Signing off

So my first full tour watching the team has ended in an Australian loss. Not since the late 1980s, when I first thought of this type of overseas adventure, has an Australian side been beaten so badly. But the result didn’t ruin the trip, which has been fabulous and fun, tiring and, occasionally, stomach wrenching.

To prepare for home and clear off the past five weeks, another visit to the hairdresser for a cut and a shave was required this week. The Indian sledging has been relentless all tour – fair play to everybody, especially DP – and it didn’t stop in the salon. “It’s grey,” the stylist said curtly, “colour?” I’ve spotted the white hairs poking through over the past month, but didn’t realise it was that obvious, nor that my only option was to turn to dye. It has been a long trip!

The hairdresser wasn’t convinced by my wish to look distinguished - or stressed - and asked twice more before checking that my beard didn’t also need a change of hue. I hadn’t even spotted those grey bristles! Now clean and relatively hairless, it’s time to get ready to depart.

I don’t think anything summed up India better than the view out my hotel window in Delhi. From there I could see city slums, hundreds of dodging rickshaws, fading buildings and hundreds of happy and busy people, walking through markets, lining up at stalls, or sitting and watching the day go by. As I scanned further away there was a magical mosque in the distance, with its bulbs and minarets pushing to the sky. It was breathtaking and uplifting.

Some days you see the beauty of India, and it moves you. Some days you don’t, and it disturbs you. I look forward to experiencing more of those sensations next time.