My gift is Mysore and this one's for you

For you those of you who know me well you will know that I hate ceiling fans. A strange thing to despise but I always think that one day one will wobble loose from its grip on the ceiling and plunge down and chop me up into ragged chunks. A pointless and undignified way to die ( other entries under Jim's crap ways to die include "death by coconut to head" and "Of mortification after falling down a long drop toilet" I have had anxiety dreams about all three). So I surprise myself by falling victim to Stockholm Syndrome, I love the thing I hate. I love fan. Im too cheap to pay for Air Con both on the train or in my hostels. Actually im so cheap that my hostels don't even offer A/C. And as a busy manager of a cruddy hostel in India where young travelers will sleep on a mildewed rug just to pay 20 cents why bother with installing a/c when you can have death fans. Leaves you free to oil you hair, grow you fingernails really long and make fat jokes with young kiwi girls named Jim. Priceless. On the train down from Hampi to Mysore (which I only came to really cause you have to go up Mysore street to get to Ma and Pa Bakers) I went sleeper class which means open windows with a grill, three tiers of bunks and the dreaded fans of doom (these ones are caged for your safety). The fans suck in the dust and when I sat up in the morning I could see the thick red dust outline from where I lay like a desert homicide had occurred in the night. I'm surprised I slept at all as the fan at the bottom of my bunk kept blowing up my pants and inflating them like a wind sock. Some say refreshing I say f**kin annoying. Hampi was cool like Bedrock meets Jungle book. Huge boulders litter the bright green banana plantaions and the air doesn't move. A big river runs through and all day is filled with the village boys swimming and diving and doing international small boy mischief. No girls aloud. I wanted to swim so badly!! It was the first river I'd seen in India I actually wanted to swim in as most are 10%water 90%poo. And under a Mango tree in the midday sun I met Fingal Pollack, a girl who was at Uni when I was and who has on multiple occations annoyed me so much I almost killed her. Some things don't change. So I ran away from her interpretive dancing ways and now am in Mysore where so far toured the Maharaja's palace, rolled my own insense, brought some grapes, ate some grapes, vomited some grapes and sat and watched the lightning and thunder of a monsoon downpour. Same old same old really. You guys aren't missing anything.