Who's for punch?

Upon hearing the words “party” hushed by just about everyone around the place, myself and the team made the half hour trek up to the designated café by the waterfall in the dark. On arriving at the place and discovering a rather small, civilized, un-partyish affair we were told the party was actually another two hours walk from there. In the dark, up a mountain.

We ummed for about two minutes and then decided we’d already come this far and besides it’d be a fun nighttime mission.

We struggled up the hill, guitar in one hand, whisky in another (wow, I’m starting to sound like Snoop Dogg) and torches on our foreheads (Beeaatch!!!). The walk up, despite being riddled with confusion and detours was actually rather fun. We walked and passed literally hundreds of Indians and foreigners alike, all hoping for the holy grail of some loud, outdoor knees-up.

After a few wrong turnings, we eventually found the spot and even paid an entry fee. It was a trance do on a slopy bit of ground and a couple of hundred people were discoing away like there wasn’t about to be some fucking massive thunder storm.

I think I was there for maybe an hour before the clouds descended, the lightning pounded and the rain hammered it down onto my head.

To begin with I continued to dance – it seemed like the only thing to do – and the music continued as the DJ was covered by a large plastic sheet. Then it became very cold. Then I remembered that it never thunderstorms for just a couple of minutes up here. So I ran for shelter under the DJ area. Unfortunately, it seemed that everyone else had already had that ingenious plan and there was basically no room for me under there. There was maybe a hundred or so people crammed under this plastic sheeting and the sheeting was leaking anyway. I discovered that Effie was in a similar predicament so luckily I had someone to shiver into while I had to stand, uncomfortably cramped under the edge of the sheet and was battered by the freezing winds and torrential rain for over an hour.

It was not exactly fun. But one endures these painful experiences on the understanding that at some point in the near future a warm shower and a bed awaits. And of course it provides some manner of semi-enlightened ironic blogtainment.

So eventually the rain stopped. Cold and wet to the bone (everyone else seemed relatively dry, the bastards) I went out to inspect my belongings. My guitar was full of rain. My bag and its belongings were full of rain. My soul was full of rain.

One rather strange thing happened. The last time I was with Effie and we were caught in a bigass rain storm, I found a wet five rupee note on the street and decided to keep it as a 'lucky' five rupee note. Don’t worry, I’m not some superstitious idiot, I just found it rather amusing, like some small compensation or payment from God.

I looked at my half destroyed guitar with a weary acceptance, and without really thinking, I bent down amongst the party wreckage and just picked out a five rupee note on the grass. Effie got quite excited. I gave it to her as a present. Now she has a lucky five rupee note.

What does it all mean?

A career in busking will be disappointingly unprofitable?

I dunno.

We waited until the sun came up – thankfully it wasn’t far off – and then we began the impossibly muddy trek down. I managed not to fall down but every time I looked behind me I was greeted by the amusing sight of Effie on her ass, sliding down what was once a path and was now a mud-wrestling arena.

On the way down, the view of the valley was spectacular. At sunrise you can see for miles and we saw a menacing cloud coming our way at breakneck speed. Within a few minutes it was upon us and the air suddenly became freezing and we were accompanied by a light shower of cold rain for the entire walk back.

Someone, hungover and German suggested that it was the worst party he’d ever attended. He then continued to whinge for ages about everything. I suggested that the worst party ever is the party you don’t remember due to its mind-numbing mediocrity and uneventfulness. He continued to whinge and be German. I can’t blame him for all his faults.

Sorry, I don’t know why I’m dropping in casual racism here. It seems so inappropriate. Maybe I can just sense the build up of nationalistic pride and anti-everyfuckerelse that is no doubt sweeping the English nation right now. Am I wrong?

I also just realised the other day that I’m gonna miss ten days of the WORLD CUP to sit uncomfortably in a room and make my brain go quiet. In fact, I’ll probably miss almost all of the world cup because I might actually get off my static arse and do some moving around this beautiful country while I'm still here.

Anyway, to finish the story, we managed to make it back to our hotel by about 7am to have a hot shower, coffee, fresh chocolate croissants and a sleep for about twelve hours.

Thank the lord that mother didn’t even entertain the thought of coming.

Speaking of mother, she only has one remaining day with me. Where has the time gone? What have we done? I have no idea but it’s been lovely.

Right, I think that’ll do. Mwah! x