We’re high.

Not that sort of high.

Mountain high.

For the first time in three weeks I’m not walking around with a meniscus of sweat draping my body. This is what it is like to not sweat. I had forgotten what that felt like but it is lush.

Normally I don’t like mountains. I don’t like anywhere covered in snow on principle. Or anywhere with an incline of more than 5%. Or anywhere people ski. But this is a south Indian mountain. Or maybe it’s a hill. Whatever, it’s beautiful. There is no snow. No skiers and best of all I can take a tuk tuk up the inclines. Or just admire them from my veranda.

Which is wonderful until you realise that the picturesque vision of tea plantations covering the hills like a patchwork, intersected with colourful bobbing teapickers carrying baskets of tea on their head –quick take a picture – is rather less picturesque up close.

The tea pickers earn 110 ruppees a day and have to pick 20kg of tea in eight hours. If they get less, if they get 19kilos, they don’t get paid a single rupee. 110 ruppees is approximately £1.50.

That’s about the price of a box of 50 pg tips. Think about that next time you make yourself a cuppa.

I don’t drink tea so I think about being self-righteous and then I realise that from my planter’s chair with a gin and tonic in hand, that’s a bit rich.

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