Go Go Goa! It’s only been eleven days, but already I am thinking this might be the ideal place to retire. By chance we chose the most perfect location, a studio apartment in one of several lovely coloured houses within a compound and just a short walk to the village.

The gardens are lush and watered and immaculate, and the compound has its own private access to Benaulim beach. I daresay there may be prettier or more famous Goan beaches, but this one is long, clean and with fine, white sand.

Along the beach are very ‘Hitler-like’ life-guards who parade about with their whistles.

I felt a little as though I was back at school in the gym. But, there is good reason for their efficiency as there is  a strong rip tide and many people have lost their lives due to romantic swims when full of beer.

Yesterday we ate lunch in a beach shack and suddenly I saw a dolphin, just a few metres from the shore, rolling and swimming in the waves, just so close to swimmers.  As John and I looked about to share our glee, all the other people were absorbed with their mobile phones.

I can see us living here, getting old, with our floppy hats, dark tanned skins, and happy faces from a life of walking along palm fringed shores.

So far so good, but if I did live here forever I would insist on a Zanussi washing machine, as at the moment I am in my sarong, squatting on the bathroom floor amidst the suds. To be honest it is quite therapeutic and I take a certain pride in ‘my whites’! Today is HOLI day where people love to splash powdered paint around. I have seen several folk with smeared cerise and purples all over their cheeks, but haven’t seen anyone wielding the colours as yet.

Last night was the full moon, and we sat in our favourite little food shack on the beach, watching the sun set and drinking Honeybee brandy and eating the most delicious vegetable curries.

Later we walked back by the light of the silvery moon, with the hushed rush of the waves on the sand. I mean, why not live here forever?

There is a very discreet place on the compound where we throw our rubbish in proper recycling bins. (Goa is so clean compared to other parts of India; they even have beach cleaning wallahs.)

One afternoon when all was quiet we went along and there on top of one bin was a mongoose! I don’t know who got the biggest shock, him or us! The story of Rikki Tikki Tavie came rushing back, and so did the haunting picture of Nag, the black cobra!

John had a crisis in the bathroom the other day, he slipped on the wet tiles and fell, and when he came out, quite sore and sorry for himself, he complained that I hadn’t come running to help (in my usual nursing, caring way). I had been quietly sitting reading my book on the veranda. I did ask what he called out when he fell: the answer was ‘F u u u u u u ck’. Quite so. Of course I didn’t go running.

We went on an excursion yesterday with Mr Alex in his tuk-tuk to Cavelossim where we went on a trip on Betty’s Boats.

It was fabulous, serene and beautiful. We saw dolphins in the Arabian Sea, then we went up the river through the mangroves and John was in bird heaven.

Brahminy kites with their white tummies and reddish backs swirled about and dived and sat like picture postcards on palm trees or electric cables. Kingfishers darted about, and fruit bats hung like musical crotchets from tree branches.

We had lunch of kingfish and fried prawns.

It was all just so idyllic.

The only black fly in the ointment were a few of our fellow ‘trippers’. The four bores from London droned on and on all day about the countries they had visited, problems they had solved, fish they had eaten. Sadly our lovely little boatman kept filling up their glasses with Kingfisher beer, and rum and brandy, and they droned louder and longer. Aaargh! I tried to speak to my neighbour lady who had such OLD skin, hanging in wrinkled folds, but she ignored all my friendly attempts. I assumed she and her husband (with large piano keys teeth) were deaf. So, at the end of the boat trip, I stood up like a most put out Maggie Smith and said loudly, ‘Well, let’s leave these rude, unfriendly people,’ and suddenly old deaf ears turns and says, ‘Hope you enjoy the rest of your holiday.’ I barely acknowledged her.

As we left, we saw so many drunks being escorted off the boat. They looked dreadful with their big fat bellies and must have been feeling very unwell, full of beer in the baking sun. Lucky they didn’t have heart attacks. The ‘motor-mouth’ quartet just carried on talking without pausing for breath as they walked back to their taxi. They had been so busy talking about Cuba and Peru that they had missed the kingfishers and the sea eagles.

In the big cities of India you don’t know the beggars or hawkers’ names, but in small villages, suddenly we are on first names with quite a few. I went cooking with Shiva.

He is one of these people blessed with incredible memories. He can tell you your post code, no matter where you live, and speak in a multitude of languages. He chatted to me about Nicola Sturgeon and Scottish Independence, then the colonial days of Malaya and India. He chats with the familiarity of slang, and his cooking chatter was spattered with ditties like, ‘put a little bit of fire on the dance floor’ and ‘keep moving, keep moving!’ That was instead of ‘increase the heat!’ I just wish I had a half his memory! He took me and a German couple through the palms and small farm allotments to his very small house, which had a tree growing through his roof.

The kitchen was tiny, but everything had its place. For 600 rupees, we learnt how to make masala curry, dahls, baajies (not the same as onion baajies), and later he served it all up ‘thali’ style to us under the trees with the old bikes and chickens, and his large family ate the rest inside! The German man was very kind, and whilst Shiva was inside he surreptitiously produced a water bottle full of proper Austrian brandy (not Honeybee) and urged me to have a sip. I did – and shuddered, rather like the girl I once was behind the bike sheds at school long ago, sipping some forbidden alcohol spirited away by a day girl! Anyway the German couple assured me it would prevent any bugs doing mischief in our tummies! Then he urged me to have another sip. I declined. Any more and I might have launched into my repertoire of ‘The Sound of Music’.

The other new ‘friend’ is Tina. A sarong clad beach menace who plagues us with offers of jewellery and finery. She is quite sweet though, and has a pretty green sari, so I have promised her that she can give me a manicure and pedicure. We shall see.

And this morning we had the best coffee in India in the German Café.

It is always crowded, and seats are more sought after than those at Covent Garden. We espied two and squeezed in, and started reading the India Times, and inevitably we got talking to our neighbour. He was a very cool dude, an elderly Indian man with such a relaxed view of life. He advocated the use of weed while we are in India, so good to expand the mind and brilliant for dementia. (I don’t have that, well, maybe a few senior moments????). He was so cool and told us about opium and such like. We told him about our nasty vodka experience. We thought the famous Smirnoff (made in India) might be as delicious as the Honeybee, but one taste and I could see a change in John. I tasted it, and it was vile, strong and tasted of toxic chemicals. Our friend said that as there was such a demand for alcohol, the producers don’t bother to distil it long enough or store the produce. Result was we poured the lot down the sink. Now where is this weed? HA HA HA! Our learned friend saw John reading the paper, and shook his head. He only reads the paper once a week. ‘SOS SOS,’ he explained. I looked at him, and he smiled: ‘Save Our souls from the Same Old Shit!’

We are considering going to Hampi, about 350 kms from here, our friend highly recommended we go. It is an ancient 14^th C ruin of temples and a city that was once a capital of this part of the world. It is surrounded by iron mines and he said you get a weird sensation of magnetic pull if you stand on a particular hill. He really is into mind bending experiences. We discussed the sex problems that are plaguing Delhi at the moment, and he said that was actually his field of work. There are 300 million young people aged between fifteen and twenty five and 10% are criminally minded. Parents haven’t got a hope, they work ten hours a day, so boys grow up in a gang culture. Sex and repression get out of control. It is a huge problem, especially as women are seen as second class citizens.

Driving around the country roads we are quite delighted by the deep colours Goans like to paint their houses. No wishy-washy magnolia for them – no no!  They like magenta, bright orange and purple to brighten up the neighbourhood. Mr Alex has a pink creation himself.

As we huddle in the back of his tiny tuk-tuk, we cower away from the busses that roar around corners, narrowly missing cyclists and pedestrians with their large big bully-boy ploys. As they approach at breakneck speed I just get the chance to note the large writing on the front, ‘Mother Mary Bless our Way’ and on the back is ‘India is Great’ and of course, ‘Blow Horn’.

This morning we are going back to Ocean Spa in Colva where we both had a haircut for £6, and are splashing out for two massages. Life is good!  I actually do have reservations about living here for too long, I could not cope with the lousy internet, the continual power cuts and the distance to proper shops. Maybe I am not laid back enough yet. I shall keep that bright pink paint in storage for a while.

I read a review in the paper for the local drama group’s latest production called ‘Boiled Beans on Toast’ in the capital Panaji. Twenty characters from different strata of society are shown in sixteen different locations in a city in India. From swanky apartments to the slums, the story is told with tongue in cheek humour and honesty and ‘the minute long silences keep the audience on the edge of their seats’(!). ‘Impeccable acting just adds another cherry to the cake, and the viewer takes home a feeling that despite the complicated lives of the city’s inhabitants, despite the different shades of grey, a rainbow keeps the metaphorical ship afloat’. A metaphor for mother India herself perhaps?

And next weekend Nick and Katharine, his girlfriend, arrive for two weeks. I am looking forward to that, and I think we are all going to Hampi together. Exciting times!

And finally I have to add the best photo of all. John has been enthralled with the antic of the crows, always pausing for a quick rest in their busy lives. Any stop off will do,

but look at this! Perfection.