17th February 2012

I arrive in India at the airport and at the passport control they tell me I have got the wrong visa. Mine is only for the city, not the country so I cannot leave.  I go in a taxi to a hotel and ring the British consul from the phone in my room.  He is a kind, helpful man who tells me not to worry.  In the meantime I should strip the beds, put the sheets in the freezer and use a parsnip head.  I have no idea what he is talking about.  I leave the hotel and go to an art gallery with a glass sloping ceiling where they are showing an exhibition of bossa nova and cool jazz album covers.  All the squares of bright colours and geometric patterns are beautiful against the white walls.