With the quiet rustling of Chelsea unwrapping her Lotus Biscoff, caramelised biscuits (est.1932) our Boeing 787-8 rumbled into the air - amongst a myriad of colourful turbans and excessive wristwear, we were off.

Sharing my peanuts with an Indian lady was well worth the sacrifice as it meant that she persisted in trying to talk to Chelsea (who was sat next to her) at sporadic intervals throughout the flight and seemed woefully unconcerned by the dramatic void in language barrier - glorious entertainment.

On arrival at Indira Gandhi International Airport I was quietly surprised by the calm and cool, having read that it was hectic and swelteringly hot I tottered off the plane with only mild apprehension. My pleasant surprise was short lived however, as we were accosted by two men in white shirts who shoehorned us into a taxi. Before we were propelled onto the road by our phone answering driver their company manager came and returned half the amount we had paid to us - a quick and sharp lesson that resonated throughout the day: everyone is here to mug you off.

On the ridiculously short trip to our hotel (I could have flung a welly there) the driver began to warble on about a toll that was required of us for his return! Having already been made to look a total novice by his companions I put an abrupt end to this line of nonsense and stated that he wouldn't be getting so mush as a cashew nut more from me, he apologised but continued the journey seemingly unabashed - I felt very heroic.

Our hotel, the ludicrously named 'Lovely Hotel', had all the charm and warmth of a harbour wall at low tide (I actually let out a high pitched, hysterical laugh when we pulled up outside). The grunting and wildly impersonable young man on reception did nothing to alleviate my paling complexion.

Now, as this is my first entry I feel I should quickly add that I don't mind a bit of grunge and 'roughing it' - I'm a healthy way between a fairy and an 'out door man', happy to throw myself into the mix once in a while. That being said, that bloody bathroom. I've never used hand sanitiser in my life, but by Christ I went though half a bottle! There was no toilet seat, you had to perch, gingerly on the pan whilst holding your testicles above your head. There was no tissue so we had to share out the ply sheets that made up the pocket of hand tissues that Chelsea had brought and there was no flush, you had to fill a shamefully small bucket of water using the 'shower' and hurl it into the basin with the same velocity generated by a cannon in order to get that bloody poop to go.

We're off for some food now, Chels has finally coaxed me out of the wardrobe. Wish me luck...