NO MORE CRICKET...

OMG...thanks to fricken Vodafone Bandra and bumping into a famous Indian cricket player- I have had my first "bad" day in Mumbai! I'm mad at myself for even getting mad to be honest. But sometimes when you're hot, stressed, don't speak the local lingo properly, hungry, unshowered and desperate- these kinds of days just happen upon you. I was ripe for the picking. I woke up and decided to go straight to the gym after dropping the wee princes off so I got straight into my gym gear. On return from school drop- off I discovered "HRH" in tears and stuck in the bathroom. His bloody back had gone again (well he likes to correct me saying that it was never fixed from Cap Ferret) and he was in agony.
I tried to get him out the door- but he tripped on his LV sandal and fell into the corridor, managing to drag one of the kids scooters along with him. I felt terrible as he peeled himself off the floor nearly in tears. Down at reception we phoned one of the top physio's in Mumbai who works with the Indian cricket team and got "HRH" a space at the hospital. All I really wanted to do was have a god damned shower as I was sure I could smell myself by now but I had to put on a smiling face with all the staff in the lobby. Before I knew it we had been ushered into a car and were heading to the clinic at the hospital. When we walked in it was teeming with people and actually quite an upmarket clinic. I was mortified....all I wanted to do was have that shower, get out of my gym gear and perhaps give my hair a brush. On the way up in the lift I nearly balked at my appearance as the shiny well polished doors closed. Hare Rama. I couldn't have looked any worse. Just great-gotta love the bag lady look this season that I managed to be pulling off!
While I waited for "HRH" in the hallway I started to feel some slight pains in my stomach. Oh christ, better find a bathroom- I thought. I slinked off to the bathroom trying to be as low key as poss. Of course there was a queue- being Mumbai and all. So I waited, and bloody waited. My tummy really started to cramp in pain and the over whelming desire to let a really loud one rip suddenly came over me. Oh God...so I did. A quiet one. There was no bloody way I was losing my place in line. I'm telling you. I was sweating, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone and NOW to top it off trying to act like it wasn't me who had let a horrible one rip! The pain became unbearable and I thought my lovely Stella McCartney gym gear would have to be binned if I didn't make it to a toilet asap. Sooooo, being Queenie I darted into the mens bathroom which of course was empty.
Aaah thank god I thought. I found a cubicle just in time. Salvation! How could it be possible that I had delhi belly? No, not possible maybe it's just the change of diet and the chilli omelette from breakfast wasn't sitting well- I mean I had been over doing the chillies as of late. That had to be it. I then discovered that there was no toilet paper and only the shower handle looking douche contraption thing...oh well when in Rome. I aimed it at my butt and squeezed the trigger. The water shot out with such velocity that I got a fright and slipped off the loo...not entirely but enough to spray the bloody contraption in my face and down my front. I was fricken soaked and there was water all over the cubicle. But at least I felt cooled down. Oh well, it was only water and would dry off- I thought. I unlocked the bathroom door and walked right into a tall quite handsome Indian man...OMG. He took one look at me soaked AND a female (looking very out of place in the mens) and shrugged in confusion. He then walked right into the toilet I had just used and shut the door. Noooooo! A second later the door reopened and he threw me a revolted look as he held his nose and pushed past me to leave the bathroom. As I followed him out a big crowd of people converged on him asking for his autograph...saying something about being a cricket player and then I heard "very famous".
My face dropped as reality hit...OMFG no way. Embarrassed was beyond what I felt. I slunk away down the corridoor just as "HRH" came looking for me. Thank God. Remind me to do a search and find out which famous cricket player I managed to disgust today please? Was it Sachin Tendulkar? God no it couldn't have been. Was it the captain MS Dhoni? Munaf Patel...oh no.
We then went straight on into Vodafone...where after we waited an hour to be seen (just enough time to read an entire Vogue India...cover to cover) we were told that it was impossible to get a cellphone plan without an address. Ok fair enough we thought. A prepay sim for each of us until we get the apartment then....? Ah no. Sorry you need to have two passport size photos. Okay where can I get those? Over the road. So after going off and getting the photos, waiting for them to be developped we queue again and arrive at the Vodafone counter a second time. Okay so we have our passports, visas, two passport size photos- can we have a pre pay sim card each please? Ah no. You have to be kidding me buddy...? Seriously. They now want the hotel to write a letter with the official hotel letterhead confirming our lodging. Can we get the hotel to email it this afternoon? Ah no. How about they fax it to them? Ah no. Mais c'est pas possible. MERDE!!! So we leave the bloody Vodafone office empty handed. Our driver after the extremely long wait does not seem to be in the car...it begins to rain on us as we wait for him. Good one. Mumbai Monsoon madness...by the time we got in the car we were absolutely soaked and the passport size photos smudged beyond recognition.
Well you gotta laugh darling. In the car on the way back to the hotel I said to "HRH" that at least we would deserve our aperitifs this evening. Stuff waiting till this evening. It's just gone 4pm he said. It's G&T time gorgeous. Hear hear to that I say. And bags not going into Vodafone again...or any cricket matches in India-for that matter!