Asking our receptionist to book our transfer to the airport for the forth time was a classic example of India's inefficiency and we eventually lugged our rucksacks into the boot of a taxi and rolled towards the airport. It's 5am and the roads are eerily quiet for an Indian city.

Arriving at the airport with a punctual three hours before departure as planned was a relief. We wobbled towards our Sky Airways counter and could barely contain our excitement at the thought of arriving in Australia within the next 19 hours!

At the desk we handed over our passports for inspection and heaved our bags onto the conveyor belt that dragged them off towards our plane. On turning to leave and head towards our terminal our smartly dressed check-in supervisor asked to see our visas for Australia. Chelsea whipped out hers and placed it into his out stretched hand; I however, felt a knot of dread in my stomach - I hadn't printed mine off.

(Now, before you all start rolling your eyes and muttering 'muppet' under your breath, hear me out. I had previously rang the Australian Embassy to ensure that I had my E-visa as they hadn't sent me an email of confirmation. The genial Australian on the other end of the line ensured me that it had been granted and that it was attached to my passport electronically. He informed me that I needn't do anything else to get to and from the country, so naturally I took him at his word - I was a trusting individual before I went to India.)

On informing the check-in clerk that I didn't have a photocopy of my visa he (quiet happily I thought) told me that I wouldn't be able to board the plane without it. Instantly losing my cool, I protested that it was an E-visa and attached to my passport. Shrugging his shoulders he said that departure wasn't possible without it.

Genuinely panicking, I was sent with a member of the Sky Airways staff to log onto my emails at their office outside of the airport. On the way he told me that he was a new member of staff and wasn't really sure how to remedy the problem. Slapping him firmly across his face I demanded that he bring his A-game and sort this situation out (obviously what I actually said was, "No problem, we all have to start somewhere!" - I hate being politely British sometimes.

At the offices they didn't have internet; I know, madness. With my panic ramped up another notch we headed back to the airport whilst scenarios of me waving an ecstatic Chelsea off as she boarded a plane, flashed across my imagination.

We didn't have wifi in the airport so we were borrowing local people's phones. After an hour of frantic searching we finally managed to get access to my visa and our check-in clerk scurried off to print it for us - I would like to add that I had noted down all my reference numbers and passwords for my visa which was our saving grace when trying to access it, in short, I saved the day. When he handed the print off to me I felt unbelievably relieved but wasn't completely confident in it working, it looked very different to Chelsea's.

With a brazen bravado and confident swagger that I didn't have my heart in I walked up to the immigration counter and handed over my passport and visa, smiling and chatting all the time. The morbid man behind the desk didn't even look at the visa print out, I wanted to go back and throttle our check-in clerk. But, throttling aside, we were on the terminal and I was over the moon! We had a celebratory Burger King and excitedly awaited our flight.

Next stop, Australia!!