I am certain that everyone, even non-religious people like myself, have wondered what hell must or could be like. The imagination probably drew up images of flames, pitchforks and lots of howling? Well, you don't need to imagine anymore as I can give you a first hand account of the place. It all started around 23:10 in Varanasi...

When our receptionist, Ram, inspected our train tickets that had been sent earlier in the day from our absolutely diabolical tourism company (Incredible !ndia Delhi), he told us that we were on a waiting list and that our tickets were not officially booked. We had CONSTANTLY been on to the tourism firm to book our tickets and get back to us, they never do and as well as being incredibly stressful, genuinely ruins your stay. Panicked, we decided to risk it and head to the station anyway, which was an hours drive away.

On arrival we found that only one of our tickets had been processed and we now had to share a single bed on a 12 hour train journey. If I possessed a gun I would march back to Delhi and shoot the men that we booked with - I say that with utter sincerity.

The train journey was without a doubt the worst experience of my life to date. It unfolded like a Shakespearean tragedy and it was all I could do to stop myself hurling my dishevelled body from the train.

As myself and Chelsea unhinged our bodies and crumpled ourselves like paper bags onto our rock hard bed that was roughly the size of a breeze block, we felt appalled but relieved that we were at least heading to Agra and the fabled Taj Mahal.

As we slept head to toe, and as my pillow was the width of a basmati grain of rice stood on its end, I cradled Chelsea's feet that had been walking around a hot, foreign country all day and I attempted to close my stinging eyelids and get some sleep after a very stressful few hours.

When the miracle of sleep finally came to me, after what seemed like half an hour, I was awoken by a ticket inspector shining what must have been a million watt torch in my face and asking me for some identification. Wiping the dribble from my cheeks where my head had been pinned upside against a handrail that I was using to delicately wedge myself under, I fumbled for my passport. On glancing at it for an irrelevant 0.03 seconds he moved on to invade another innocent sleepers' dreams.

I awoke at 6:45 due to a screaming child and was welcomed to a host of eyes staring at me from various bunks within the cabin. I'm not 100% sure what the crack is with India but manners and hygiene are out of the window. For starters there was a random man sat by my feet (Chelsea had moved to a bunk that became vacant three train stops in) and despite my severe eyeballing he stayed doggedly where he was. Also, apparently to break wind or burp in an atrociously loud manner in a confined area such as a train cabin, where all the windows are sealed, is completely acceptable and if anything congratulated! Thankfully, despite children running around and constant flatulence from other train occupants I managed to get a few more winks.

On awaking for the second time, disaster! My stomach was in knots and the all too familiar rumblings were emanating from my mid-drift. Quickly slipping into my flip flops I whisked of in search of a toilet. I didn't find one. What I found was a cesspit of human despair and monstrosity. There was no toilet, just a stainless steel hole in the floor with two spots outlining where you should place your feet. The browny-green floor was sopping wet (with what I chose to believe was water) and the walls had turned a sickly, pale yellow where I assume people's souls has scaled the walls and tried to escape. There was no toilet roll, just a metal beaker that was on a rusty chain and attached to the wall - the idea being that you filled it and splashed it on your bum to compensate for a wipe.

Catching a glance of myself in the mould-crusted mirror I saw a look of dark foreboding which I have never seen there before. Taking a deep breath that made me wretch slightly, I untied my tracksuit bottoms, took up the appropriate outlined stance and gently eased my bum out into the open and coopeed down.

As the carriage shook precariously I noticed a small bar attached to the wall in front of me at knee height, obviously to hold onto to avoid falls or slips. Noticing a fine residue of some unknown substance on the bar I tentatively held onto it with just a forefinger and thumb and eased backwards onto my haunches and got the deed done whilst trying to pin my knickers and trousers in a forward position with my free hand.

Weeping uncontrollably, I splashed some freezing water onto my arse and shook vigorously. Standing back up in my poor flip flops, I tenderly pulled my trousers back up and waddled over to the greying sink to wash my hands (and hopefully my soul) of the abomination that had just befallen me. I am sorry to say that this happened to me four times throughout the journey - each time an extra ounce of my spirit was diminished though my quadriceps are stronger than ever and looking very defined.

Back on my bench, I was told that our train journey was to be delayed by five hours, five hours! I was aghast, if this were to happen in Britain there would have been picket lines and riots in every street! Slumping into a subdued, 'arms crossed' position I looked wistfully at the singular bread roll I'd packed along with a packet of crisps and realised that this had to last me the now 17 hour train journey, I felt like Jesus feeding the five thousand.

Excitedly, I finally gave in and unwrapped my roll and felt a swell of delight, however, that didn't last long. As I looked up and saw Chelsea on her top bunk unwrapping a cinnamon bun the size of a small fridge, I was overcome with envy! She went through it like a wood chipper whilst I was picking the sesame seeds off the top of my minute roll in order to sustain me through the trip, it was all about survival now.

Having eaten my slightly stale roll and half filled bag of crisps and washed it down with some lukewarm water, endured more bodily functions than should be legal, stopped myself smacking a screaming child and avoided firmly poking the man at the end of my bed in the eyes, we arrived at Agra. All I could think was, what a s*** hole.