so here I am, sat in work, thinking that 48 hours ago I was in India. Happy days.
My journey home was a bit of a mission. Before I got on the train I went to a chemist to get some valium for the trip. It works wonders. They didn't have any, but they gave me something they said was 'even better - you sleep long time'. I boshed two when I got on the train and was still very much awake five hours later, at 3am. We were meant to get in at eight. I did another couple and still no effect - until 7am when I started feeling violentally unwell, and had to go to be sick in the toilet. I could barely walk, they were obviously sleeping pills, god knows why I couldn't get to sleep - and I had to cling to everything on the way to stay upright and fight to even keep my eyes open. I got back to my bed and collapsed. On the platform I was throwing up, in the rickshaw I was doing the same. Got some funny looks. I eventually made it to tasky's house and passed out for a couple of hours.
I had such a dodgy stomach - I hadn't eaten or really slept in 24 hours - that my last supper in India, shamefully - was a Subway. I spent my last rupees on a shite, fake, chemical-filled, pillar of consumerism of a sandwich. I am a bastard.
Anyway, the rest of my trip was nothing to write home about. Got home and went immediately to the pub with lukey - Youngers in Henry J's is £1.65 a pint. Fuckin ay! Spent my last £20 in the world on ale. it was bloody well worth it.
And here I am, back in the real world.
The End. x
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