Your Guide to Bollywood - See What They Did?

As I have been an extra in a Bollywood movie, offered actual lines and a character name in another and now been asked if I’d like to be in the latest Indian Pepsi advert, I think its fair to say I am a bit of an expert on the industry (ah hem). Being the generous individual I am I would like to share this knowledge of celebrity with you. When I first arrived in India I didn’t know the first thing about Bollywood, in fact I thought people had just spelt Hollywood wrong; but I only had to turn on the TV and look at the hundreds of billboards to see that Bollywood stars (and cricket stars but I don’t really know much about them) rule the roost!

Please find below a little guide of who I consider, I’ll repeat, I consider, to be the ‘cream of the crop’ when it come to Bollywood so when someone asks you what you think of ‘Big B’ you won’t say ‘Oh yes, I always wanted to go into the house, my favourite was Jade Goody’ (like I did).  No need to thank me.

People Write Some Rubbish When They’re Bored!

It has always amazed me as to why there is no plug hole in our shower. Instead the water carefully trickles into the basin, travels a short distance through an expertly positioned tunnel, then works its way over a few tiles and finally down the drain. It never loses course and it always keeps in a precise line, this is probably because of the natural erosion of the tiles (I learnt that at school but it was for rocks and rivers not bathroom tiles and tap water.) Amazing! (It's not amazing at all is it really?)

Some people may say I have to much time on my hands-
The blue arrows indicate the direction of the water

Lets take a closer look:

Please take note of the expertly chizzled outlet for the
water from the shower cubical

Oh and just to clarify a pigeon hasn’t pooed all over my bathroom, this is the actual design of the tiles that someone once chose from a shop, thought ‘aren’t they lovely’ paid good money for them and subsequently decorated their bathroom with them. No offence if you have chosen similar tiles for your bathroom.

Oh Sit Down, Oh Sit Down, Sit Down Next to Me...

Well used

I would like to thank everyone for all the caring (and some slightly sacastic) emails and messages I have received in regards to my hemorrhoids. I’m sure you’ve all been dying to find out how I got on with my 17p cream?? No? Well I’ll tell you anyway, it worked a treat, I was back to sitting on my derriere pain free within 10 short days. Best 17 pence ever spent I say!

Here's a song to celebrate:

This isn't Even Funny, it's Just Fact!

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They should be quaking in their boots!!

When the little girl who had been kicking, elbowing, staring and generally annoying me for the entire 8.5 hour flight from Brussels to Bombay was sick on me during one of the most bumpiest landings I have ever experienced, I wasn’t fazed, (relieved she had missed my Mulberry bag, but not fazed); It just meant that my return to Mumbai was equally as eventful as my departure to the UK earlier that month. We had a 4.30am flight to Manchester Airport, so it was an early one for us all, Ramesh picked us up at 2.00am on the dot and we made our way to Mumbai Chattrapathi Shivaji International airport. Unsurprisingly (well actually surprisingly to your everyday folk, but not surprising to me because I live in India) we had to join an hour-long queue to enter the airport. The police were checking passports and e-tickets before you were allowed to enter departures. No e-ticket, no passport, no entry! We never usually print off our e-ticket but today we did, halleluiah! The unnecessary queuing had really eaten into my duty free shopping time so we rushed to check in our bags, although there was no queue, again we were kept waiting. Extremely frustrated we marched up to the desk and plonked our bags on the scales, which was to the dismay of the porter who would normally do this manual labour on your behalf, (for a small tip of course). All checked in with an hour to spare we made our way to fill out a stupidly long departure form and to passport control. I showed my passport, ‘Stamp, stamp’ 'Have a pleasant trip Madame' Hoorah!! I felt like I had been released from a 5 month stint in jail!! Off I skipped merrily to buy some cheap booze ready for a celebratory clean watered bubble bath in the 5 star hotel that awaited us. My elated feeling soon disappeared when I noticed Paul wasn’t behind me; I returned to the passport desks to find Paul having a full-blown argument with the immigration officer who refused to let him pass through! ‘Where is your Visa’ asked the gentleman, 'Its there' replied Paul pointing to his 2 year Indian Visa. ‘Where is your signature’ asked the man, ‘There it is’ replied Paul and pointed to his signature. ‘Your picture does not look like you’ the man continued. (It bloody does look like Paul, no one else I know has such perfectly groomed, dark eyebrows) ‘Yes it is!’ yelled Paul! I stepped in ‘I cannot believe you are not letting him leave the country! Don’t let us back in, that’s fine by us, but let us leave for Gods sake!!!’ Paul pushed me to side before I could make a swing for him. ‘Where is your FRRO certificate to prove your Visa is valid’ continued the man. Paul visibly peed off said ‘Its at home, you don’t need it, I travelled abroad last week and I wasn’t asked for it’ (This is true, Paul had travelled the previous week and wasn’t asked for it) ‘You need it, go get it else no travel’ he replied ‘I can’t go back, I live on Marine Drive which is around an hour away, my flight leaves in 40 minutes!’ shouted Paul. ‘Well’ the man replied and made a very slight hand gesture as if to say- MONEY!