Well they're here, the much anticipated flights to Goa.

Writing a heart felt message in Khan's guest book and hugging him very tightly we waved goodbye and trotted into the airport.

At the check-in desk there were a few tense moments due to my name being spelt wrong on my ticket that the tourism office had filled out - they have a photocopy of my passport, once again proving that they are absolute philistines. Thankfully, this isn't the UK with its stringent rules and they surprisingly let me board the flight anyway. Happy days!

Security checks are also very relaxed where you just sling your bag through the X-ray machine and the security guards just chat and laugh without even glancing at the monitor. They did however make us open our cans of coke that we're in our bags and watched us drink from them. In hindsight, pretending to choke whilst clutching my throat and spluttering was a mistake as no one laughed and I went bright red.

The plane was fairly small and left on time; it is probably the briskest service we have encountered in India so far. Settling into seat 28D at the back of the plane with two crying babies behind me, Goa seemed within touching distance!

On arrival at Delhi airport we were ushered, cattle like, towards a second security check before boarding our second plane that left in forty minutes. As usual, standing in the unmoving queues that snake towards a singular flight attendant was mildly stressful as our plane was set to leave the runway soon.

Chelsea was in an outrageously bad mood on the second leg of our journey due to lack of sustenance, but queuing in silence due to her laconic attitude was surprisingly nice. I just looked blissfully out of the glass terminal while she aggressively complained about the state of the country's economy and how we couldn't afford a sandwich. At one point, a harassed looking Muslim and his wife were attempting to get their suitcases in as hand luggage due to a late arrival or a similar misfortune; Chelsea was having non of it however, and gesticulating with angry hand slaps and pointing, she complained that, 'If you don't get to the airport on time, you don't get on your flight - simple.' God forbid we're ever late!

Incredibly, our driver was waiting for us at the airport, despite being told the wrong flight by our tourism company,so he had been waiting for us for three hours. We were surprised to learn that we now had an hour and a half drive to our hotel as we thought we were only half an hour away.

It was worth the wait however as our room is glorious. In a very regal gold and white, spacious room that has a fridge (such luxury) we felt extremely content to be in the chilled out Goa.

Down on the beach, which was a mere two minute scuttle away, we settled into a wicker chair at the water's edge and ordered a cocktail and a beer - heaven.

We made it!