Saturday, 17 January 2009
Some days start off pish, go right downhill and look like they're headin for the jaggy rocks when suddenly sumfink happens to turn it around and i find masel in the midst of pure, unrestrained joyful barryness. Such was last Thursday.
After strugglin onto a packed commuter ferry from Fort Cochin to Ernakulam, 9 of us howfed our substantial bags onto a sunbleached platform to be advised of a 90 min delay on our train to Quilon (aka Kollam). When the train rolled in, we all jumped on the wrong carriage - one which was actually the train kitchen. It was hot, it was sweaty, there wis nae room so we headed up the train to find that it was far far too full o pilgrims on their way to an Appaya Hindu festival somewhere near Kottayam. This meant there were at least 4 men (yep, all men again) for each berth, dressed head to toe in black, with big beards, lotsa puja powder on their brows and rather scary chanty action goin down. At least they werenae pished like fitba fans or offshore oil workers one tends to encounter back in Sconnie Botland.
Anyway, there was absolutely nae fuckin room to swing a moose and it was mind numbingly hot and we had shooge shooge bags and the train pure honked o sweat and pish and diesel and my heid banged and i wanted to scream FUCK OFF INDIA YOU ARE TOO FUCKIN MUCH. But then some o the apparently scary cats budged up a bit and chucked our bags on a bunk and we squeezed onto knees and elbows and got down wi the gadgies and the barry scran they hit us with and they asked us about gay people in Scotland and how many times we have sex a day and what we eat at home and all kindsa fab stuff (actually it was mainly Pablo who got the truly groovy chat).
So in between talkin about the fitba (haha) i started checkin the scenery and remembered that usually i'd be stuck in an office with a pc terminal to deek instead o a series of spice plantations, wild forests and deep blue lagoons. And every time we went into a cutting i read a wee bitto I Welsh esquire's "If you Liked School..." and when i read the bit where Jason King reads his poem about John Motson on Sylvia Plath i laughed and laughed and laughed til i wept like a sweet little baba. And then i realised what a lucky lucky fucker i am to be able to do this sorta thing on an acceptably regular basis.
Later that night we stumbled into the friendliest hotel i've yet encountered in India. The 9 of us and a coupla sweet gadge waiters spent the night on the roof drinkin cold beer, munchin truly wonderful butter paneer masala, puffin on fatties and groovin out to dj Andre's rather wonderful mix o choons.
What a day, what a life.
Oh aye, and when i got back to my room, Scottie B had texted to say he was sittin in a boozer, saw a guy in a Hearts scarf get run over by a bus, thought fuck that coulda been me but then remembered he cannae drive a bus. That made me laugh and cry like that baba again.
And then i saw that above my bed was the poster at the top o this post. I dunno what GIVE STYLE really means but if i ever adopt a family motto, it's gonna be that.