Oh, how I hate rats

702

But I am an India and I just have to get over it.
I woke this morning to a trail of rat shit around my room which means that whilst I sleep they play. Yuk. Yuk.
In the cold light of day it is fine, but in the dark, with the fan making strange noises and all my mental games I will not enjoy the thought.

But on a positive not, I am safe and well, the journey to Jaipur was made with a driver who had a death wish so I slept. It seemed the least stressful route through the experience. And now I am safely, bar rats, installed in my usual room and it is hot. Not as hot as I expected, which is great, but the monsoon is looming. It has reached Bombay and is on it’s way up the country. Huge puddles, black and fizzing with creatures, that I prefer not to meet, are lying around the streets, inflation is rampant, petrol prices have risen hugely and the talk of expansion is not quite so expansive.

My first meeting this morning is with the clothing manufacturers. They decided that I had not ordered enough and so sent £7000 worth of clothes to me, unasked. I did not know it was coming and only heard about it when the customs office wanted several thousand pounds in duty and import taxes in London.
I see it as a kind of extortion on the part of the factory. They see it that I owe them the money. I wonder how it will end?

I have organised for the rat access to my room to be blocked and have had an excellent mango for breakfast along with soggy cornflaks (their spelling) and tepid tea. All the crockery was as hot as if it had just come out of a dishwasher and there is no staff so I am being looked after by the wife of the owner. She is charming and kind, so it is a nice change. She does things as she would like them.