Well, our new van arrived, and it's a corker. The only drawback seems to be that our new vehicle comes with a new member of staff, the driver's mate. And of course he has to have a seat. It seems only fair. And now Nareesh, the guide, has bagged himself a double seat, so we have actually only gained one extra seat between us, how did that happen? But there is now room to move around, our seats recline and they are bigger and comfier and, as Nicole so eloquently puts it, the seats are so squishy it feels as if they give you a little hug every time you sit down.

Our first day in Rajasthan and we're off to see a haveli, which is an old house with highly decorated walls both inside and out. The paintings depict both Indian life and their many gods as well as a nod to the days of the raj, with sketches of victorian men and women in their full bustle and top hat regalia. It's beautiful and very colourful, and with cows roaming the streets outside and sari clad women sweeping the steps with just a handful of old twigs in their hands it feels like we have arrived in the more interesting part of India.

We then drove to Bikaner down narrow roads, swooping past motorbikes and tuktuks and heavily laden and garishly decorated trucks, with the words 'Blow Horn' on their rear ends, which we obligingly do before overtaking them and sailing on into the countryside, leaving little puffs of dust and dried animal poo in our wake.

India might seem these days as if it's all call centres and irritating people phoning up to tell you that your computer has a virus, but away from the towns and cities it's still amazingly rustic. Women are walking home carrying firewood or brass water containers on their heads, wearing bright red, pink or orange saris sparkling with gold or silver thread. Married women have to cover their faces with the edge of their translucent dress; they look like beautiful fluttering birds as they make their way through vibrant fields of green and yellow mustard seeds, or crouch in groups at the side of the road swapping recipes for masala dosa. The men sport extravagant handlebar moustaches and huge red turbans that look as if they are going to topple over at any minute. Early in the morning, when the air is still chilly, they stand around swathed in large pashminas looking exotic. And warmer than us.

Catherine and Nicole, despite no evidence of the fact that India is a wine loving country, insist on ordering a bottle of white wine when we arrive in Bikaner, our stop for the second night. They nearly fall off their bar stools when they are handed the bill. 2500 rupees, or £30, for a mediocre bottle of Indian plonk. They realise they should have checked the price list first, but I doubt this will deter them in future, they have the look of women who wait patiently for the clinking hour, wine glass in hand - they do not look as if they will be put off their quest for wine easily. We have passed quite a few 'English Wine Shops' and Nareesh promises to take them to one to stock up on some cheaper wine that will not be at restaurant prices. No one can explain why the wine shops are English, or is this what passes for sophistication in these parts? The Irish do not appear convinced by that reasoning. That's the problem with being in the minority. Brian is loving this.

The following morning we visited the famous Rat Temple, where thousands of the little beasts run riot, it's a sight to behold - particularly as we have to take our shoes off to enter, yuck. Inside the temple large saucers of milk are surrounded by a cavalcade of furry rodents slurping away, their tails twitching with enjoyment. Apparently if you see a white rat it's very auspicious, but we are lucky just to leave without having been nibbled at by an over-enthusiastic resident I think. Or without too many smears of rat poo to add to our collection.

Meanwhile Nareesh is continuing with his 'surprises', one morning it was samosas for breakfast, but as he left it till after we had eaten our toast and jam, and we were patiently expecting some form of cooked egg, they weren't exactly what we were craving. I sprinkled a few crumbs on my plate while he was out of the room and smuggled the samosa out in a napkin. The problem with these surprises is that he then sits eagerly like a little puppy delivering a newspaper wanting lots of attention and praise. He wants a regular report on how exciting we found the surprise for the rest of the day and I can see it getting a bit tiring. He seems to need constant attention and sulks if we don't immediately react. He's hard work, constantly telling us to hurry up and ordering us about like we are the hired help, and then looking pissed off if we ask him to repeat any information that we can't understand as if we're not very bright and he really has better things to be doing with his time. Like phoning his friends.

He is always on his phone. Texting or calling, stopping only to chivvy us along in a slightly peevish way. But late at night, after a few rums, he comes over all sentimental and wants to talk about how he loves his customers, assuring us that he wants only for us to be happy, that he works from the heart and that we must tell him whatever we want. Of course as he's coming out with all this attention seeking guff we have to constantly assure him how happy we are,how marvellous he is and what a great job he's doing. Sadly I'm not sure that this is really the case. He's starting to annoy me - whenever we go to one of his recommended restaurants he suddenly appears with a manager who he has, of course, known for many many years, beaming and backslapping and underlining his utter fabulousness so that we are egged on to another crescendo of appreciation.

I am not a member of the Nareesh Fan Club. And I think he's starting to realise it.......