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    A Foxtrot Through India
    A Foxtrot Through India
    A Foxtrot Through India
    Ebook125 pages3 hours

    A Foxtrot Through India

    By Anthony E Thorogood

    ()

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    About this ebook

    The book opens with Josh and Sam camped out on the beach in Southern India, something is wrong but obviously not Josh's appetitie.
    From the Book: India was hot, very hot, very bloody hot, very, very bloody hot. I was sweating like an ice block on a barbeque. I sizzled in the hot Indian sun. I felt like a doughnut about to pop up out of a vat of boiling oil. To the casual onlooker I would have looked good enough to eat, salted, savoury, succulent and slowly roasting. I lifted a large slice of papaya to my coral white teeth, I'm very proud of my teeth. I sliced through the succulently soft, sweet and dribbling, juicy flesh. I've always fancied myself as a writer hence the purple prose but really I prefer to eat, I don't prefer to eat, I love to eat, I have a passion for eating. My testosterone sees a toasted cheese and bacon sandwich and goes wild with lust and desire, 'rrrrhh look at those bacon and cheese sangas.

    Reviews: 'Foxtrot Through India was magnificent. Extremely original writing which reminded me of DH Lawrence because somehow the feelings came straight off the page as if the words had some kind of independent power or memory.'

    'This is a delightful story of the innocence of youth. Travelling with no responsibilities and with the skewed social views of young optimists who believe everything should be possible...'

    'Josh, the main character, has an eye for the ladies and plenty of charm, but with enough naiveté and self-doubt to remain endearing. The whole thing was quite vivid and filmic, I thought, a bit like a cheerful and colourful globe-trotting kitchen-sink drama. I also really liked the use of musical references to help set the shape of what's going on. Odds on you'll find yourself humming a Bob Marley tune or two...'

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAnthony E Thorogood
    Release dateMar 31, 2017
    ISBN9781370110711
    A Foxtrot Through India
    Author

    Anthony E Thorogood

    I was born in London England in 1953, which makes me a baby boomer I think. Dad ran a market stall in Woolwich’s Beresford Square selling anything and everything. A natural Cockney salesman with all the patter that goes with it but when he was told to give it up or die from the cold, we packed up shop and migrated to Australia.In my youth I always enjoyed my old Dad’s tales of his adventures in the navy in WWII and of his childhood hop picking in Kent, I got my love of storytelling from my Dad. I wrote a book on cider in 2008 after being awarded a Churchill Fellowship to travel around the world and drink and research cider, the cider book sold out. I followed the success of my cider book by writing a series of madcap comic extravaganzas: Bigfoot Littlefoot & West. I followed the Bigfoot books with my Jack Hamma action adventure series starting with Shakespeare on the Roof. Then in 2015 I wrote three romantic travel adventures starting with Sex Sardines and Sauerkraut.This is the bit where I state that I am happily living the good life on our 5 acre property, on the beautiful island of Tasmania, spending my time walking, cycling, planting trees, growing vegetables and writing the odd book, very odd some people say.

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      Book preview

      A Foxtrot Through India - Anthony E Thorogood

      A Foxtrot Through India

      A Romantic Travel Adventure

      by Anthony E Thorogood

      Also in this series:

      Sex Sardines & Sauerkraut

      The Curly Wurley Sex Machine

      Love in the Land of Milk and Honey

      ***

      Copyright Anthony E Thorogood 2011

      Published at Smashwords

      ***

      Thank you for downloading my ebook. Please note that this book took a lot of time and trouble to create and is subject to copyright restrictions and must not be redistributed.

      ***

      A Foxtrot Through India

      Contents:

      One

      Lunch Southern India

      A Room with a View

      Leaving

      Ooty

      London

      Mudumalai

      Chocolate Pudding Omelette Chai

      A Train Trip

      Goa

      mmmmmhr

      Kathmandu

      Amsterdam

      Pokhara

      Tranquillity Lodge

      A Bus to Catch

      Holiday Snaps

      Two

      Stuart Highway Australia One Year Later

      The Beach York Peninsula

      A Town House Adelaide

      The Guangzhou Peoples Hotel China

      Café USA Teahouse

      Three

      Swanage England Ten Years Later

      One the Beach

      Simply Irresistible

      The Beautiful Unexpected

      Banger and Mash

      True Love

      Anthony E Thorogood

      Who the Hell am I

      What the Hell do I Write

      Click here to read my blog

      Click here to find me on Facebook

      One

      Lunch Southern India

      India was hot, very hot, very bloody hot, very, very bloody hot. I was sweating like an ice block on a barbeque. I sizzled in the hot Indian sun. I felt like a doughnut about to pop up out of a vat of boiling oil. To the casual onlooker I would have looked good enough to eat, salted, savoury, succulent and slowly roasting. I lifted a large slice of papaya to my coral white teeth, I'm very proud of my teeth. I sliced through the succulently soft, sweet and dribbling, juicy flesh. I've always fancied myself as a writer hence the purple prose but really I prefer to eat, I don't prefer to eat, I love to eat, I have a passion for eating. My testosterone sees a toasted cheese and bacon sandwich and goes wild with lust and desire, 'rrrrhh look at those bacon and cheese sangas.'

      'Four chapattis with honey and lemon,' I ordered wanting something to fill the gap while I perused the menu. Sam, Sam is a girl by the way, was asleep in our little beach side bungalow. Who is Sam? You will meet her soon enough and believe me Samantha is a bit of a handful, so soon enough is very much soon enough. My eyes scampered up and down the columns of food, chasing after my fingers as they scurried hither thither across the fried rice and curried meat vegetable concoctions, desserts, drinks and fried side dishes. To the sound of Bob Marley singing I wanna love you every day and every night, the food walla arrived. He was a young boy, thick black hair, very dark skin and eyes that were full of the sparkle of life, he wore a wrap around type thing, a white dress shirt and plastic sandals. I began to order, 'Egg fried rice, onion pokora, vegetable curry, fish, you have tuna?'

      'No tuna, tide no good, no tuna in nets,' that is literally what he said but I can't remember the way he spoke, I can only remember his brilliant smile and that I called him Bombay Madras and that made him laugh.

      'Grilled garlic chicken?' I asked.

      'Yes.'

      'Yes?'

      'Yes.'

      'I'll have half of one, tomato and onion salad, four more chapattis and banana fritters twice to finish off,' I said and Bombay Madras, like all Indian waiters, made a valiant attempt to memorise my order then repeated it for confirmation.

      'Egg fried rice one.'

      'Yes.'

      'Onion pokora one.'

      'Two.'

      'Onion pokora two.'

      'Yes.'

      'Garlic chicken half.'

      'Yes.'

      'Tomato and onion salad.'

      'Yes.'

      'Four chapattis, banana fritters two.'

      'Yes,' I said and just for confirmation Bombay Madras repeated it all once more.

      Another song by Bob Marley was playing, No woman no cry, it reminded me of the first time I met Sam. I'd been travelling for several years I had long hair, a beard, a moustache and I used to wear this really colourful jacket, I looked like a hippy. I'd gone to London to be a writer! I'd gone to a boarding house in Clapham to inquire about a room.

      'If you've come about the room it's twenty five pound a week, seventy pound bond, you have the use of the kitchen, bathroom and lounge and if you'd like to see the room I'll take you up.'

      I took it. The room was at the top of the stairs, it was an attic room and across the landing was another just like it. No woman no cry would blare from that room over and over. One day I was out on the landing and saw, struggling up the stairs, a shortish girl with shoulder length, curly hair. She wore pink slippers, thick black trousers, an enormous white jumper and an old torn coat. Behind her she laboriously pulled a shopping trolley up each step. On top of the trolley was an old army pack stuffed full to overflowing, strapped to that was a plastic bin bag full of things and on top of that was tied a blanket and tied to that was a colourful shoulder bag. She looked up and smiled.

      I picked up another slice of papaya and slid my teeth into it, like a vampire extracting blood. Not four but six chapattis arrived and four minutes later honey and five minutes after that lemon. I felt good basking in the sun as I rolled up the chapattis, dipped them into the honey and lemon and sucked them into my mouth. Globules of honey gently oozed over my chin and dripped onto my clothes, creating little splotches of sunshine over my shirt.

      I never thought it would happen with me and this girl from Clapham, it was a line from a song, and I sang it over and over in my mind like a record that was stuck. If you think those lines through quite fast you will nearly get both the rhythm and the tune. I was still singing away inside my head, a sea breeze had sprung up, I suppose I was almost dozing listening to the waves crashing, to the rhythm of a girl from Clapham, when the egg fried rice, onion pokora, garlic chicken, tomato and onion salad, chapattis and banana fritters all arrived at once in no particular order. I consumed the lot in one devastating fit of energy. I shot rice out between my teeth like a machine gun, as I minced up my food and swallowed. For me this was paradise, not the swaying palm trees, not the crashing waves, not the log canoes, not the sun, not the beautiful blue sea, but the cuisine. Kovalum beach was not too bad a place I thought, as I sat back with my fingers intertwined on my stomach and wondered what I'd have for tea.

      ***

      A Room with a View

      Echo beach far away in time, Echo beach far away in time, Sam started to sing, I'd never heard the song before. When we got to Kovalum beach a dark haired man with a moustache, looking like a pirate wanted to show us a nice clean place for twenty five rupees. A bald little boy was dragging us off to a nice clean room for ten rupees, a woman was shouting at the moustached pirate and trying to beckon us up to a place that was very clean and very nice. A small boy had asked us politely where we had come from, I said Bombay then Madras and he packed up laughing.

      'Bombay Madras,' he shouted and laughed.

      'What's so funny?' I said.

      'Bombay Madras,' he said and laughed some more. When he'd finished laughing he said, 'You want nice room, cheap?'

      'Yes.'

      'Bombay Madras, Bombay Madras,' he laughed.

      The room was nice, with a beautiful view and Sam collapsed, I was starving.

      When I went back to our room Sam was still lying face down on the bed with tears

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