I am going to die in leopard print shoes. The rasta on the London-Bristol bus who molested me when I was 21 and then grabbed my palm and told me I was going to die aged 62 in a car crash got his dates confused thanks to all the weed he’d just smoked in the …
Singapore. It was a year almost to the day that we landed in Singapore after three months in India. It felt like landing in another galaxy far, far away. Everything was so shiny and intergalactic and air conditioned after the noise and dirt and chaos of Mumbai, it was a culture shock unlike any I …
We have seven days before we head back to London. I can’t believe we’ve been away 7 months. It’s been easily the best 7 months of my life so I’m kind of reeling with premature holiday blues whilst also enjoying the best time of the trip so far. Not that it’s over. On the one …
The thing about being back in ‘civilisation’ is that it’s quite stressful. The capitalist gene kicks in and everywhere I look I see things I want to buy. Ok, not everywhere I look. When I look in the clothes shops the communist gene kicks back in. But everywhere else I see things I want to …
Aside from the fact we’ve just spent two months in India and aside from the fact I am already familiar with Neasden, John is insisting we visit Little India. Whilst we are in Singapore. I don’t want to visit Little India. I want to visit air-conditioning and malls and clean sparkling buildings. I want to …
Dharavi is the largest slum in Asia. It is 2sq kilometres and home to 1 million people. Yes you heard me, ONE million people. Not a one of them wearing converse, leggings and a dress from Gap. So my attempt to blend in is not working. People are staring at us like we’re another life …
‘I can’t go. I have NOTHING to wear,’ I wail to John whilst rooting through my rucksack like a squirrel after winter nuts. John can’t believe I’m worrying about fashion at a time like this. ‘I’m serious. I have NOTHING to wear. I can’t go.’ I repeat. It’s a calculated hysteria. I’m hoping this excuse …
They row canoes across the beach searching for tigers and fairies called Happy. They climb mountains and make princess castles in the sand. In the meantime we sit, drink vodka limcas and pay the nearest five year old five rupees to watch they don’t drown. Does that make us bad parents? I keep asking this …
‘You are not a frickin Hardy Boy John.’ He is pointing with his oar at a giant scrub-laden hill that he wants me to climb with him. Urghhhh, I groan letting the oar flop. ‘It will be an adventure.’ ‘I don’t want an adventure. I’m tired.’ ‘You’re so no fun.’ ‘You’re not in the famous …
I am lying in my sickbed dying of consumption. Or that’s what it feels like. I saw Bright Star yesterday and I think John Keats had nothing on this. Ok, there’s not blood. Yet. But I lean up to hack up sputum and then collapse backwards onto the bed one arm flung out. I just …
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