Friday morning began with arrival in Bombay on our "Luxury (yeah right), Air Conditioned (didn`t work), TV (guess what...didn`t work) Bus". A real pleasure, which in truth was slightly dampened by the further lack of lights and suspension, far scarier than anything that Alton Towers could produce! As the journey concluded (three hours late) the conductor guy requested that we pay him another hundred rupees. We have previously been pretty tolerant of the usual attempts to scam money out of foreigners but the combination of a severe lack of sleep and the sheer audacity to presume that four stupid english lads would hapily hand over some more money to him (depite the fact that he had not charged a single other passenger for this additional fee) was a little to much to take this early in the AM. He was therfore told in no uncertain terms what he could do with that idea and we departed the bus to look for a taxi. After a quick breakfast we checked back into our lovely cell that we had occupied four weeks ago. After catching up on some sleep and email writing, we were treated to another evenings viewing of begging, prostitution and drug-related bitch slapping in the streets below our balcony (I can`t think why the cheap hotels are in this part of town!).

The next day was another lazy affair with plenty of lounging around the hotel, attempting to fix the cable and in the case of Big dave, arguing over exactly how big a size 11 flip flop should be with the local street sellers. Meanwhile The Goat (see the character profiles section for explanation) has headed off to a tailors to try and mend various clumsily ripped items of his wardrobe. We finally all get organised and out of the hotel by about 4pm and so we head down to the Gate of India to catch a boat ride around the harbour. Took a few photos looking back to the harbour (although not too many as immediately to the left was an Indian Naval base and we didn`t particuarly wish to end up the same way as a certain bunch of Greek plane spotters!). Went out in the evening to spent the money we had in the fines kitty which, at 10 rupees each for saying certain words over the previous four weeks, was looking pretty healthy! We were joined by a couple of guys from our hotel, a South African lad called Bobby and a Swede called Bjorn (who Gareth had spent the previous night discussing the merits of Sven Goran Erickson with).

Sunday (today as I write), is our last day in India (where has that gone?) and so we have been posting the last of our postcards and soaking up the local culture one last time with a major feed at MacDonalds, those glorious golden arches are hard to pass by after a months absence! From here it is off to the hotel to collect our things and then the airport, not before some mother`s day related phone calls are made of course! Speak to you from China.

Well, I guess we can`t really finish without a general summing up of our time here, can we (and I thought I had got away easy only having to write up three days for a minute there!)?

The first thing to stress is how different it is to back home, of course there are some similarities, but generally speaking everything is a lot more in your face here. From the moment we touched down in Bombay (and constantly since then) there is just an over-riding sense of activity all around you.

An example of this, and one of the things that will always stick in my mind, is every experience of being in a vehicle on Indian roads. Whether you are in a taxi fighting through the hustle and bustle of Calcutta, cycle rickshawing your way around Varanasi`s narrow side streets or bombing along Goan country highways, the rules remain the same - there are no rules! You are well within your rights to cut-up and overtake anyone who you feel is in your way, with only a prolonged burst on the horn as warning. Despite this it is worth noting that we have not seen a single example of road rage and only one driving related accident in the five weeks that we have been here, so bizzarely, it appears to work. The same "rules of the road" apply for foot passengers in busy streets and also in any stationary queue, whether it be for train tickets or bottles of water. It is this kind of atmosphere of less restrictions that can provide a welcome freedom and present opportunities that would never be allowed back home. For example I think I mentioned in one of the previous diary entries of our antics hanging out of train doors watching the spectacular scenery fly past. This clearly wouldn`t be possible on British Rail, mind you, the scenery isn`t quite as impressive when you are crawling through the outskirts of Hull!

Another thing that soon becomes apparent about the local people is the much lower level of privacy that they tend to require in their daily lives. It is perfectly acceptable to start reading a newspaper over someone's shoulder or pick up a possesion of another person for closer examination. When it comes to meeting westerners this advances into open curiosity with endless people wanting to introduce themselves, discuss anything from philosophy to cricket (two subjects that James knows little about!!! [not true! - Anonymous Editor]) or simply just peer at you across a railway carriage.

The third general trait that stands out is sheer persistance. This is no more apparent than at any street stall where the seller will repeatedly try to encourage you to look at his/her ware's and will instantly latch on to the slightest bit of interest shown. This is where the haggling for prices comes in with regular discounts often offered on the initial heavily inflated price.

Obviously, there are major down sides to India. No matter how much you can try and prepare youself before you go for the sight of Shantytowns, open sewage rivers and one-armed children tugging on your sleeve for a ruppee, it still hits home hard. In a country without anything resembling a welfare state, many of the street children are left at the mercy of pimps and touts who will send them out to beg on their behalf. It is stories and reports like this that make it even harder for the kids themselves to survive as it stops many (including us on most occasions) from giving any money at all. The times when we did give things away it was far more likely to be fruit, biscuits or crisps than any money that would just be plucked from their hands around the first corner. Whether this made any difference isn`t known.

A cornerstone of Indian society is definately their sport. In particular one game: cricket. In every city or village we have been to/passed through it is very rare not to see at least a couple, if not more, impromtu cricket games being played on any bit of open land or quiet street. The national side (as we found on our first day here) are treated like saints. Sachin Tendulkar`s face beams out from vast numbers of advertising boards across the country and wherever he goes he is mobbed by hundreds of adoring fans (meanwhile the captain, Saurev Ganguly, has to settle for a role in an unbelievably camp advert for 'Hero Honda' which features a ridiculously cut dancing sequence - maybe he will be appearing in the Indian version of Popstars which is currently getting underway over here in the midst of much media hype!).

I cannot finish without a mention for possibly the second (behind Tendulkar) most recognisable face in the country. For weeks we were puzzled by the strange middle aged Indian man who sported a combination of black hair (toupe!) and grey beard which quite frankly looks ridiculous! It turns out he is the biggest star in Bollywood and hence (as it's the biggest film industry on the planet), the world. I guess he is the equivalent to Sean Connery and Tom Cruise all rolled into one. There were even rumours that he presents a new programme that has started over here recently called "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?". Heard of it? I guess everything's not that different after all!

Evening all. The dedicated amongst you may remember that after The Goat had finished working up a froth over the romanticism of the Taj Mahal, we had just arrived in the Pink City of Jaipur. Sunday the 3rd we had arranged as our sightseeing day, our names on a tour bus leaving the Info Office at 9am. This necessitated yet another 7am start, always a struggle when you have myself and Little Dave sharing one room and no alarm clock. Once aboard (and feeling thoroughly like Japanese tourists) we headed off to the first stop, our orange tank-topped mulleted tour guide educating us on the merits of Jaipur. Or at least he would have done had someone not swapped the engine on our bus with one from a Harrier jump jet on afterburn.

After mulling around the Laxinariman Temple for a good, ooh, 20 minutes, we were hurried back on board the bus and taken to the Royal Observatory - an Emperor's playground of sundials and, erm, really really big sundials. The rest of our sightseeing group were herded around the City Palace but we opted out because the price was sky high for foreigners (and dirt cheap for locals - an annoying phenomenon in tourist hotspots that two asian-looking Canadian lads took full advantage of, somewhat unfairly we thought). Instead we sat around and marvelled at the Pink City for a while, talking to crazy rickshaw drivers and just generally bumming.

Upon the return of the Mullet however, another swift bus ride was in order to the Water Palace (looks like it's floating). We got a good 30 seconds at that one, before it was kamikaze bus-ride time up into the hills for some serious fort action. First up was the 'Unnecessarily Large Cannon' Fort with its chief attraction of the largest cannon in Asia, capable apparently of firing a very big lump of metal over 35 km and most likely missing every time. Incredible views over the hills and the Water Palace, only topped by those from the next fort along, the 'Unnecessarily Large Governor' Fort. With a stunning vista of the entire of Jaipur, it was built by a 7 foot, 200 pound ruler with nine wives, which beats Henry VIII on all counts I reckon. After downing a quick lunch, and an even quicker trip down the hill which threatened to negate the point of having lunch, we arrived at the Amber Fort where we marvelled at how un-ambery it was (turns out that the town is called Amber - doh!!). Most impressive, even more so when you realise that it's in quite a state of disrepair and try to imagine it in its heyday. For anyone that might be interested, there's a piccy of it here.

The final stop was the Jaipur Planetarium, which myself, Freddie and Little Dave were greatly anticipating considering how funny the one in Calcutta had been. Yet again, the cardboard spaceships and mystifying constellations didn't fail to amuse, this time bolstered by the narrators habit of saying "...and whatnot!" when he didn't have a clue what he was on about, and a scary as hell John Williamesque score!

After sunday's marathon session, monday was a day spent mostly relaxing and watching Thundercats in Hindi (how did we fail to remember how camp it was? Lion-O wears a crop-top, Panthra's a Gimp and the doors to Cats Lair are in its crotch!). After a quick trip to Pizza Hut (we leave feeling thoroughly underwhelmed), we get the bus back to Agra again to avoid the violence in Gujarat that is still raging. Once there we mosey along to a hotel close to the station, as our train is at 8.20am tomorrow, where the pen-pushing form-obsessed tool in charge tries to skank us double rates. No chance matey!

7am is again seen for the far-too-manyith time, only just as the Goat has now managed to lose his as well as my alarm, so we now rely on Watson to give us all a kick. The train is unusually delayed by 2 hours, at which point we find that we are sharing a 7 person booth with a family of 5. Mayhem. Spend the rest of the day on the train, being in parts amused and exasperated by the relentless energy of the three children who's parents seem only too willing to let us be the new objects of fascination. Finally get to sleep, knowing that the conductor said the train gets into Nagpur at 5am - groan!

Bleary-eyed, we are woken by the train driver's ever-smooth braking method as we pull into a main station. Realising that it's still only about 4am, we prepare to roll back to sleep in a generally knackered fashion. However, the Goat is in the mood for a gambol and so stumbles outside to take a look, running back in half a second later in a state of distress. We are at, of course, Nagpur. Cheers Mr Conductor man, how about a job in tourist information? After a mad scramble off the train with all our bags, all of the good people that we have just woken up in our panic then sit there and glare at us, as the train doesn't depart for another half an hour. Oops. After a wait at the station, during which Gareth lauds it big style as hero of the hour, we catch the next train to Jalgaon to see the Ajanta Caves. The rest of the day consists of food, booking ourselves on tomorrow nights overnight 'luxury' coach to Bombay and a room at the Hotel Plaza.

Thursday starts at, inevitably, 7am (aaaaaarrrgh!) and a trip on India's wonderful bus service (GUARANTEED: your bum to be in midair at least half the trip, or your money back!) to the Ajanta Caves, a series of 26 Buddhist Temples carved into the bare rock of a river gorge which lay undiscovered for 500 years. Then the British arrived, found them and graffitied on them. The caves are amazing, especially the two main temples which make you appreciate the humble hammer and chisel, and we spend quite a while sitting in one of the dormitory caves debating the merits of a 'Weatherspoons' in Cave 13, where you could sell WeatherBuddhas & Chips and Fish Stuppa's. We eventually conclude that you just wouldn't get planning permission. After running the gauntlet of Eric the Overeager Quartz Seller and his buddies, we climb the hill in the crook of the river bend to get an amazing view of all 26 caves - tainted slightly however by the efforts of yet another quartz seller to give us an impromptu guide (and charge for it of course), who only leaves us alone after half an hour and a tongue-lashing from Freddie. Another hour and a half spanking session on the bus and we're back in Jalgaon, where our a/c luxury television bus is ready to depart. Once aboard however, we find out that the a/c and tv has been discarded along with other trifling things like suspension and legroom, so we end up drifting off to sleep juggling sweat, possible Deep Vein Thrombosis and why India cannot seem to build flat roads or grasp the concept of gradual braking.

Lordy, this takes far too long when we actuall DO things! Final Indian installment from Little Dave in a few days.

Much to my travelling companions disgust I have been given the distinguished task of describing our visit to the Taj Mahal, but there is more to mention before we get to that.

Our last day in Varanassi was spent lazying around the hotel. The decision was influenced by having to leave our bags with the fleecer hotel manager, not to mention the last one-day international on the T.V and the hotel snooker table. The snooker match in Varanassi turned somewhat into a marathon. I am pleased to report it was played in a sporting manner, with the De Grey Street pair strolling to an unchallenged victory, beating the May Street boys by a humiliating 13 frames to 5. The journey to Varanasi station was the most memorable yet, each person having their own peddle rickshaw and what should have been a leisurely ride turned into a formula one style race, with each rider trying hard to impress his passenger. The riders were well tipped for their efforts. The result of the race is not important.

We boarded the train and found that we were situated in a carriage full of travellers. Within seconds Big Stuff was making friends with a Danish chap called Morton and Jams was giving an English lesson to an Indian - for some reason he didn’t want my help, I can’t understand why. That night was the most uncomfortable so far. We had to share a bunk between two of us, which made it almost impossible to sleep. My heart goes out to big Dave Watson, who shared his bunk with the more than selfish Jams, who decided to fall asleep, leaving Dave with not much more than a small corner to park his bum on. There are three stations in Agra, one of which is the best to get of to visit the Taj. Not one person in the carriage knew which one it was. We spread the word that the second station was the best. All I shall say is, ‘we were wrong!’

Having disembarked the train, we got straight into a cab and headed for a restaurant for breakfast. The restaurant was owned by a very helpful lady, who offered us a bed on her veranda for free. We turned down her generous offer and settled for a room at the Shanti Lodge. We spent most of the day recovering from the lack of sleep on the train. Our first view of the Taj Mahal came from the Shanti Lodge rooftop restaurant. The first thought that popped into my head was, ‘Average, seen better, seen worse, whats for lunch?'. That evening we went for dinner to ‘Joinus’ restaurant with Morton, two Canadians (Jackie and Carey) and a Japanease guy. The evening was spent swapping experiences our experiences so far. As we are new to the travelling game we did a lot of listening. Which is very difficult for some of us, isn’t it Little Dave?

Several hours later and 750 Rupees worse off we were watching the sun rise over the Taj Mahal. This was an unbelievable experience and made me realise that postcards and pictures don’t do the Taj justice. You have to see it to believe it. What a man has the ability to do when he really loves a woman. Don’t worry James and Dave, I’m sure that Louise and Ruth don’t expect that much, perhaps just some nice expensive jewelry or something along those lines. After several hours taking everything about the Taj in, we sat and read or wrote postcards in the grounds. Within the seven hours we spent at the Taj, not one of us was bored of the view for a minute, except Jams, who couldn’t think of anything except his stomach.

In the late afternoon we joined Morton and Carey and caught a boat across the river behind the Taj. We paid 25 rupees each for the pleasure, after being offered 100 each by some army officers. Even indians employed by the government try and fleece you. As soon as we stepped of the boat we were surrounded by local children. They were begging for anything, from chocolate to pens. The sight of the Taj reflecting in the river whilst the sun was setting was unforgettable, and the fact that it is a sight unseen by most tourists makes it even better. That evening we decided to splash out and dine in the ‘best restaurant in India’, according to Globe Totter tour guide, and we were not disappointed. What a day!

After the previous day, the 1st of March was bound to be an anti-climax, after all it was Little Daves birthday. Little Daves birthday was greeted by a wrestle in the Mature Room, which he lost. After a late breakfast we got a rickshaw to Agra Fort. The views of the Taj from the fort were breathtaking, the fort itself was damn impressive. By this stage Jams was suffering from sunstroke (a very mild case). On leaving the fort a chess set was purchased for Dave's present, the final price of 100 rupees was bartered down from 400. For the second year running Jams didn’t make it out for Daves b’day, unfortunately nor did Pizza Hut. The plan was to take advantage of Pizza Huts 'all you can eat' offer, but Pizza Hut was closed down due to the problems in Gujarat. Poor Dave had to settle for ‘Joinus’ again. We spent most of the evening talking to a gob sh#*e from England.

The following day we had an early breakfast and caught a rickshaw to the bus station. Stupidly we were convinced to go to another station. After a brief visit to the station we went to the train station and booked our train from Agra to Nagpur. On return to what we were made to believe was the bus station, we got told no buses left from there. From then onwards Big Stuff let a volley of sarcasm fly at the rickshaw driver who lied to us. After that the rickshaw tried to get our business to take us to the real station, that was it the big man had had it. The rickshaw driver got a real mouthful, Daves language was colourful to say the least. Eventually we got on the bus to Jaipur and arrived at 6.00pm. That evening was spent relaxing.

Well, after a few days of very slow internet connections in Agra and much Jipping from the other lads, I have eventually got around to filling you all in on our last days in Calcutta and our time in Varanasi - sorry for the delay!

Thursday was our day of sightseeing around the city of Calcutta, but it got off to a bad start as we all (on principal!) refused to pay 150 rupees - 15 x the normal rate - to enter the Indian museum, as we were only going to be in there for about an hour (something tells me that our principals are going to be compromised when we reach the Taj Mahal though!). Gareth only made it a few metres further before deciding that he wasn't feeling his best and that his bed seemed a far nicer alternative. So four became three and we headed off on cross-city trek dodging crazy cabbies, bus drivers and market stall holders to find the main post office so that James and I could send our postcards home. With suprising simplicity this was achieved pretty quickly, so we decided to catch the English language presentation at the Calcutta Planatarium.

We only left ourselves 25 minutes to cross the whole of the city again, but with a bit of speed walking we got our tickets and found our seats. It was just like being back at school and was sooo basic. The seats were really comfy so I ended up having a snooze for 20 minutes whilst James and Dave made up their own star constellations with creations such as the "Britney Spears" and "The Golden Arches of McDonalds". After this 'fun' we had a bite to eat and then headed up past Eden Gardens cricket ground (they wouldn't let us in) to the Ghats in order to get the ferry across the river to Howrah station and back again. We all took loads of photos of the impressive bridges and of the cityscape. We then headed back to pick up the boy Rossington to do some emailing and then go to the cinema to watch Oceans Eleven. As you can tell we're really immersing ourselves in the different culture over here!

Friday was travel day to Varanasi. We got up early to get the train from Howrah (on the other side of Calcutta) to Moghal Sarai (just outside Varanasi). We did the usual stockpiling of water and biscuits for the trip, then ended up waiting to board the wrong train for half an hour before realising our mistake. The train journey was ok, but we soon regretted our decision of declining dinner on the train because when we arrived in Moghul Sarai the usual 40 minute drive took two and half hours due to a train crossing on the main highway. Our taxi driver Rudeboy Raj did his best to get us through and had a car stereo that made Dave's music sound like it had been recorded by the chipmunks (not the strippers!). We arrived at the Hotel Ganges at around midnight, tired and wanting sleep.

Dave and James got the unenviable task of sorting our onward train journey to Agra on saturday, whilst Gareth and I took a stroll down to the Ghats on the Ganges under the pretence of "sorting" a boat ride for the following morning. Within two minutes we both realised that all we needed to do was turn up before sunrise and haggle hard for a good price. Therefore, we spent the rest of the time wandering down the ghats and eventually reached the cremation ghats where we got stung for 100 rupees each. Met back at the hotel with Dave and James and they had been on the cycle rickshaws through Varanasi with a nutcase who labelled himself the "Indian Helicopter" - bizarre! We had dinner and team May Street (Dave & Me) opened up a three nil lead in snooker over Team de Grey Street. Yes, you did read that correctly, our hotel had a snooker table!

We were down at the Ghats at 6am on sunday morning, looking very tired I'm sure, but it was worth it. We saw the sunrise over the Ganges which was tremendous with many photos taken. We also saw the many different Ghats and pilgrims having their morning wash in the Holy waters, which was amazing to see as personally I wouldn't have even dipped my little toe in there! The only unpleasant thing we saw was a huge drawing on the side of one of the ghats depicting the World Trade Centre and an aircraft - a bit chilling really. We went back to to the hotel for a rest and later we went for a look around the back streets and promptly got lost in the maze that they are. We found a nice place to eat though, so had an early dinner. For the evenings entertainment we carried on with the Snooker tournament and team De Grey Street fought back (not very impressively we thought) to lead 6-4.

Monday brought another day of sightseeing. We agreed with the Mr Smooth/Slimey Receptionist at the hotel (who always seems to want to make money out of us) to take a tour in his cab for the whole day which was 8 hours and pretty reasonably priced. We visited the Durga Temple, devoted to a goddess who killed demons, that Little Dave compared with Buffy!! We also visited the university museum & the 'Mother of India' temple which housed a huge carving of the sub-continent which was very impressive. We then moved on to Sarnath, just outside Varansi, to see Buddhist temples and relics. When we got back Mr Smooth tried to charge us more saying we were late, but it was his driver trying to take us to all his shops and "shortcuts" which was the reason. James and I had another run in with him later as he blatantly charged commission on James' Travellers cheques when the sign on the wall said none was taken. Two nil to us I reckon! Team De Grey Street, some might say luckily, extended their lead in snooker later on in the evening in a marathon session.

Well thats it from me, but Gareth is next so with a few more prompts from James' Mum like last time he'll probably get around to that pretty sharpish.

We boarded the train and settled down for the twenty three hour journey (not 17 that we were quoted by the tourist (mis)information office) to Vijayawada in the state of Andra Pradesh on the east coast of the country (everybody got their maps out?). Time was passed with plenty of reading, rummy, resting and the added bonus of 6 nations rugby on the BBC World service.

On arrival in Vijayawada at about 6:30am Sunday morning,we were promptly informed that all onward trains to Calcutta were booked up for the remainder of the week. As the rough Guide to India only manages to donate half a page to the whole of Vijayawada we decided that this was not good and we should move on as soon as possible. Boarded the train at about 9:30am to Visakhapatnam which is also in Andra Pradhesh and is about a third of the way to Calcutta. We were travelling in the lowest class seats avaliable which is the 2nd class unreserved and comes fully equiped with a hard wooden bench, barred windows and worryingly no toilet in sight! However, it turned out to be a worth while experience as we chatted to loads of the locals (one of whom was an Indian version of Joe Pasquale) and were able to hang out the open doors watching the beautiful scenery fly by at 70 miles an hour, beat that central trains!

After about 9 hours we arrived at Visakhapatnam and began fighting through the melee of taxi drivers outside who were licking their lips at the prospect of four westerners with "we are new here" written all over their faces. After being fleeced for a ride to a hotel that was about 100 metres down the road (our driver even had the cheek to ask if we wanted to book him for a return journey back to the station in the morning!) we checked in and headed for our first true, non tourist area, eat-with-your-fingers curry. Very nice, even if it did lead to serious bowel movements over the net few hours!

Monday began with good news as we managed to book ourselves onto an afternoon train to Calcutta. As we had a few hours to kill we decided to break out an impromtu game of cricket on the rooftop of our hotel. The game was played with our trusty tennis ball, a plank of wood, the bottom four rungs of a ladder and strictly no aggressive shots (unless you wanted to be collecting the ball from the street four stories below). Gareth is still living with shame of James taking his wicket! Back on the trains for the rest of the day to cover some more serious miles of the indian subcontinent.

We Finally arrived in Calcutta around 7:30 tuesday morning (just over 72 hours since we left Goa, hard core travellers or what!) and were welcomed to the city by the utter carnage that was trying to cross Howrah bridge (one of only two crossing points on the Hooji river) we checked into a hotel and spent the rest of the day watching local games of cricket, sorting out our onward journey to Varanassi and wandering around looking for restaurants that are fictions of James` imagination (would have been so much easier to find if he had been using the right map!). Gareth was still sulking at his decision to `shotgun` room 201 (which he deemed the nicer out of the two we viewed) for him and James, only to find that the toilet didn`t flush and the telly didn`t work. One quick room change later and they were residing in what looked like the set of a porn movie with on suite pig toilet, much amusement for me and big stuff!

Woke up wednesday morning to see an England victory in the cricket, shock horror! Could the day get any better? "Yes!" declared James as he tried to inject some culture into the group by suggesting an afternoon trip to the botanical gardens. So off we set with the promise of viewing the worlds biggest Banyan tree. Unfortunately the gardens were not held in such high regard by the local taxi driving community who appeared to not have a clue what we were talking about, doh! Finally found a guy who was willing to take us and so after he had picked up another bloke who appeared to know the way we set off crawling through the chaos of the Calcuttan streets. On arrival, and following a stroll around the gardens we came across the legendary Banyan tree. The sign states that it is 420 metres in circumference with over 200 aerial roots, no really, this is apparently a good thing. The afternoon was saved by yet another game of cricket (well, when in Rome....) with a dozen or so kids all pointing and shouting "Flintoff, Flintoff" at a certain member of our group (is anyone noticing a pattern emerging here?). The fact that some of these kids were a third of his age didn`t stop them from bowling James out first ball! We left them our trusty tennis ball to keep when we left, a prize that was still being argued over when we looked back in the distance.

OK, for all those that have bothered to read down this far (Howard) then that about brings you up to date. Look out for the next exciting installment from Freddie (if he can find time in between his many emails to Ruth!).

Ahh, another fine, 35 degree Goan morning - how's the UK? Another moving day on Monday, unfortunately we were kicked out of the hotel by 10.30 as we had managed to find the only landlord in Goa who gets up before midday - a sentiment not shared by the man that we gave our skanky washing to to clean (including varied 'Pants of Ming'), who turned out not to rise until the afternoon. Still, one phone call later and he was winging his way down to us like a cross between Batman and Dot Cotton on a moped, and a short-ish taxi ride after that we found ourselves in the hippy haven of Anjuna. Gareth and Big Dave lounged with their loose bowels in the shade, while me and Little sweated our way around a few hotels trying to find a good deal. Settled on the Red Cab Inn, a somewhat funky place run by an extra from 'Boogie Nights' called Captain Brian who gave us a room all together. Nice.

The beach in Anjuna turned out to be gorgeous, unfortunately full of beautiful tanned hippies doing skilled beach things while tanned, who seemed to take exception to us pasty-white boys with haircuts and labels on our clothes invading their turf. Death stares galore! Peace and love my overly white buttocks. We loped back to the hotel and got taught the marvellous game of 'Carrumm', a very amusing combination of pool and slide football that involves sore fingers and a whole heap of white powder that could have been either flour, talcum powder or cocaine. Dinner was amusing, out of an initial selection of beef, fish and chicken, the waiter refined us to chicken, chicken, chicken and chicken. Played Carrumm until the early hours - and I thought that I was bad at pool!

The next day was spent actually doing something for once, a visit to the lovely Dudhsagar waterfalls. Unfortunately they're on the other side of Goa and we had to endure a two hour taxi ride from the Cap'ns mate Thomas to get there - terrifying and pile-making in equal measure. A swift 4x4 ride over boulders (followed by a trek past cobra nests), and we were at the falls - absolutely gorgeous! The local monkeys half inched all our food out of our hands (a bit like Hull) which was quite cool, then Gareth, Little and myself took a swim in the plunge pool, which was a bit too cool. Freddie opted out on the pretext of "looking after the cameras", good job he did too or my film would have been all used up by the monkeys, thieving little beggars! 3 hours and some very bruised cheeks later and we were back at the Cap'ns lair, feeling like doing nothing more than collapsing in front of the Carrumm table. We got talking to another traveller for the first time properly, a girl from Brisbane called Penny, who was as good an excuse as any to wheel out all the Ozzy cliches including neighbours, shrimps, barbys and whooping our arses at every known sport (hey, we had to get it out of our system somehow, we've got 3 months there!).

Wednesday started depressingly, with the Kiwi's giving Nasser's boys a lesson in one-day cricket, but soon perked up at Anjuna flea market, a huge local event where you can buy anything as long as it's either a sarong, beads or a portable chess set. After much haggling, we decided against the chess set. As we were walking past some of the stalls, fending off Indian men trying to clean our ears with what looked like rusty ex-dental equipment, a film crew suddenly appeared close behind us (professionals, they had a boom!). Freddie Flintoff and Lee from Steps immediately started fighting over which of them they were there to interview but it later turned out, when we were in a beachfront cafe and they were filming in front of us, that it was the 'Holiday' crew filming with Jayne Middlemiss!!! Apologies Lou and Ruth, but we did sit there and dribble. You now all have to watch 'Holiday' religiously, because we may be in one 20 second tracking shot. Went to after-market party that night, fairly uneventful apart from a small Indian girl out-mockneying Jimmy. Mini-mock!

Final full day in Anjuna on thursday, we wanted to make the most of it so we spent most of the morning playing Carrumm. Walked up a local hill to try and get a good view, passing what looked like an industrial shipment of empty horse tranquiliser packets on the way (HINT: we haven't seen any horses here). Fantastic view, the next beach along looked especially gorgeous (Vagator), so we went there and swam, drank fruit juice, sunbathed etc (har har). Back at the Cap'ns nest, we stamped on our first cockroaches (grrr, feel the testosterone!) and Gareth did his Vidal Sassoon impression, cutting Big Dave's and my hair ('accidently' I now have a no.1 all over, marvellous in 35-degree heat). Played Corrumm with Penny until early hours, Jimmy whining about his 'Corrumm Finger' (like 'Tennis Elbow', only not as impressive), and Penny fufilling all the cliches by whupping us at our own game. Bloody country.

Friday, and Little, Big and Gareth all having trips to the toilet with the John Wayne paper (rough, tough and takes s**t off no-one!). Say a tearful farewell to the Cap'n, and get cab with Thomas again (who, oddly, turns out to be called Joseph) down to Benaulim (Benolin?) in order to be closer to the train station. Final dip and sunset over the Arabian Sea (a hard life I know, but...), then dinner on the beachfront where some fella tries to cajole us into buying a newspaper by naming all of our postcodes almost exactly. Scary. Sort out a taxi for the next morning at early o'clock, then off to bed.

Blimey, can I go now? Next installment, hopefully on time, from Little Dave.

The 7th feb started off like a usual day at uni, we eventually got out of our rooms and down to the beach by 13.00ish. After some childish antics with a ball we decided to take a more mature stroll up the beach. On our way we got hassled by Tommo the sarong seller, who, which I don't like to mention, out mockneyed me, coming up with phrases such as 'lovely jubblies'. The evening was again quiet, except for Big Stuff who spent most of the night in the toilet, with what proved to be the worst case of Delhi Belly so far, even though James disagrees, the big nonce.

Friday was an early start, about 11.00 (come on, we're on holiday). We went back to the station and booked our train to Vijayawada for a week Saturday, then it was back in a cab for an hour drive to Calangute, a resort in North Goa. The taxi journey was made shorter by the Summer Classics of 58' booming from the stereo, the H & P radio show duo were in their element and there wasn't a copy of NME in sight. The afternoon and evening were used for exploring the new loacation, but one explorer short as Big Dave was left behind throwing up the immodium that was supposed to be helping him.

The next day again started early, ok, so there's a pattern emerging. The rest of the day was spent on the beach. We made friends with a waiter at one of the beach huts, a bloody Man United fan, they get everywhere except Manchester. We were challenged to a game of football, which was accepted eagerly, as we thought England Vs India, no problems. After 20 minutes of chasing fit, fast and skillful gits around the pitch the score was 6-2, to them! Little Dave, a late starter to the game believed his role was crucial, but as the score was 5-1 at the time. 'Think about it!'

The early part of the evening was spent watching Liverpool beat Ipswich 6-0, big stuff was happy, so was little Dave, don't know why though, he just kept on whittering about Andy Marshall. We thought this night was going to be our first large Goan party. Earlier in the Day we had met a Cockney from Chelsea, called Steve. He told us about this party, we believed him, fools! There turned out to be no party, well not at the venue we turned up to.

Sunday was our last day in Calangute, again it was spent on the beach. Both Daves and James decided to go for a walk up the beach, whilst I was left sunning myself. They managed to get themselves involved in a game of cricket. The locals struggled with the name James, therefore he was Christened Jams (which may be used regularly through this site). The boys quickly got into the game, even Jams, a novice to the game picked up a couple of wickets, one of which, by all accounts was very dubious. Jams was qouted after the game saying, 'He hit the cover off it'. There was one crazy Indian involved in the game. After succesfully smacking the ball into a group of tourists, he preceeded to leg it into the sea. The evening was again a quiet affair.

I would like to thank Mrs Prettyman, without her constant nagging on the email I would never have got my arse around to writing the last few days.

Our first hotel 'The Godwin' was pricey but was worth it in the end even if they did try to make us pay twice as they thought that we hadn't given them the right documents - we sorted that though! We have been staying for the last two nights in what can only be described as a large 4 bedroomed cell in the hotel 'Carlton' - but it's probably the best of a bad bunch really!

We got in to watch the cricket (Eng v Ind ODI) after much shady black-market ticket dealing with Indian touts. It was fantastic, we loved it. We sat with all the Indians and got jipped continuously for 8 hours - all in good fun though. When England won they all shook our hands and wanted to talk to us. They all think that I look like Andrew Flintoff (England cricketer) and some have pointed and shouted 'Flintoff, Flintoff!!' as I walked through the streets. The other boys have labelled me 'Freddie', Flintoff's nickname!

None of us have been ill yet...well, not a suprise really as all we've eaten so far is a meal a day consisting of either a Chinese or a 'Maharaja Mac' at the local Maccie D's (stop the clock! 43 hours!).

Quote of the trip so far: Little Dave ordering food on 2^nd night. Waiter asks "You want any 'Mosambi' juice?", to which Dave replied "..nah mate, I don't want any more sandwiches, thanks!" (add Norwich accent for true comic effect). We get asked to buy loads of stuff of the street and get harassled by beggars and weed dealers but you've just got to say No. In the evening we witnessed a pedal-by bitch-slapping between two weed dealers, watched very amusingly from our hotel balcony (honestly parents, don't worry!).

Just sorted out trains to go to Goa for wednesday (6^th feb) - nightmare, but eventually got it sorted. Hope that it's a bit more relaxing at the beaches and parties in Goa as it never stops here in Mumbai. Look out for the next installment from the boy Rossington - if you can translate any of his mockney nonsense!!