a nice tight pair of Jodhpurs

So having spent an extra day in Pushkar without bothering to change our train reservation we set off to Ajmer in the hope, and I can't stress the word hope enough, that we could change our ticket for that days train and that things would all go smoothly, not involving queuing at a million different booths while someone wobbles their head in blank confusion.

We share our taxi with Michael a slightly camp American involved with reality television. He's a series produce for an interior design programme similar in style to changing rooms. He told me about a new American reality tv programme called "The Flava Of Love" - in which twenty robustly built african-american ladies vie for the carnal attentions of Flava Flav (of Public Enemy fame). Apparently one of them poos on the floor when she gets evicted - sounds brilliant and much like an indian station platform.

When we arrive at the Station and fight through the rickshaw drivers we head straight for the enquiry desk who, after queuing for twenty minutes and Jayne elbowing an old but pushy granny in the face, tell us we must go the Head Ticket Collector's Office. Unfortunately i decide to confuse matters by approaching the supervisor who tells me to fill out two identical forms and return them to him instead. We opt for this seemingly easier option but as I get to the front of the queue with my hastily completed forms he puts a closed sign up and sits there for fifteen minutes watching me panic and perspire, while he picks his nose and writes impenetrably into his vast tome of bureaucratic nonsense. In India you have to write everything down at least four times. When the closed sign is removed he is replaced by a lady who fiddles around with her printer, adjusts her keyboard, shuffles her paper and generally wastes another five minutes of my life. I give her the forms and she tells me that I must queue at the head ticket collectors office!

With about three minutes to catch our train i precede dad-like to run around the office screaming fuck in random directions while Jayne follows no doubt rolling her eyes at my ridiculously flappy behaviour. I run full pelt to Head Ticket Collector's office who mercifully is without queue, we fling our backpacks to the floor as I remonstrate loudly to the man demanding that he change my ticket - after all the train is virtually empty - he nods his head , shuffles some paper and tells me that:

"i am thinking you are running out of time" - "I know!" I scream, "Just change my bloody ticket!". I am now skipping around like a deranged Basil Fawlty demon. Then he just laughs at me and tells me to just get on the train - that my Indrail pass is valid to do that. Before he can finish his sentence Jayne and I find ourselves sprinting over prostrate beggars and past bemused pakora-wallahs towards platform three. I make an arcane signal to the driver that meant to me "wait- I need to get on! And my girlfriend behind me!" (it was exceptionally clear - should probably be introduced in to BSL) unfortunately to him my gesticulations obviously meant "start the train now - as quickly as possible my good man I wish to board at a brisk run."

As I find our carriage the train is going at a fairly rapid 5 mph (quik for a train here) and I bravely leap through the door and into the main corridor. As I look back I see Indiana Jayne bravely continuing her sprint, athletically and gracefully carrying her bags like a puma might leap from one tree to another. By the time she reaches the train it is going at a rather scary 7 or 8 mph. She deftly threw me her rucksack which I plucked masterfully from the air. With a last minute grab for the door handle she swung her body round, cleverly using the weight of her rucksack as a makeshift cantilever and propelled herself to safety. We stood exhausted and panting and wallowing in the round of applause we received from the other passengers.

Well we're off for a bit of a wander now. Through the shoe district probably.

More about Jodpants soon.

Lots of love

James and Jayne xxx