Which I always thought should continue ‘Crewe, Barley McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble, Grub. But perhaps that’s just me.

My jetset lifestyle starts, it seems, in Crewe. At a funeral. My grandmother’s funeral, in fact – no, it’s fine, really, but thanks for your thoughts. She was 93, has had nothing like quality of life for years now, and… well, let’s just say that the family circumstances are complicated. As funerals go it was a modest affair, a handful of family outnumbered by staff from the care home. A florid service with a character of a vicar (just short of the ‘fire and brimstone’ type), and a malfunctioning foot pedal for the curtain.

As is the way of such things, it was a surprisingly pleasant event. I was caught sneaking out of a greasy spoon by Uncle John and Auntie Eileen, long the jokers of the family, and they proceeded to drive me around Crewe ring-road until we achieved escape velocity. Which, with John driving, didn’t take long but did involve plenty of bickering. We worked out later that I have identical memories of sitting in the back of their various cars while they bickered, going back something like 25 years.

Jetset phase 2: London. On the 06:30 tomorrow morning (and what does the ‘0’ stand for?… yes, quite). The plan is that I collect a couple of scraps of paper from Tottenham Court Road, then head to the Indian High Commission and sit for as long as it takes to get a visa. Later in the afternoon I’m then due at a travel clinic for jabs. By then it should be clear whether I’m flying to Delhi on Monday. Assuming we can get a flight.

All entirely barking, of course. Somehow I’d be disappointed if it made sense.

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