Saturday, 26 January 2008

My name is B, Mr B - Rajasthan Vol. 3

At times the holiday felt like a James Bond film. This feeling was aided by Fiona who reminded me of a young Judi Dench (Sorry Fiona, I just didn't see the Annie Lennox look. That's a bit like me claiming to look like a young Paul Newman, I guess we can both dream....) add in her stern looks at some of my antics, and I felt I was in the presence of "M". Then there was Gordon tutting and rolling his eyes in the background, making for the perfect "Q". The picture was almost complete.

"Now pay attention Black, this is serious business.......".

Q claims that he is wearing a covert listening
device, but I think it’s an earring…..

With the love interest sorted (Mrs B of course) all that was needed was an exciting action sequence, which happened to come in the form of an auto-rickshaw race through the streets of Udaipur. With M squeezed in between Q and myself, we pursued the villainous Cockney rhyming slang boss Stephen, who with his henchman Mark (good cop turned bad after listening to too much 80’s synthesised music) had kidnapped Mrs B with the intention of ransoming her for a supply of Vegetable Samosa's and a couple of tickets for Depeche Mode or failing that, Erasure.

The chase took us through the crowded streets and our driver did a fantastic job - threading his underpowered vehicle between cows, elephants, cars, lorries, pedestrians and anything that was thrown, sidled, slithered, hopped or occasionally squelched across our path (1) . It was obvious that Q was excited to be out of his laboratory, as he encouraged the driver to take more risks. M was content to squeeze the life out of a lime she was holding with one hand (I believe this has subsequently been immortalised in an Indian folk song, "Death of a lime", which is proving about as popular with the tourists as other Indian music) while she held my right arm in a death grip with the other. At one point I lost all feeling from below my elbow, which is probably just as well, otherwise I would have been screaming like a little girl - not a great sound when you are attempting to develop a macho image. It was worth it, however, for the beautiful finger prints that M left embedded in my arm, which I can treasure for years to come as a memento of the mission. We finally caught up with the baddies by a picturesque lake, where, despite my life threatening arm injury, I managed to rescue Mrs B (2) . The last I saw of M, she was off searching for the perfect cup of Tea and some retail therapy, Q was trailing along in her wake attempting to prevent economic meltdown, after all the film was already running well over budget......

M - “Keep stretching Q, we’ll get that wallet open one day….”
Oh no another episode down and still little evidence of actual cycling. Honest we did do loads of it, which I’m sure will be covered in future episode of the BlackSLOG……


(1) Unfortunately I don’t have any photographic evidence of the Rickshaw race, I was too busy hanging on for dear life, but I’m sure that I can produce some soiled underwear if required.

Our Rickshaw driver’s hair was a bit
dishevelled at the end of the race

I’m not sure if this is some of the extras from the Rickshaw race scene
attempting to recover or victims of the great Kumbalgargh fart….

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2) To be honest I think Mrs B’s hostage takers, were glad to let her go, as she kept requiring tea stops and then taking ages in the restroom.

I demand Depech Mode tickets

I demand Vegetable Samosa's

I demand Tea

Mrs B does not quite grasp the concept of being held hostage. In the scheme of things stealing Stephen’s face mask and then making demands was not really fair on her guards……….

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