France to Norway to Delhi

Guinness is as close to religion that a diet can get to for the Irish, indeed it is a staple of the Irish diet,  so the news the John “800 years of repression” O Sullivan” has been diagnosed as having a wheat intolerance was as ironic as it was uplifting (for me – I was uplifting a pint of it when the truth was revealed at Roots Wine Bar last Friday). The sight of that most Irish of men in the most Irish bar in Valbonne nursing a creme de menth frappé instead of his usual wheat laden tipple (of course there was no doubt about what his wife Jude “mine’s a Bailey” O Sullivan was imbibing), took my mind off our upcoming routing nightmare.  I blame it on vegetarianism, a cruel marketing hype designed to spoil eating enjoyment, discuss.

Nice to New Delhi via Oslo. A long planned first time trip to India on Monday 30th October should have put paid to any ideas about accepting an invitation to Oslo for a 60th birthday party two days earlier, however That Nice Lady Decorator would have none of it. “We are going. Make the arrangements” was how she framed the polite request to see if was logistically possible. It was, but only by flying from Nice and then directly from Oslo to Heathrow to connect with our flight to India. “But it is 5 degrees centigrade in Norway and 35 in Rajasthan…Have you considered the packing conundrum?… Do you know how old I am?”… Do you know how much that will cost? I whimpered in a way I wrongly considered to be the best way to head The Decorating Operative off at the pass. Thus, as I write, I am at Oslo airport in my overcoat readying myself for the connecting flight to India.

It has been a fabulous weekend with our gay cigar smoking Norwegian pals Morten and birthday boy Siggy (aka Bang And Olafsun). Almost entirely incomprehensible at the dinner of course as all the speeches were in Norwegian and mine is a little rusty, but a splendid affair full of laughter and amusement, although the amusement was mainly the result of the prospect of my pensioners body dragging my wife’s and I winter wardrobe around the old Raj for 2 weeks.

A man in Norway ideally dressed for two weeks in India, with a plastic palm tree growing out of his head

And so, the next stage of the autumn adventure is about to begin. That Nice Lady Decorator has stuffed supplies of Imodium into every crevice in our suitcases, so certain is she that we will struck down with Delhi Belly.

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New Delhi awaits. In the meantime I have arrived at Heathrow with my winter wardrobe and currently seeking to drink back the cost of my Priority Pass airline lounge cost and I have to say I am making a good fist of it (although that choice of adjective may come home to haunt me in time). I may blog again from India if not in the bog and an internet connection can be found…

Chris France