And so we're off again. Back on the bus for a few more hours heading for the lesser known town of Bundi, which turns out to be far less touristy and far more delightful than anywhere else we've been. Our drive today takes us past vibrant green and yellow fields of dancing mustard seeds, occasionally interrupted by the sight of several women drawing water from a well then balancing the bronze jugs of water on their head to take them home. Sometimes we see a massive mound of tree branches crawling along the road, only to realise that underneath it all is a human body carrying a phenomenal amount of firewood.

We saw a man at the edge of a field riding a water buffalo around a bore hole driving up the water to irrigate the fields, which he does every day for 8 hours, in another place a cow was being used to power a primitive machine that ground seeds into paste that was then being turned into oil. If it wasn't for the massive electricity pylons that dot the countryside we could be witnessing scenes from two thousand years ago.

Brian is slightly better, by which I mean that he is still coughing occasionally and looking pathetic, this is his third or fourth illness in the last 12 months. I really must increase our life insurance.....

Bundi was amazing. A teeny tiny place, we only stopped there for one night, bu I wish we had had longer. It's relatively untouristy so we were able or wander the maze of higgledy piggledy lanes and everyone wanted so say hello or namaste or good morning. Kids wanted their photos taken so they could marvel at the image a few seconds later.

It's shadowed by a huge crumbling palace that has not been inhabited for over 300 years, other than by bats and monkeys. It is slowly being restored, but so far the only work that has been done is to shore up the broken brickwork and sweep up the poo, of which there must have been quite a lot judging by the amount that was being swept up in the morning from just the previous night! Some of the faded paintings and murals remain and it's possible to imagine how opulent and vibrant the building must have been when it operated as the centre of all things royal in Bundi.

The first night we were there we took ourselves off, away from the clutches of Naresh beseeching us to once again enjoy the delights of the boring old hotel dining room, to a little old rooftop restaurant on top of a hotel that had a magnificent view of the old palace, which by the light of the full moon was doing a fair impersonation of Dracula's castle.

After dinner we headed back down to street level where the cacophonous din from a nearby street aroused our touristy nosey interest. We turned the corner and stumbled into the middle of a full-on Muslim wedding. The immaculately attired groom was sat on a white horse, his face obscured by long garlands of flowers. In front of him 10 men stood struggling to hold onto giant plastic lanterns powered by a generator that was being wheeled behind. In front of the lantern men a large tin music machine with gramophone type speakers pumped out a vibrant dancing beat. In between the machine and the groom happy revellers, young and old, danced and swayed to the music, the young boys at the front the most active of the dancers, busy showing off their Bollywood moves.

We were pulled into the crowd and, with small children eagerly grabbing our hands and urging us to join in, we did a fair impression of dad dancing, much to their delight. Occasionally one of the revellers would throw a handful of money into the air, the kids would dive between everyone's legs to grab what they could and the whole procession would thus move a further 2 feet up the road, singing, clapping and beaming with delight. It was the most brilliant experience and such an unexpected joy to participate in something so joyous and spontaneous. We finally made our excuses and waved our new friends goodbye, leaving them to carry on dancing up the road until god knows what o'clock.

Having mostly managed to avoid Naresh in Bundi, we have not for one minute missed his irritated face, constant texting or spookily ingratiating act of rubbing his hands together and grinning inanely, usually when he wants us to visit some ghastly shop where they will pull ever more items of the shelves in order to make us buy, all the time pointing out what it is we are looking at as if we are aliens from outer space. 'dress' 'bedspread' 'wall hanging' 'you like?' 'how much you pay?'. We hear these words a hundred times a day and still they fail to ignite in us a desire to actually own these tatty rags.

Oh no, wait, that bejewelled gew-gaw might actually look quite attractive on the mantelpiece after all.....