Sitting in a cafe this morning with one of the two American women I met on the flight from Bangkok I got chatting to an Australian woman here with her mother, who was from Darlington and still has an English accent though I guess she’s been in Australia for some time. The daughter is a yoga teacher and she offered to give us a yoga lesson this afternoon, but the American women have gone now and I’m wondering whether to go along on me own. I told her I’d never done yoga before and so was worried about the embarrassment, but she said she’d make it gentle so maybe I’ll give it a try. This is the yoga capital of the world so I feel like I should.

I’ve moved into the room the American women vacated, which is much nicer than the one I moved out of. I now have not jsut a window but a balcony as well, overlooking the footbridge over the Ganges, which I’m nervous of walking across. Everything I’ve bought in India has fallen to bits – a pair of trousers and a bag – so not too confident about the bridge.

It’s now a quarter to five. I’m going to change into something more yogalike and go down to the bridge to meet the teacher. Maybe she won’t show. At least then I’ll be able to say that I made the effort to do yoga but it just wasn’t meant to be.