Not frightened, just apprehensive.

It can all feel rather foreign

Realistically, I have no reason to be nervous.

I suppose it’s my age, and all that "not as young as I used to be" stuff.

In my ebullient and over-confident youth I would bulldoze my way through life, totally unaware of the damage I might do to the emotions of others – be that my parents, friends or complete strangers.

As a teenager, I was totally self-centred, and totally unaware that I was totally self-centred.

I was just being myself, as I always had been. This probably means that I was a pretty irritating and decidedly un-grown-up child but, fortunately, none of you are old enough to have known me in that era. And if, by some freak of fortune, you did, then you would be very unlikely to be entertaining yourself by reading the blog of the obnoxious and insensitive Bobby Harvey that you knew all those years ago!

The advantage of being that aloof and selfish youth, was that absolutely nothing was impossible. That was why the early 60s were the Golden Age of Voluntary Service Overseas. Years before the Gap Year was invented, hundreds of young Brits went to work for a year in Commonwealth countries, teaching, dispensing in clinics, organising youth activities, or in the case of one of my fellow-volunteers, running a camp on the Rwandan border for 10,000 refugees of the civil war. 

We had few relevant qualifications, negligible related experience, but we carried the potent mix of unbridled enthusiasm and eternal optimism, which erupted later in the social explosion of the Sixties.

Aged 18 in Nairobi, attempting to coach aspiring pugilists

 At one time I was “coaching boxing” despite having never worn boxing gloves, nor even got into any real scraps at school. I was more of a sensitive soul, which is why I was more comfortable later that year, in my task of working with the first African youth drama group in the Nairobi townships.

Later in life, this universal and comfortable fearlessness corrodes with the onset of the Third Age. 

I now notice the reduction in my peripheral vision when I cross the road; I hesitate with a flash of fear at the top of a fast-moving escalator on the London Underground; in fact, any kind of travel has become a challenge to a greater or lesser extent. And yet just about every contemporary friend in Lincoln comes out with the daunting phrase: “You’re very brave, setting off to India!”

I’d like to think there’s nothing particularly brave about getting on public transport. Thanks to the imperial heritage of the English language, my travels are, for the main part, not even in a foreign language. When I tell acquaintances that I've not bothered with injections, they think me foolhardy. 

Ouch! - I just don't trust jabs.

The Boots "Guidance for Travellers" lists South India as a Low Risk Area. However, one  of the private travel clinics is more enterprising and perhaps sees an opportunity. One medical company suggest that I should invest in £450 worth of jabs to cover Diphtheria , Tetanus , Polio , Hepatitis A , Hepatitis B, Typhoid Fever, Rabies , Cholera , Japanese Encephalitis and Tuberculosis.

On balance, and after careful evaluation of my bank balance, I have decided to make careful use of a mosquito net, and leave it at that.

I have no worries about being in India, no concerns about what I shall eat or drink nor fears of thugs, floods or political uprisings. What is far more worrying is whether the East Coast Mainline will have leaves on the line, or whether Network Rail will have signalling failures at Peterborough. 

I shall be worrying about whether I have packed both what is essential and what is useful, and I shall panic about manipulating my luggage on the Underground and getting an acceptably comfortable seat on the Airbus A380.

A380 -  double-decker with 800 seats

It’s a double-decker, with 800 passengers.    

Oh, now I’m panicking.  How does something that big get off the ground?

I shall find out on Thursday.