How so?' I hear you ask. Well... for some time, I have wanted a be able to say 'yes, moi, je suis une L.A.D', only momentarily, you know? For a couple of seconds I wanted so desperately to believe I had 'manned up' and done something kkkkrezy, lived on the edge, gone wwwwilld and basically, all that's associated with being naughty.
So, when I jumped onto the luggage container of an Indian train, I thought that the next 14 hours would be pain free and I would be able to say to my friends that I had truly slummed it and been a massive lad. Alas, this was not to be.
Instead, it seems that most Indians are fascinated by (breasts) white skin, (breasts) girls and (breasts) eyes. Never have I ever had so many mobiles THRUST in my face, or been mentally undressed for 14 hours (at least, I don't think so). My travelling companion and I realised that sleeping was far from the agenda when she felt a pair of hands (not her own) on her breasts, and I had to use my LonelyPlanetIndia guide to protect my vagina. Bliss.
I also ended up in an opium den in a rather innocent fashion. The hardest drug I have ever really had for shiggles is....Calpol, so I wasn't totally 'up' for this new experience. But, how was I supposed to know it was an opium den? The three 25 stone cows guarding the outside of the den did not suggest foul play at all. Even though they were standing in the brick, shabby hall of a house.
The intoxicated gentlemen who led us there was probably a litttttle bit suspect. Ah. All part of life's colourful tapestry... i think.
Yours, Penny Lane. xxx