behind pagodas in durbar squares
half way up a semi-himalalya ascending or descending
one hotel room after another
down the disastered lumpbumpy bashcrangy arterial road across to eastern Nepal
in hill-station parks high above the impenetrable everest-concealing cloud
across the calcutta maidan and onto the ferry cross the hoogly
by gate 23 or so of one or more airport
round the disused tennis court
in the gentle lump-floored glade over the heath with a directorial priscilla sitting on a tree-stump
in the artfully manicured english back garden
...
blimey, were we lucky with the plane and the prevailing glassy ash cloud
3 hours later and we'd've had to land somehwre else in Europe
and a half a day later and ow, ouch, still stuck there, in India
with a run-out visa
and a 1000 quid on flights who knows when...
who knows?
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