The insanity began on Sunday 13th July when, after what must have surely been a contrived test of will of the various participants, we arrived at Heathrow and began to tentatively suss each other out. Queen’s had already tussled with Paxman and were by this time weary and irrevocably bonded. The flight was reasonable, except for the deplorable choice of entertainment by Air India. ‘Just Married’??? That is blatantly unfair. After an insect of indeterminate species tried to attack the Queen’s captain we rode our merry way to the place that was to become home, the Taj Palace on the outskirts of Delhi. By this time delirious due to lack of sleep and food, we were all grateful of those big beds and the buffet. Then we had to arise from our magnificent slumber for a briefing with Jacqui and an offer we had to resist from the intrepid quizzards of the party to practise. We declined in favour of campari and complimentary wine.
The next day (Tuesday) we had the delightful experience of a photoshoot around Delhi in which the sun made yours truly ruin all the photos with her gurning bake. I am truly mortified that people may well have that ugly mug to remember me by. The coach then brought us to the studios of Synergy, which was to become the venue wherein much intellectual salad would be tossed. It was much more colourful and lighthearted than Paxman’s stomping ground, but someone really should have a word with the make-up man. Swankiness awaited as we were brought to the home of John and Morna Nance (our new best mates) in order to sample some quality food and abundant booze in the splendour of their home. Luckily they kicked us out in time for the most shocking booze-up of the trip, on which the room service guys knew us by name. After a few too many people became surprisingly vocal regarding their sexual proclivities. I have come to the conclusion that quiz boys are perverts. A process of natural selection saw the weak fade, and those who weathered the storm miss the next day’s trip to Delhi. I hear it was good. After a lazy day golfing and lazing by the pool we ventured into Connaught Place for a feed. The next day we appropriated off and lay about until the visit to Dilli Haat were we received the first glimpse of Angelina’s prodigious ability to shop. One could only marvel at her skill.
Thursday will be forever ingrained as the day in which a plucky group were brought through hell and back and were kept in anecdotes for years. It started off with the suggestion of Daddy Alan to see the ‘real’ Delhi. I usually trust his judgement. After the sari shop where the boys were shown ‘erotic’ pictures, which I’m told were about as sexy as Del Monte, we voyaged into Chandi Chowk. After a while you can block out the odour of fetid excrement, but it still comes as a shock when you see it smeared across an opticians. Ankle deep in god knows what, soaked to the skin and being groped by locals. They do say India is an experience, not just a country. I now know this to be true. After washing ourselves thoroughly with sandpaper and brillo pads we were ready for the challenge of the next day; the quiz itself. After CC, anything else would be a walk in the park. Well, despite the psychosomatic illnesses of various team members. The results were marked with a crazy visit to an Indian offie and the impressive residence of Jacqui. The ridiculously cheap drink and celebratory mood meant that, once again, number 841 was swinging to the sounds of confessions and Soulwax. Whoever thought that it was a good idea to stay up all night before the hell bus to Agra should be severely reprimanded (unless it was me. Then I am very sorry). We arrived at the bus in various stages of drunkenness, illness and taj palace slipperishness. The trip to the 'Golden Triangle' was filled with bus journeys, fantastic sights and scary moments by the pool (was that Bernard Manning and Duncan Goodhew?).Oh, and a meal which would terrify the most intrepid gastronome. Simon found that back to back with a sweaty sweaty man is not a position he wishes to repeat.
