I have a joke for you...What do you mean? Of course it's suitable!

Dear brothers

This morning we were waiting for the doctor and talking to the latest female volunteer. she's "an indian, from America" and not a native Indian or apparently "a red Indian". in fact she got quite annoyed and told me that term was offensive. "especially when you make that whoooowhoooowhooooo noise and tap your hand over your mouth...and they only dance round like that during ceremonies! it's that kind of attitude that's holding the world back yadda-yadda-yadda". she's obviously never seen a Clint Eastwood film...that’s what they dooooooo! She doesn’t even own a casino…psssht.

Anyways wes were talking to the American-Indian-from-India-not-America, and Ben was making up stories again .He does this...even if I was there at the time, he'll still exaggerate madly and it’s not even in the hilarious way I do it; it’s more like “jeepers, I’m really awesome…did I mention how awesome I am?”. Anyway, I had a sudden impulse to poke him in the eye with my nail clippers, or in fact anything else sharp that I could get my hands on; I think our two month honeymoon period is over and I’m going to really struggle being on the road for a month with him. By the way I recently read American Psycho, in which the guy is constantly having murderous urges. I’m not sure if that’s where I got it from, or if Ben just has the type of face you want to stab with vanity utensils. Feel my tweezery pain bitch!

So today is my last day in Karaikudi, and my last day at the hospital. I doubt whether I’ll get the chance to see a proper birth now...although you did make is sound like a charming little show; blood spraying-skin-splitting-vomit-inducing-entertainment at its best. Maybe though, I might still see one if I hang around the shanty towns enough in Deli; I doubt they have many cesareans round there.

It’s a pity that Coldplay are losing the battle against that tiny cocked frog (have you seen the quite frankly offensive advert?). I agree about chavs clearly having too much disposable income. That’s why I’ve been campaigning to increase taxes on the lower income groups, thus no one could afford to go to Malaga, Le Coque Sportif, the companies that make cheap white cider and whoever it is that makes wet look hair gel would go out of business and the demand for velour tracksuits and mah-hoooosive gold earings would plummet. I think Elizabeth Duke of argos jewelry fame (by the way, isn't that where you got your engagement ring for Miranda Tim? or is she not supposed to know that?) would be made homeless. Not to mention the affect it would have on the music charts; no more Crazy Frog and no more RnB or trance. Ah, I can but dream...

The London eye does sound cool, but someone would have to pay for me, and seeing as though your new nickname Tim, is Povertim and you chose your engagement ring from the Additions Catalogue, and Emlyn you're earning less than the average Indian sand farmer, I think the two of you may have to pimp lisa and Beatrice out. Or maybe Sheep...I bet he'd be a nice little cash cow...or should I say "cash sheep"! Chortle-chortle...

By the way tim, I had another one of those moments where I made a joke that got a slightly icy response (except for one or two who loved it...er me being one. There wasn’t really another). The joke was (and I may have told it to you already):

Q: Why does Rupert The Bear wear red and yellow checkered trousers?

A: Because he's a cunt.

I’m not sure why people didn't laugh. Whether it was because they were all massive Rupert fans, secretly owned red and yellow checkered trousers, or just didn't appreciate jokes about fictional bares, I'm not sure...I s'pose I’ll never know. Sometimes I just don’t understand other people.

We're going to be traveling pretty nonstop for the next week until we get to Goa. Tim, I did some research into the bungee jumping place in goa, and apparently it has a perfect safety record and is run by an American company. I think, having seen the way some things are run out here, I was worried they'd forget to tie both ends of the rope, or use regular non-stretch electrical cord or something. I’m still in two minds.

Anyhow, I have to go for lunch so I’ll cut this short. I can guarantee lunch’ll be rice and this nasty watery stew thing called Samba (I like to sing that song when the mother brings it to the table "samba…de janeiro! Deh-deh-deh-deh-deh-deh-deh-deh-deh…" Admitadely it’s not very funny, but still; it took Ben about two weeks to get the joke. *sigh*). Anyway I can guarantee this because we've had 24 lunches, and for 24 lunches we've had rice and samba. Sometimes with razor sharp boney fish (maybe 3 times) and even once or twice with chunks of choke- sized chicken bone with tiny pieces of meat clinging to it. All chicken is like this in Southern India...which makes me wonder what they do with the good bits, or whether chickens are just boney little piles of feather and gristle down here.

Anyway, 'nuff said. And so this is the end of my karaikudi experience, and leaves me with only 4 more weeks in India, which i'm sure will fllllllllllly by.

I’ll be in touch the next time I can be.

love Benji

Realisations

Tuesday May 25th 2005

Hey Tim,

I’m definitely not coming home in early June, as that’s only about a week’s time (I think it's the same in England, but I still haven’t quite got to grips on the time difference). I should be back in July, although I'm not sure when. I'm probably going to stay one night with Emlyn (whether he likes it or not) to see his new house, and maybe to take in some more of London town; marvel at it's drainage system, refuse collection and basic sanitation. I'm so excited!

I made a similar joke the other day to the one you made about Emlyn dying and you advising me to move on with my life (that was a joke wasn't it...?) when one of the girls was really sick. I suggested we cut our losses and get over her, maybe even get a tomb stone cut. "Hell...I’m totally over Nickie" I said, to an incredibly icy reception. It was only her in the room at the time I suppose, but jeez, you think she could take a joke, ‘m I right?

Another joke I regret now is the one about kicking and/or punching necks. So many people didn't get that and I think people have become concerned. Two of my friends bumped into one another and they both decided that my e-mails were too violent and I think Mom's believes I'm on a one man GBH rampage across Asia. Since then I’ve left out my stories about standing on throats, poking eyes and stamping livers. Even when they've been true...

Ben is a bit shit I've decided, and it is a shame. I think I've only realised this since I've been left with him and the boring 23 year olds and him for company. I got on much better with the old crowd and only realised my dislike because it's all concentrated Ben Time now. On the other hand, when we go on the TPA weekends I seem really fun and up for adventure in comparison, because he’s spent most of the weekends in bed and making sure he hasn't got Werther's Originals stuck in his denchers. I'm sure he is way tired of me by now as well though. We've spent pretty much every waking moment together for the last two months.

I will be safe from now on...Ben can save his own day in future.

I’ll let you know the day I’m getting back, but I t might be a Sunday I’m not sure. It depends when my flights are for

hope you're ok

love Benj

April Fools Day ~ The Journey Begins

Friday, April 1st 2005, 6:14pm

I'm going to be quick because I’m on internet cafe time, and as I’m still in London which means I’m paying premium rate. Honestly, I recon I’ll be able to hire a prostitute in India for less than I’m paying for broadband in the UK. Although the scope for long distance communication may be slightly less, at least the scope for catching an awful disease and having all my money stolen will be greater.
I've spent the last two days with my brother in London. I've only really seen him in the evenings though as he’s been working, and I've been doing speed tourism, which is like regular tourism except it involves a lot more pushing, shoving and shin kicking whilst maneuvering through crowded museums. I've managed to see pretty much all the free things that I wanted to bar any actual genuine cockneys...is anyone from London actually living in London?

I made it to Abby Road where I wrote my name along with everyone else's on the wall outside, went to the Houses of Parliament where I again wrote my name on the wall outside (fewer people taking part this time though) and looked at the permanent protest guy. I’m not sure if he means to be protesting against hygiene, but he’s making a very convincing argument for a compulsory state subsidised showers program. Is it really necessary for him to be so filthy? Why must being a revolutionary be synonymous with a rejection of basic cleanliness? It seems that social change may smell of hash and armpits. Seriously, I've seen cleaner puddles.

Then, Leicester Square where I saw nothing except an NHS walk in centre where I had to pick up some antibiotic cream. This is because Impetigo has turned my face into the sort of scabby weepy-wound you’d usually only associate with a 16th Centenary bubonic sanatorium. Also, I think I was the only person in there who wasn’t a sex worker. Or at least that's the thought I used to entertain myself whilst I waited.
Then I went to Camden, which is really cool; cool shops, cool people, cool fake band merchandise and very brazen drug dealers selling what I suspect is likely to be some of the finest cooking herbs outside of my mother’s spice rack. Finally I hit the Tate Modern for some real genuine mind wank. All fairly standard really. I fly off later today…it doesn't really feel very real though. I suspect this could all be a hoax