Leopards Tigers Cadbury Cups Samsonite Flying.

India is bonkers. I just discovered that 2km away from Marol Residency, there is the Aarey Colony. The Greenbelt of Mumbai. There are tigers there. And Mr Pamma Bhatt saw four leopards on his jog from Marol, Andheri and Aarey Colony about one and a half months ago. He gets up at 4am every day and does this jog. Now I find out on my last day here. Amazing. Both the wildlife story, and the fact that Mr Bhatt is so goddam fit. You wouldn't know to look at him as he has a roundish belly. But it's probably pure muscle, gulp. He is also Mr Ayurvedic, and sells products on a Mumbai version of a costermonger's barrow, parked in front of his house. You can see his house directly opposite from my guesthouse. You should see his beautiful wife. I nearly melted into his forecourt when I first clapped eyes on her. A real beaut, you might say in South London.

Me: Weren't you scared they'd eat you?
Pamma: No, they eat dogs.
Me: Oh, dogs? (Poor doggies, I thought.)
Pamma: Dogs are like Cadbury's chocolate to leopards.

Before I could even guffaw and hold my right bra cup to buffer the slight pain of exercising my lungs from laughing, Pamma had already started a conversation with Kausel on the adjacent sofa to us in the reception of Marol Residency Guesthouse. I love this place. It's like a small chai gathering of middle-aged male friends of Anil the owner, and me, sporadically. When I decide to surface from my room, or am summoned. I hardly went out today. Too hot. Too dusty. 

I was laughing my shrunken tits off typing that conversation. That has to be one of the most classic lines anyone has come out with in ages. Pamma, you are a genius.

Yes, sadly boobies are now more like a 27D-ish, as opposed to the normal 28F. Small back and largish bosom, believe it or not. How the flippin' heck did I leap from leopards to bra cup sizes. Must've been 'cause I one of my earliest poshest memories were a Cadbury's Easter Egg with an Egg Cup given by some kindly church folk in West Ealing. Even things like wrapping paper, packaging, and rustly things were dead exciting as a child.

Gosh, aren't you glad you don't have a messy brain like mine? It's mental up there ... Maybe the Giant Cadbury's Egg was from Mrs Pringle herself, the Scottish Presbyterian vicar's wife. She was lovely she was. They both were. And their wonderful portly poodle.

Less than 24 hours left on proper land. This time tomorrow night I will be in horrid No-Man's Land. Mumbai Airport. Long haul to Kuala Lumpur.

I don't believe in luck, but do wish me some, please. It's just a phrase. Pray for me, if that's your bag. Or in my case, it's Samsonite. I'm trying to wreck this suitcase of mine, without alarming too many Indians. Despite their love of noise, they find it somewhat outrageous to see a woman shove her suitcase with force and hooliganism onto a train platform. I wonder why that is? I know. Woman are meant to behave in certain ways, and I don't always fit that bill. Not here, not within my immediate family, not anywhere, not within the social UK norms, and all that boring guff. I'm just me, and proud of it.

With no knowledge of Malayalam, or Hindi, it's been impossible to get a rickshaw driver to throw the suitcase over the edge of their vehicle when I'm alighting. Boo. Ah, just had a brainwave. I could practise trampolining on it back in Waterloo, in the backyard by the communal bins. Great idea.

Can't wait to kick it about Kuala Lumpur. I've got 7 more years to wreck the Samsonite. I want a new one after the 10 year guarantee runs out in 2020. I would like to celebrate the breakdown of capitalism by making sure in 2019 that this suitcase of mine goes under as many 10 ton trucks as possible around the globe. I do not believe that anything is indestructible. I mean, Samsonite is hardly Krytonite, is it?

See what I mean? Me and handbags again, and now suitcases. Do I have a lot of baggage, or what?

Long haul flights simply don't suit me. At least I'm flying with Malaysia Airlines. Top drawer. Beautiful air hostesses to look after me. Nice and smiley, not like some of the BA sour pusses. And the most awful Orange cult-like Easyjet crew, or worse still Ryanair nut-jobs. Phew. The Orient. Here I come.

Flight departs Mumbai at 2350, arrives Kuala Lumpur at 0725. Only cost me £60. Fuselage-tastic!

If India is bonkers, what am I? Same same, I reckon. We suit each other. In that case, we are each suit-cases ...Not basket-cases. Look, can someone please tell me what the feck I'm on about now please?

I blame it on long haul flights. I don't like them and they don't suit me. They make me nervous after what happened during the last one.

Time for bed, purr-leaze!