It’s been a funny old week. I went to see that ‘No country for old men’ film by the Coen brothers. Expecting something like Fargo, I was a tad disappointed. There was lots of shooting and oceans of blood and quite a few deep and meaningful conversations that I COULDN’T BLOODY UNDERSTAND. Where were the sub-titles? Tommy Lee Jones needs to open his mouth more when he speaks! On Wednesday, I popped into my local hairdressers, Zonia and Delia for a cut minus the blow-dry (my hair is big enough, thank you). Run by a couple of Cuban women, it’s usually heaving with South American ladeees in rollers yabbering away while they have their cuticles stripped.  ‘Buena Vista Social Club’, I thought but without the trumpets. Friday night I went out for cocktails to the exotically-named Valentino’s. Sounds nice, I thought but to be honest, it was a little down at heel, the lighting wasn’t quite right and we were sat by the toilets which is always a bit of a disappointment. Sipping my daquiri, as the Tena lady brigade filed by, my nostrils were invaded by pungent odour of Domestos. What a class joint! So excited about India. Will I have diarrohea? Will I get trampled by an elephant? Will I keep my sanity, sharing a single bed with Tim? �