Forty wives

"Dear Prudence

Won't you come out to play?

Dear Prudence

It's another really ridiculously fucking hot warm (tautology) day."

Yep. It is. Really hot today. Don't know if it actually is or not but I was really rococking hot just before I saught refuge in this particular grimy scum hole of a "cafe".

My lesson today was fraught with the kind of awkward tension that usually befits the break up of a long term relationship. Basically Teena is madly in love with me, doesn't want me to leave Jaipur, wants me to buy her a one way flight to England so she can elope with me to start up a new tribute band rehashing old Curiosity Killed The Cat numbers in the style of Indian death salsa. She also wanted me to promise to write her letters.

It's tiresome being such a heartbreaking, anticipated, long-awaited, sought-after, hot piece of ass.

All I wanted was fucking singing lessons. And look what I go do? I go and be all nice and handsome and sweet.

And now I've made the one person who has shown me hospitality in India hate me.

Oh well.

Some of that was slightly exaggerated/made up, but some of it wasn't. Like the important bits.

It's ok though. I laid down the law. I actually thought she was going to cry, but I forget she's a hard as nails Indian woman. It would take a lot more than that.

Last night was interesting though. For once I wasn't desperate for conversation or the opportunity to look at someone's breasts. So I spent all day alone. It was lovely. I sang and played lots of guitar. I then went to the Cocoon restaurant that I have eaten at pretty much every night. And for once, I went on my own.

It is usually totally empty save for the table of people I have brought. But last night the tables were set out for a big party.

I sat on my own, did a lot of pleasant sighing, read some more of the book I wish I'd finished about a month ago, and drank some coke.

And then a group of ten girls arrived and sat down at the big table.

Shit.

And then three people who wanted their own table arrived and stared at me hogging an entire loner, billy no mates table all to myself.

"Hey, you can have this table." I said; my solitude having just lost a very quick battle with my rampant communism. I mean socialism. No I mean something about society or being friendly or something. Shut up.

So I went and introduced myself to the party of girls. They were less reluctant than usual to let me sit with them, despite telling me that another thirty people were going to arrive.

"All girls?" I must have said with the kind of wrong-faced passion ideally reserved for multiple sex offenders.

"No, but mostly." They replied, unaware of the giant cackle I was inwardly cackling. So much for solitude.

As I looked at this harem melting pot of multi-cultural bevvy, something struck me. They don't all look chronically unwashed. No one is wearing pretentious tye dye flowing hippy shite. Is that makeup?

I was deeply confused.

It turns out they are all staying in Jaipur together and are working on various 'trainee placements' through some 'student organisation' doing some vague 'development work' or 'economic research' or teaching Indians about Hinduism and toilet paper.

They all seemed so confused that I was there.

Fit confused girl no 1: "So, are you a new trainee?"

Hairy oik with too much time on hands: "No."

Baffled yet perfect example of the female form, previously referred to as fit girl no 1: "Umm, I don't understand. Can you repeat your answer?"

And so on.

So (to quote Bill Callahan) I got used to telling the same story again and again and again.

Scruff: "So, I'm in Jaipur for a month but I'm in India for five months. I'm doing a music course...blah blah insert something deeply witty and impressive blah blah flirty eyes blah....etc."

Apparently there were some guys there. Not that I cared.

No, there were. I actually agreed to play football with a few of them today. At two o'clock. I've just checked and the temperature today (and every day) is 32 degrees. Sigh. That will be sweaty.

What I found odd while talking to these people is that I got the impression they seemed rather pleased with themselves about the important development work they were doing in a worthy third world country. But then most of them admitted that they were all desperately bored, tried to get away with doing fuck all during the day, hated spicy food and found some of the people on the streets rather rude. What exactly are they doing here?

I enjoyed watching the body language of one particular girl who was telling me with confident interested pose about the women's group she had helped set up in order to empower women by allowing them to arrange bank accounts to survive without abusive husbands. It actually sounded like a really good scheme. And the minute she asked what I was doing, and I began to tell her, she leaned back in her chair, folded her arms and took the first opportunity to speak to someone else. I mean I know I can be boring (I was on retelling number twenty by this point) but something about the combination of travelling and learning a musical instrument seemed to deeply offend her.

I can't be sure, but maybe I had just looked at her breasts.

After a while, when people asked me what I was doing here, I just said "I'm here to find a wife."

Ha ha ha. What a wit.

Of course they would infuriatingly reply: "You are here to find a wife? Really? Oh."

Bloody sarcasm. It is the basis of most of conversations involving me. And no one but the occasional (good quality) British person will understand it.

So anyway, I had a deeply sociable evening, met some deeply Spanish men and some lovely ladies with at least one lovely eye. (I still salute the Mighty Boosh.) And many email addresses were exchanged and blah blah blah insert something trying to be interesting/amusing blah.

Ok, can't be bothered any more and I think I've harped for long enough. Besides I still feel guilty for being a traveller. What an utterly pointless existence we (travellers - in fact scratch that, everyone ever) all lead.

On that bombshell.