English Summer

Oh hi team. I haven't been bombed. That did not involve me. So I'm glad we cleared that up.

Parents and other worriers will be pleased to hear that I'm actually heading to Delhi tomorrow. But do bear in mind that Delhi is quite big. And I don't plan on hanging around unattended bags very long. Nor do I plan on spending much time in Delhi. A day maximum because I am heading north with Dominique to Dharamsala.

Every time I tell an Israeli person that I'm heading North they lower their eyelids, pull the side of their mouth down and nod their head before saying "ah, it will be very cold man!" I ask how cold? "At night it could reach zero." And in the day? "Oh, 25."

But I just checked online and the temperature of Dharamsala is Hi 26 and Lo 8. Oh, and a little cloudy. I have to remind these bronzed beauties that I am in fact from England. These temperatures remain a relative luxury and will provide cool relief I imagine. I will be sure to let you know, internet connections willing.

Already I am questioning the wisdom of my decision, because while I would really like to see the northern part of India before it really does become too cold, I have befriended a rather lovely Israeli girl called Meera and she is travelling alone. She seems nice.

Ahem.

Anyway, who said I came to India to pick up chicks? If I wanted to do that, I'd have a better time of it in South America, or Thailand. For a start, pretty much the entire female India population is off limits, due to the fact that any more than a kiss would probably involve the destruction of her family name, put shame upon her neighbours and drop her down a caste or two. Or cost me a few hundred rupees.

Anyway.

Myself, Dominique and my other Swiss friend (who I've spent about a week with and whose name I forget at present! Bad form.) we wrote a song together a couple of days ago. And the title? "Israeli Girls". And the refrain? "Israeli Girls are beautiful." And our band name? Need I say?

FULL POWER!

I mean I know I wanted to have some time to develop my creative energies in India but I was not prepared for such an avalanche of muse. I didn't think it possible to conjure such artistic delights under such a climate. The spiritual surroundings, the Babas, the street children, the lake - they must have all contributed to the pinnacle of my early collaborative songwriting period. 'Israeli Girls', if not an instant hit in Israel (with boys and girls alike) is sure to rise in the ranks of the collective unconscious of the world. Many bootleg copies exist of the song in its primitive partly-written state. But I hope that soon a version complete with cheap percussion and the sound of Diwali fireworks will be available to all.

I also hope that tonight the song can be previewed to an audience of suggestible girls from the aforementioned Israel and perhaps they can stop scowling for long enough for us to appreciate their inherent beauty.

The song itself, with a verse based around a lazy descending chord structure of B, A# and A with an accompanying slow-swing vamp bass line, we hope will be enough to persuade these corruptible specimens of confused virility that despite the absence of three years of army training, we are still decent healthy examples of available masculinity.

The song, towards the end becomes a mutual exchange between its central three singers who battle it out to get their room number clarified. I shout '26!' Dom shouts '31' and my other friend who I am feeling increasingly ashamed for not remembering his name shouts 'no the room on the rooftop, 41!' This continues for a while shortly before the percussion interlude and the improvised guitar solo (maybe that'll clinche it for me, folks).

So Diwali. Tonight, on our rooftop, amid a flurry of fireworks that we lovingly bartered for, we will debut our masterpiece. And no doubt afterwards I'll be forced to sing some Bob Marley songs that I don't know the words (or chords) to.

And then maybe, god willing, I will be able to enjoy the warmth of an Israeli girl.

Sigh.

So Pushkar is kinda dull. Do you remember how you feel after day six of Glastonbury? Crusty, eyes barely open, clothes smell of pajama corpse. Yeah, like that. Except no booze has been consumed. You can't get the damn stuff here. It would surely help with these paragons of impossible lust - Israeli Girls.

By the way, not all Israeli girls are special. Just thought I should clear that up. I'd hate for you to think I was lusting after an entire generation of females from one country. That would be unacceptable.