Belly dancers, champagne and a spurned godfather

Tristan Rosenfeldt, the self-proclaimed captain elect, reports on the first reunion of the India Tour. For full photo coverage, click here

Imodium-clad and blazer-wearing India tourists congregated at Tom and Osha’s house for the first reunion on Saturday. A large majority of the tour party came along and were greeted by a bright and beautiful English spring evening. Nibbles and drinks got the night off to a perfect start, Millie briefly joining us and promptly asking for ‘Eddie’ while Henry’s jaw dropped in the background.

The hosts then pulled a masterstroke by introducing miniature tomato soups for the group, memories of our friend on the Chandigarh train came flooding back. Fines duly followed and were fairly tame in all honesty, although Gatesy fully deserved his fine for calling Anna ‘Osha’ and Eds started to rack up a huge amount due to his lack of alcohol consumption the day prior to the marathon, ‘we want cramp’ being chanted by the many that witnessed Eds’ collapse in Mumbai (Tour ‘Legends’ – remember that? Oh no, of course not!) .

The real entertainment then began – Jole Johnson-lookalike bringing a bit of India to London, with a course in belly dancing. Particularly keen on learning the moves were Mark Cope, Waffer and of course in a female presence, man of the tour, Mike Payne. England’s thrilling climax to their game against the West Indies was watched, (Rumours that Nathan Ross was taking notes on how to finish a game properly are yet to be confirmed) while Tom went all Jamie Oliver on us and cooked some of the best steaks in South West London.

The tour party moved on to the Opal club, a 20 second walk or a £4 taxi journey if you take the skipper’s directions. The blazers were out in full force, as well as Gatesy’s credit card, it was like a night out with George Best 40 years ago, champagne was flowing (Anna in particular loving the ‘Bling Bling/Puff Daddy’ style of ‘why use a glass when you can drink out the bottle’), behaviour was suitably obnoxious and Henry eyeing up every female, regardless of age or beauty in the club. The party went on late into the night, most crawling out the club around the 4am mark, Rick Johnson stumbling around Gloucester Road hunting for kebab. In Damien’s case, the party went on until 8pm on the Sunday, plonking himself on Tom and Osha’s sofa like the India bug Martin’s stomach just can’t quite get rid of.