Overcrowded trains, vast throngs of rude, sweaty people, the weight of my bag growing ever more burdensome as the fear that everyone here wants to rob me prevents me from ever truly relaxing even for a second. God I hate London. It is unfortunately a necessary evil as the new Indian visa system requires me to visit this tiny little embassy again, this time to pick up the passport I left here last week, accompanied by my loyal friend Paulo, who just tagged along for the thrill. I am this time lacking company and feel a bit hungover. What’s more if my passport is not there I will have to change my flights and stay in London a bit longer, until they decide to grant me the necessary visa in fact, an expensive prospect which has left me feeling fairly anxious.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank my friends and family that have visited India before me for informing me about this long and arduous process before I booked my ticket, unwittingly leaving the start of my trip on a knife edge like this. I shall be sure to withhold some important information from you all in the future, and watch you run around like headless chickens under the axe of uncertainty, in the battery farmyard for dickheads that is our capital city. Sitting on the stairs of the embassy because the waiting room is so crowded, desperately listening for the number on my ticket to be called out and end the uncertainty, I start to empathise strongly with the plight of the battery farmed chicken. I wonder if their cages smell overpoweringly of onions too?
My worry is soon turned to joy as an Indian gentleman with a hairdo that puts me in mind of sonic the hedgehog hands me my passport complete with the necessary visa imprinted on the first page. I refrain from flinging myself over the desk to delightedly embrace him and smother him with kisses, instead moving downstairs to the Starbucks across the road. I figure the best way to kill time is to make use of their wifi, and possibly start this blog, with this mini, urban adventure at the embassy.
Embarrassingly I can’t work out how to use their Wifi for ages, although I am pleased that I get to ask the nice looking blonde girl behind the counter for help. Unfortunately she professes her own ignorance and sends over her slightly less exciting friend, who’s undeniable efficiency in assisting me is of little compensation. She also speaks very loudly, as if keen to broadcast my technical inaptitude to the rest of the cafe. I think the male member of staff is trying to flirt with me now, so I might just call time on this one. Right, I’m online.
Lots of goodbye fb stuff and texts. I receive several phone calls at once from various well wishers, most of whom I’m pleased to speak to. When these abate I find myself wondering why I never feel this popular when I am around to enjoy it! Turns out the last familiar face I see before I leave England will be the gauntly grinning features of Maverick Duda for a subway (that I will no doubt be paying for- bless him.) Then onto Gatwick, whoop de whoop etc.
I really hope this blog gets more interesting when I am shadowily wandering around the sub continent, blogging in England is not all that! Then again in a country where Cheryl’s controversial X factor choices are making the front page, maybe this Starbucks triviality could make the evening news. If you need a reason for my leaving England so hastily, take that as a case in point. Until then, thanks if you read this far, I promise my escapades will get more dramatic!
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