Delhi, India

God bless America! Any country that sells over the counter sleeping pills like Unisom should be applauded. So a nine hour flight became approximately two as I zonked my way across the sky – thanking the Lord for red wine, cocktails and pills. Unfortunately Coman was less susceptible to the narcoleptic bliss of alcohol and tranquilizers and ended up watching films, despite sporting the oh-so-fashionable Virgin Atlantic pyjamas and clamping an eye mask to his face. The glamour!

Still groggy, we staggered through the Indian immigration procedures; a salutary introduction to the world's biggest bureaucracy. Whilst sax-ed up Christmas carols in the style of Kenny G were piped through the air-con, hundreds of people snaked along in disorganised chaos trying to breach the borders; no mean feat as a computer breakdown meant that no-one was getting in.

A large American lady was announcing to all and sundry that she had been queuing for three hours. But in ever-enterprising style we found ourselves in the line for diplomatic officials and managed to get stamped within 30 minutes. The poor donut-eater got to the front of her queue only to watch her lackadaisical official disappear for an unscheduled break to howls of dismay from a crowded hall. We hotfooted it to baggage reclaim…

A smooth hook-up with our Trailfinders rep led to us being whisked with minimal fuss to the calm confines of Delhi’s Taj Mahal hotel, where our check-in was invisibly done and we were whisked to our very business-like room. After a couple of hours relaxation we hired ourselves a taxi for the night and ventured out into the hazy evening. First stop was Connaught Place, the centre of New Delhi; a bustling, shambolic shopping district. Starving, we found the United Coffee House, a restaurant popular with locals and tourists alike and snacked on Dum Aloo – potato in a (very) spicy tomato sauce – washed down with lassi and Kingfisher beer.

A wander through the streets led us back to the taxi and a fun ride through the darkened streets to the Hotel Broadway, home of a restaurant named Chor Bizarre, or Thieves Market in local parlance. An idiosyncratic mix of junkyard, antiques shop, car yard (a vintage motor provided the display cabinet for the starters) and restaurant, its mix of Kashmiri and Mughali cuisine meant it was highly recommended. And it lived up to its billing.

Dishes of vegetarian Wazwan and Tandoori came as full Thali meals – various items all mixed upon a plate. Great flavours complemented by a bottle of Indian sauvignon blanc meant we dined in style, but nothing could keep Coman awake. Eschewing the semolina and cardamom dessert that the maitre’d seemed certain we’d like, but lay before us with just a solitary mouthful consumed, we hailed our patient cab-driver and returned to the Taj Mahal hotel.

And as we weaved our way to the lifts and an early night in preparation for tomorrow’s sightseeing extravaganza, who should we bump into? None other than Russell Brand and Katy Perry, done up to the nines and heading out to sample a Tuesday night in New Delhi. How very, very bizarre…