Greetings and salutations my ravishing readers!

I am honoured and thrilled to be the travel correspondent for the global phenomenon that is emmaheaven.com. My name is Lady Perdita Fitzwilliam Tudor-Croft, Perdy to friends, Ditsy D to family and Dirty Dita to my unsavoury exes, but you can all call me Lady P.

My darling ravishing readers, one is currently confined to the sick bay with my ever dutiful and loyal maid Maria, who tends to my every need, and supplemented with copious amounts of maternal love and concern from Mummy…Daddy on the other hands keeps bellowing bloody women can’t cope with a bloody thing…always bloody overreacting to bloody everything AND making a big bloody song and dance. Blah, blah, bloody blah. Oh do put a sock in it Daddy-O!!

You may be wondering what on earth has happened to little ol’ moi…well my fabulous friends, one picked up a rather undesirable and unwelcome souvenir from one’s latest travels - a particularly bad case of Delhi belly; from this info alone, I think you can correctly deduce that one has been visiting India, sampling all that it has to offer. And then some…

Now for those of you who think like Daddy dearest that this is ‘just’ a case of an upset tummy, let me tell you that its symptoms are no walk in the park. Quite frankly, this particular episode has left me, to paraphrase the naughty but ever so hilarious comedian Micky Flanagan, ’a costume of a woman’.

Please excuse the following scatalogical summary of symptoms pertaining to this ‘interruption to normal service’ - there was THE most abrupt onset of urgency to sprint to the loo for a ‘number two’, accompanied by acute abdominal cramps, nausea, vomiting and fever. What a sight and delight to behold! All I can say is, thank goodness one has ready access to an en suite…

When one Googled one’s symptoms - I truly thought at one point that I was about to emulate Sigourney Weaver in Alien - one was mightily relieved to learn that the condition wasn’t serious. ‘Just unpleasant’. Oh REALLY? One is now what can only be politely described as ‘saddle sore’, whereas my tummy is still noisily gurgling away like the decrepit Victorian plumbing system at dear old Granny’s bolthole in the Highlands - and that’s not a euphemism I hasten to add…then again, the old girl has had an extraordinary spring in her step of late, which bizarrely coincided with her developing a sudden limp and a grin of Cheshire cat proportions. I’ll ask her swarthy woodsman to keep an eye on her next time I’m in the area, staking out Balmoral, hoping to bag oneself a royal - even a minor royal from one of the ‘lesser’ European houses will do at this stage…

Meanwhile, one’s lack of energy and general feebleness, means that it will take a good few weeks before one can socialise and get ‘back out there’ without the fear of putting off any gentleman should he want to get up close and personal…

I guess this will teach me for being so lax and cavalier about insisting on ice with my G&T on the return flight home. Up until that point, my trip had been entirely uneventful in the ‘digestion department’. It really says something when one’s not even safe in business class these days…

Anyway, I digress…

Back to India and one’s pilgrimage to the Taj Mahal. One of the seven wonders of the world! The Taj Mahal is a white marble palace built by the Mughal emperor - Shah Jahan - in memory of his third wife, Mumtaz Mahal. The Taj Mahal exists as the eternal monument of a husband's love.

Oh how impossibly romantic. It is also the place where one’s heroine, Diana, Princess of Wales, was photographed on a bench. Alone. After being abandoned by Prince Charles who’d buggered off to some boring business meeting IIRC.

It’s no wonder the marriage collapsed, however, speaking as someone who has had a lot of experience with being betrayed, one has to say Diana played an absolute blinder with that photo op, completely blowing her husband out of the water. It had the desired effect of everyone feeling sorry for her and angry at him for leaving her on her own to visit a love memorial, just as her world was about to implode.

One can only congratulate and marvel at her bravery and guile, a true role model for scorned women all the world over; hence it would be a privilege and an honour to sit on that famous bench to recreate that iconic photo.

So it was touch down in Delhi which was as busy and chaotic as I fondly remembered, but once rested in a glorious hotel naturally, one was ready to explore the delights that Delhi had to offer. The gals at EH HQ had knocked the hotel location right out of the park. Tantalisingly close to Connaught Circus - a shopaholic’s paradise - yet secluded enough to provide peace, privacy and tranquility to retreat from the city’s hustle and bustle, and heat and dust. One can conveniently return to freshen up, rest and rehydrate with some salted lassi, before venturing back out again into the general melee in no time at all - perfect!

Previous visits to this shoppers’ paradise have yielded a fabulous array of pashminas, plus an embarrassment of riches of made-to-measure suede jackets! They really shouldn’t have so much choice and skillful artisans and tailors! How can a gal possibly look the other way and not be tempted by such sensory and sensual sartorial delights! You can only imagine Daddy’s response to the excess baggage charges and the final credit card bill! Yikes…

Along the Georgian building lined streets, if one squinted a tad too long, one could imagine one was in a scene from Bridgerton, however, the smorgasbord of Indian spice boxes, embroidered handbags, Madhubani paintings, silver handicraft, Meenakari & Kundan jewellery, books and an abundance of silk sarees, soon brought one back to the present day and one’s senses - in every respect! One was in shopping heaven, and savoured being bedecked with fragrant garlands of frangipani and jasmine. Utterly intoxicating, and nary a champagne bottle in sight!

With shopping avenues and credit cards exhausted, one returned to the hotel to freshen up, as I was heading out that evening to meet several friends from the diplomatic community, some of whom had gone on to retire there, and can only be described as hardened expats. Oh how I wish I had remembered their ‘stamina’ for carousing, as it was to come back and haunt me in so many ways…

The evening started off sedately enough - some G&Ts on the terrace, followed by a celebratory glass or two of champagne to celebrate Melanie’s promotion and next overseas assignment as a deputy ambassador, and old friends reuniting after so many years. We weren’t entirely reckless I’ll have you know, as one of the chaps had the foresight to book us in for dinner at the infamous Bukhara restaurant, which boasts one of THE best - and biggest (table-sized) - naan breads, which are a must-see/must-taste experience. Even little ol’ carb-dodging moi had a nibble or two of the delicious buttery bread, such is its appeal!

As is their way, my bon viveur pals work hard and play even harder. Silly Dita trying to keep up with these party animals, honed on decades of diplomatic receptions representing their countries! I headed back to my hotel in the wee small hours, where the receptionist kindly reconfirmed my 6am wake up alarm call. Why so early? I hear you ask. Well my darlings, one would be travelling to Agra - by road no less - to the home of the Taj Mahal. And in what would be the quite prophetic words of Chris Rea, this would turn out to be the road to hell! With apologies and no disrespect intended to any of my Indian friends, but please read on, and all will be revealed.

My diplomatic chums, knowing my penchant for travel and adventure, had insisted I journey to Agra by road, so that I could have the FULL experience of India, which also included travelling in the infamous Austin Ambassador car. It’s prized for its super springy rear suspension (say nothing), and back seats offering a perfect vantage point to enjoy the glorious countryside, unlike the more ghastly, modern-day, low-slung models folk seem to prefer.

I woke with relative ease at 6am, and thankfully had had the foresight to prepare a small travel bag for the road trip, and the hotel had kindly prepared me a tiffin box so that I wouldn’t have to rely on street food en route.

My driver was a cheery chap, with excellent English and couldn’t wait for us to hit the road. The drive out of Delhi was straightforward enough, even if we did occasionally get stuck in an elephant or camel traffic jam! My eyes were agog at the many forms of transport - animal and mechanical - and I thought how much Daddy would approve of the animal transport, especially with fuel prices being what they are…Tho quite how a camel would adapt to the narrow lanes of the Home Counties, we’ll never know…

Oh did I not tell you - my driver said that there would be just 2 comfort breaks en route, as the journey could take several hours, and we didn’t have time to dawdle. Talk about best laid plans and all that…

I think we were into about the second hour of the journey, when I started to feel a little poorly. I don’t know whether it was my jetlag, the late night, the mix of drinks, the heat, the euphoria, the winding bumpy roads, the bouncy suspension of the car, the richer food, or a mix of any of those things…

Suffice to say my darlings, it was a heady recipe for chunders-ville! I yelped for the driver to stop the car and pull over. I barely made it out of the car, before I found myself ankle-deep in a ditch, being violently ill, whilst looking at the decomposing remains of some poor animal (species unknown), which was abuzz with flies, looking like there was more than enough for the vultures to come back to for a second helping. As you can imagine, such a sight and smell did wonders for my equilibrium. Not…

The journey continued like this, with a stop/start of at least 3 more ‘comfort breaks’, and we eventually arrived at Agra, a bedraggled dehydrated heap. I know we were supposed to be going to the Taj Mahal, but I insisted upon being taken to a hotel first, to any hotel, WITH air conditioning, so I could compose myself and rehydrate. After all, one had a photo to take, and one never knows who one will bump into at a monument like that.

Composure and hydration levels semi-restored, we headed to the Taj. Oh my dear darlings - to add insult to injury, when one finally rocked up to the Taj, I was told that I would need to walk the last 500 metres as no cars or buses are allowed any closer than that. I mean how very dare they. Did they not know the monumental journey one had taken to get there? Could they not see I was as weak as a newborn kitten?

I had been led to believe by my pals in Delhi, that this Memsahib would be taken by porters in a sedan chair, and gently deposited in the grounds of the Taj. I think someone has been pulling my leg and having a HUGE laugh at my expense! Although I guess I should have seen this day coming, as I always was the prankster of the group, and one of them has only just been taken off the London clubs blacklist after a particularly unseemly incident with me at the fountains in Trafalgar Square! It might not have made the newspapers, but London’s clubland could talk of nothing else for months!

Anyway, I digress…

Back to the Taj, and even though one was feeling absolutely rotten, I would use that to my advantage when posing on the famous Princess Diana bench affectionately known as Lady Di’s Chair. With luck my ginger prince would see this picture and realise he had chosen the wrong wife and rectify the situation pronto…well a gal can dream can’t she?

All these thoughts quickly evaporated as one set eyes on the magnificent palace. It was simply glorious and one had goosebumps at the mere thought of a man loving someone so much that, in his grief, he erected a monument to show the rest of the world just how much in love he was. Oh to be that loved and to have a man that was so good with his imagination as well as his hands!

One did purchase an information booklet with all the facts pertaining to this wonderful palace but unfortunately after posing endlessly for THAT iconic Diana pose, one was simply physically and mentally exhausted and badly in need of more rehydrating, but this time with a stiff brandy to soothe away any lingering memories of the diabolical roadtrip - it is probably ‘up there’ with some of the other demeaning and humiliating things one has endured, not least the the embarrassing family Christmas party...

Thankfully Maria had packed a well stocked first aid kit that cleverly fitted into one’s Birkin, so one was prepared for almost every eventuality on the road to hell and even though one’s body did things that one thought were humanly impossible, as you know I am a Lady and one never discusses personal mishaps that could potentially embarrass one’s reputation! Although my chum Charles back in Delhi rather colourfully described his bout of dysentery as on a par with ‘bleeding the contents of your radiators’. He always was rather florid and graphic with his prose…

Anyway, I digress…

Back to ‘THE’ photo which had to be picture perfect. One was determined to nail that but in a different way and obviously one is a total professional, the show must go on, etc etc! Instead of people seeing a lonely, hurt woman on a bench, one wanted to portray a hot, available bombshell of a woman ready to be swept off her feet.

I’m not ashamed to say that that was mission accomplished; and if anyone wants any information on the Taj Mahal, then please do contact EH HQ who will forward the message on and I promise faithfully that Maria will get back to you with a suitable link to my personal Taj Mahal information site, plus a signed copy of moi on the bench. Mwah…

One thing this trip has taught me is that one is an eternal optimist when it comes to falling in love and I really do believe that somewhere my prince will come and one will not rest until there is a substantial rock on a certain finger so big that it could sink the Titanic. Disney does not have carte blanche or the monopoly on living happily ever after!

Toodle pip,

xx

**Note to Team Heaven**

Darling girls - the former Maharajah’s palace hotel you booked me into for the next stage of my road trip, from Agra to Jaipur, via Fatehpur Sikhri, was an absolute delight. Four poster bed, cool marble floors, crisp bed linen, attentive room service, head massage, the works - it was the perfect antidote to a VERY eventful day. I can’t wait to go back and explore some more. Hint hint…