a guy on drums.  To the un-tuned ear it just sounds like a lot of random strumming and out of time rhythm but the shop owner really gets into it, drumming his fingers and jiggling his knee.  I’m not sure what we were supposed to be buying after that so I made it clear straight away that we were not going to buy a sittar, hoping that we weren’t going to be offered a CD instead.  Mrs K is desperately trying to suppress laughter and is trying not to look at me but I think they took it as approval because after the performance the guy offers to sing a song as well.  I volunteer Mrs K to join in – now that would have been worth seeing – but she declines. 

 

Later we visit other monuments and the Agra fort which is larger version of the Red fort in Delhi.  By 5pm we are shattered and return to the hotel for drinks, room service and sleep.  Next morning we are up again for a 6am pick up so we can go back to the Taj to see it at sunrise.  At 5.30am I did wonder why we had not opted for a later start but it was worth it.  We get to the queue at the East Gate with a crowd of both foreign visitors and local Indians.  Some of the locals are on pilgrimages – groups of 10 men and 30 women.  Queuing is separate and I am standing in line with a group of sun baked old men.  Their wives stand dutifully in the next aisle, quiet and respectful and mostly barefoot but the most amazing thing is that they are all about 4ft 6 tall.  Overhead, monkeys are jumping around in the trees and clip an electric powerline which causes them to spark off a small explosion all the way down the street – none of the officials bat an eyelid.

 

This a much better time to visit and we get some time on the Diana bench for photos.

 

                   

 

 We return to the hotel for breakfast and then begin our 5 hour drive to Jaipur stopping en route to see more historic sights.

 

Part 4 - Jaipur, the suit and arriving in Goa

 

We just arrived in paradise.

 

 

It took 2 hours in the car and two flights but it is a relief to be here in Goa after a hectic few days.  We were up at 4.30am this morning which makes 3 ridiculously early mornings in the last 4 days.  The plan is to just do nothing for the next 4 days – so this might be the last instalment. The place is swarming with Russians.  As we sat at the beach bar, a Russian settled his bill, not by signing to his room like everyone else, but by pulling out a thick wedge of banknotes and counting them out loudly in front of us.

 

On Friday we spent the day touring the best that Jaipur has to offer.  The area is less hectic than Delhi or Agra and the air is much cleaner.  It was a very long drive and we got to know our driver a bit better.  His name is Gungaran but I have stop myself calling him Gungadin – sorry, my kids won’t like that.  Gungaran is in the photo below. Nice guy.

 

                             

 

We are introduced to our 3^rd guide of the trip – his name is Vijay Singh - but he doesn’t play golf.  We start with the Amber Palace which is simply spectacular.  In this region the old forts and palaces were never plundered by invaders (not even the British) so they are in much better condition.  We are treated to a fanfare as we enter the palace and immediately see a trail of elephants parading around the square.  We move from courtyard to courtyard getting a real impression of how the rulers in the 16^th century lived.  I decide that if I come back I want to be a Maharajah – about 12 wives seems like a good number. 

 

There are monkeys everywhere. Mrs K tempts one over with a flower and he almost eats it out of her hand.

 

                       

 

We go for our own elephant ride in the jungle followed by a lunch overlooking a elephant polo lawn and then head back to the Pink City where amongst other things we see a snake charmer.

 

Every site we visit, we find throngs of kids trying to sell postcards, pens, jewellery etc etc.  Back in Agra, outside the fort, Khan advised us not to respond to them.  But Mrs K can’t help herself and as soon as she has shown any interest at all we have about 20 kids surrounding us, shouting their prices.  An Indian policeman even gets involved to restore order.  We end up buying a couple of books and Mrs K slips the change to a desperate looking young girl .  Another girl of no more than 8 is holding a baby and is asking for money.  We slip her a small note before escaping into the waiting car.  Khan reassures us that these kids are earning money for their families not the mafia.  The mafia tend to specialise in the disabled and deformed – they earn more money.  In Jaipur, we experience the same thing.  Mrs K is pursued by a gang of boys trying to sell postcards – they stay with us for several hundred metres, the price dropping by half every 100m or so. The tragedy is that we just don’t want anything they are trying to sell.  We have to wait for a bus but slip a note to one boy before getting on, without taking any postcards.

 

But its not just the kids that are after money.  It’s almost everyone you come into contact with.  Tour company reps, guides, bell boys, maitre d’s, waiters, the guy that opens the car door, the photographer at the Taj, the craftsman demonstrating his skill, the sittar player and of course the snake charmers.  Even today at Jaipur airport, the guy that I paid for excess luggage wanted a tip!

 

Our last stop in Jaipur was the inevitable visit to a craft shop.  It was fascinating to see the hours that have to go into making rugs – we are shown each stage of production.  Fortunately we are long of rugs now so that conversation is quite short.  We tour the rest of the factory.  I am offered a made to measure suit but I point out we leave at 5am the next morning.  “No problem sir”, says our new friend, he can have one of his ‘boys’ knock it up in 3 hours and deliver it to our hotel that evening!  I notice his ‘boys’ are mostly middle aged men but hopefully they know how to make a suit.  We do a deal which includes throwing in a few cushion covers and a table piece for Mrs K.  By this stage Mrs K is being called ‘my sister’ by the salesman.  We are assured the suit will arrive and that if we are not 100% satisfied we can get full refund.  So we take a chance.

 

That evening at around 10pm we get a call from the shop manager.  A thousand apologies but his boy has had a puncture on his way out to our hotel (I’m not that surprised as we are in the middle of nowhere and the road is non existent in parts).  He asks us to make a stop at the shop on our way to the airport.  At 5.30am the next morning we arrive at the factory in darkness and Gungaran our driver bangs on the gates to see if  there is anyone around.  A light goes on and the security guard shows me into his grubby little room where the suit is hanging.  The tailor (boy) turns up too.  So there is a bizarre scene in which the security guard, our driver, the tailor and Mrs K all watch me try on a suit in a room the size not much bigger than our downstairs loo where the security guard has his tea.  But the suit is fine so we bag it up and run.

 

Goa is 1000 miles south of Jaipur and it could be another country.  The Portuguese left in 1961 (officially) but they have left their mark – 30% of the population are catholic and our Indian tour rep is named Antonio.  If there is anything more to report, I will let you know!

 

Thanks for reading.

 

A few more pictures.

 

                             

 

       

 

 

Part 5 - Relaxation

 

So the day is here - the big 5-0. I always used to think I will live to 100 so this is the halfway mark - well maybe, I'm not so sure these days. In what could be a sign from somewhere my electric toothbrush ran out of juice this morning - but it can be recharged. So my first task of the day is to recharge myself at the hotel buffet breakfast. Well, second actually. First I get to open some cards from the kids which contain some emotional messages. There are tears. Mrs K's of course not mine.

The new Governor of the Bank of England is only 47. Oh dear.

It being my birthday I am hopefully going to be afforded certain pleasures. I'm referring of course to the great iPad scrabble marathon which is delicately poised at 2-2. No more clues for Mrs K on triple word squares  - this is serious.

The England cricket team beat India at their own game in the Mumbai test. The TV sports channels are full of debates and recriminations. Tendulkar is under question now. Amazing, as he was treated like a God once upon a time. The other notable thing about Indian TV is that all the adverts feature people with such light skin they hardly look Indian at all.
 

Back home I see Roman Abramowich didn’t read my tweet from a few days ago.  I told him he would lose the fans and I was right.  Absolute madness.  We get to see all the premiership games here live – better than being at home in that respect.

I am reading a book called "A Fine Balance" which is about the struggle through life with poverty and the discriminatory class system here in India. It is set in the 50s-70s. But in today's paper there is a story about 'an honour killing' where a guy was shot by his wife's brothers for eloping. This is not a case of Muslims and Hindus but a dispute about social class between Muslims. Amazing it is still going on today.

Not much has been going on here. We visited the spa on Sunday but it was a bit uncomfortable with my dodgy shoulder and I have cancelled my second session. I was also not sure about the buttock massage by Sony (male by the way).

I know we shouldn’t go by stereotypes but the Russians (and there are so many) are mostly of ample proportions and don’t seem to mind displaying their reddening flesh.  There is one woman – she is the biggest woman I have ever seen who is brave enough to wear a bikini.  The bottom part is distressingly obscured between folds of skin.  There is another guy we keep seeing everywhere.  He tried to join us for breakfast the other morning for some reason but we managed to find another table.  He reminds me of the sheriff from Smokey and the Bandit.  Just waiting for him to spit out his tobacco.

As I lay here next to the pool, I am remembering a lot of things I didn't mention.  The suit seller was quite a character. Note he didn't call me brother but Mrs K was his special sister and even after all the negotiation was finished he gave her a small present. Obviously I didn't negotiate hard enough. He said to me “if you don't mind me saying sir, for a man of your personality, a two button suit is much better“. I don't think I have ever been accused of having excess personality before but then I realised he was talking about my girth. Mrs K liked that one. "As you are eating very healthily sir....." Etc etc.

The hotel is first class. The service is amazing - your every need is taken care of and the staff are so polite. They even have a security guard to ward off the crows.  He is shooting them with something, hopefully nothing lethal – just something just to scare them. They are extremely bold.  Mrs K said one was perched on my sunbed while I was sleeping.

On Sunday evening we had a candlelit supper on the beach with the sound of the surf in the distance.  Ahh!  Last night we ventured outside the hotel compound to the local restaurant on the river called Fisherman’s Wharf.  We swapped the spotless tiled floors and air conditioning of the hotel for the wooden boards, bugs and local moggy at the restaurant.  But it did have a certain charm with a singer giving us a rendition of Elvis, Neil Diamond, Dire Straits and Sting.  Real karaoke – but he is quite good.  Some of the diners get up to dance but we draw a line there.

This morning we went into the local village for a look round.  Mostly small shops selling tourist gifts, jewellery and textiles.  Mrs K gets yet another pashmina – how many does a woman need?  We walk the length of the street passing about 30 shops.  Each owner comes out to say good morning and try to get into conversation.  Mrs K can’t help herself but join in.  “Yes, we are here for 5 days”. “We leave on Thursday”.  “We are staying at the Leela” etc etc.  I try to tell her just a nod would do.  I did manage to find something for me though – a new mug for the office. 

Returning from the village we hear that our tour rep (Antonio) has sent me a birthday cake.  The hotel reception will bring it over in a buggy.  We get tired of waiting and leave for the pool but on the way see it speed by on a buggy under the careful supervision of a smiling driver.  It looks like it will significantly add to my personality.

Exercise?  There is a nice little 12 hole par 3 course here between the pool and the beach but doctor’s orders are I shouldn’t be swinging a club yet with my dodgy shoulder and in any case it is so hot and humid. It is again in the 30’s but today is particularly sticky.  I might yet try a yoga session with Mrs K in the morning.  So I resign myself to Kingfisher premium beer and frequents dips in the pool.  What more could you ask for on your 50^th birthday?   

Thanks for reading.

Jeff