It would probably help if I took a chapter or two to introduce you to the Three Amigos to help you better form your mental images of the dramatis personae. That would, however, be a bit boring for me and extremely boring for you. So, suffice it to say that we were all in our mid to late forties at the time of this particular trip and instead offer the following short biopics.

Mick

Mick is the tall (6’ 6”) bespectacled, fair-haired beanpole academic, who, in his own, less than humble opinion, knows everything about everything. He has two left feet, a passion for history and an even greater passion for boring the pants off anyone who shows even the slightest interest in hearing him talk about it. He is also the unluckiest person around. If anything can go amiss, it will go wrong for Mick. If Liz Hurley were to walk into a bar full of dwarves and offer to have wild abandoned sex with any man over 6-foot, Mick would be out of the room having a whizz at the time.

On the more positive side, Mick, despite his gruff exterior is, underneath the persona he presents to the world, one of the kindest, most intelligent, and loyal people I have ever met.

Superficially he is self-centred and doesn’t give a shit for anyone else’s feelings. For us who know him better though, he is the best friend you could ever want. He may take the piss out of you to your face and belittle your problems, but when it comes down to it, Mick will be there for you. We love him to bits.

Picture Mick as a hybrid of John Cleese playing Basil Fawlty crossed with Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory, and you won’t go far wrong.

Ravi

Ravi is our star and the best of us. He is Indian by birth, but moved to the UK when he was very young, so he is English by upbringing, yet softened by a spiritual Brahmin Hindu birthright. Ravi is only about 5’ 9”, but he is wiry, very athletic, and always well-groomed.

For as long as I have known Ravi, his hair has been thinning, yet even now it is still jet black. He swears he doesn’t dye it. But there again he also swears that, like a good Hindu, he never eats beef. Apparently tucking into a Beef Madras on the way home doesn’t count provided you were drunk at the time and don’t remember it the next morning.

Ravi’s most striking feature though is his smile. His front teeth may be on the rabbit side with a gap between the middle two, but it lights up any room. He loves Bhangra, Indian Cooking, golden retriever dogs, and Rum and Coke. Most importantly, Ravi is always, always happy. Whereas Mick’s glass is forever half empty, Ravi’s is overflowing. If he were given a ton of horse manure for Christmas, he would be overjoyed and start digging through it to find the pony concealed within.

However rough he feels after an evening’s drinking, it never puts him off his food. Ravi is always hungry! I sometimes think he must have type 2 diabetes, an overactive thyroid or maybe worms. Possibly he has all three. He certainly fidgets a lot, and his hands are never still. One moment adjusting his Ralph Lauren baseball cap or designer sunglasses, and the next texting on his mobile. Driving with Ravi is like being driven by an epileptic chauffeur on speed.

It is a fact that Ravi always carries at least two mobile phones to ensure that he never misses a call or message. There must be a word for people who are so obsessed with Social Media. If there isn’t then I suggest RRHS – Ravi Restless Hands Syndrome.

Looks-wise, Ravi is somewhere between Ben Kingsley and a taller non-moustachioed Gandhi in an Armani suit. If Ravi is ever to be re-incarnated somewhere along his Wheel of Life, he will come back as a joyous, fun-loving Labrador puppy.

Dave

I am Dave, and as it is my story, I am the good looking, dark-haired, sophisticated, elegantly tall (6’ 0”), albeit slightly overweight but otherwise sporting, well-built one. I am also the most intelligent, with a wicked sense of humour.

If I have any fault at all, it is that I just might, occasionally, exaggerate my personal charms and abilities a tad, and have a tendency to bullshit. I might also enjoy talking about myself whenever I am rat-arsed. So, once a week then but otherwise perfect.

On the other hand, if this were Mick’s story, he would describe me as the fat one with a big nose and a Cockney accent. Overbearing and an egotist to the nth degree of obnoxiousness. Self-opinionated but freakishly lucky in everything I do, especially when it comes to business and money.

Hmmm! I hate to admit it, but I tend to agree with Mick. I am more of a Walter Mitty than a James Bond. Sigh! The truth, however, probably lies somewhere between the two extremes.

The thing that we all have in common is that, like most guys, we are self-delusional, part-time alcoholics, whose wives tolerate us for the sake of the children. Despite our individual faults, we never really annoy each other to the extent of dropping into being argumentative and falling out.

We can be drunk one night, brutally honest and say hurtful things to one another. But the next morning we are never judgemental nor embarrassed, and all is forgiven. Our philosophy is that what happens in India stays in India. At least it has been up until now! The bottom line is that we are friends but more than that, we are best friends, and that is a rare and precious thing.

Anyway, enough of this oxymoronic, self-deprecating, self-aggrandisement, whatever that might mean. If you want to know more about us as individuals, read our biographies in the appendices, or, better still, form your own judgement as you read on. If you don’t like us, get used to it and accept us all for what we are; otherwise, this will be an exceedingly long tale indeed.

Just remember that “There but for the Grace of God go I.” We are what we are, and whatever that is, we are content with it. Can you say the same about yourself?