Happy birthday from Air India. Here, have a three hour delay (the lost blog entry)

Back when I was in India, I wrote a blog entry on my birthday that never quite made it onto the interwebs, due to a power surge killing my computer quicker than a fat girl kills her boyfriend while trying the cowboy position. Anyway, I found it on my computer amongst the porn and the photos of Gary Coleman, and here it is. So hold on tight as we travel back to India with me, we’re in for a bumpy ride.

———————————— ———— — ——————————— – ——————— – – — – ——

It’s my birthday today, and here’s what I’ve received so far; a hangover after spending the night drinking Kingfisher at a crappy bar on the roof of a dilapidated building while watching cows wander the streets of Delhi; the opportunity to wipe my arse with my hand because they don’t have toilet paper here, an act made even more fun by the fact my guts are garbage at the moment; and my flight to Jaipur delayed by three hours, meaning I’ve now been delayed a total of six hours in two flights with the idiots at Air India.

I was planning to from Delhi to Jaipur by train, but as is usually the case in India, even buying a ticket for that was an arduous adventure fraught with danger, so I ended up going for the big bird in the sky and save myself the hassle. But hey, this is the Democratic Republic of India, so they’ll find a way to mess you around anyway!

The best thing about today was my driver to the airport, who sang the whole way. He had a terrible voice and I was wishing he’d spend more time looking at the road and less with his eyes closed, his hands in the air and his head wobbling around like it was on a spring, but it amused me anyway. When he asked for a tip at the end, I told him to sign up for India’s Got Talent. If I gave him money, he’d only waste it on curry anyway.

That’s the thing about Indian fellas, they’re simple blokes who only need a few things in their life, and they’re as happy as a pigs in shit. Give them cricket, curry, nice long-sleaved shirts, wacky music to dance to and the ability to waggle their heads from side to side and they’re good to go. Maybe throw in a few Westerners for them to rob, too.

I wish I was home for my birthday today. I’ve been away for it before, but never in a place as dreary as this, or after having spent a day as rubbish as the one I’ve had. It doesn’t feel like I’ve had a birthday at all, to be honest, although I suppose turning 32 isn’t an especially big occasion. Still, would a few strippers and a birthday cake made out of meat pies be too much for the Indians to organise? I got to talk to my Mum for about 20 seconds before the internet went out, and also to my nephew, who claims he’ll soon be competing in his school’s cross toilet race, which apparently involves urinating in every toilet the quickest. They didn’t have that when I went there, we just had Percy Playford, everyone’s favourite sex predator.

I’m spending the night in a ridgy-didge authentic palace here in Jaipur, which makes me feel like a real life princess. You know, like Diana before she got killed, or Fergie before she got fat and red-headed. Well, I’d feel like more of a princess if the joint wasn’t run down, and if there weren’t Indian men urinating outside my window. And if there weren’t power surges and blackouts, and the sink wasn’t dripping constantly, and… Alright, so I’m in a bit of a shithole. I think I’m the only person staying in this 200 room hotel, and it doesn’t look like anyone else has been here for a while. I just went to the front desk to see if anyone could tell me what’s going on with the blackouts, and there was no-one there except for the retarded guy who works here and was sleeping on the floor like a dog.

Still, I’ve had worse birthdays. When i was 19 I went to Club Troppo with a girl for my birthday, and she had this gay friend with her. He might’ve been a midget, too, or at least really small. He kept on cracking onto me all night, asking if I went to the gym, offering me drinks, obviously trying to turn me into one of the gays. Anyway, I went off to chat with some of my friends, and when I came back the gay midget was fingering the girl I was seeing! I didn’t know whether to be more offended that she cheated on me, or that, or that my little gay mate found me so easy to replace.

Computer’s about to die and I don’t know when I’ll get power to it again. Bye bye!