...the land of taking simple pleasures for granted. Like ease of access to your local swimming pool. Because you could live in India, where hundreds of people stand outside a gate all through the night and for hours the next day to apply for membership at the local sports complex, and then threaten to riot over the confusing admission process.
But when this describes the weather -
It's hot in Delhi. So hot, my bathroom is a permanent sauna. So hot, that a giant scented candle I left on the terrace has dissolved into goo. So hot that water, even from the cold tap, comes out steaming.
This becomes worth the effort -
So how did we fare? After seven hours, a staff tea break, several vicious shouting matches and a stand-off with an official who tried to boot us from the queue we got, not an actual membership, that would be far too easy. We got an application form.
At around midday, bleary-eyed and drenched in sweat, I was finally clutching a badly-photocopied application form, stamped and signed by the retired colonel - our ticket to a membership and the cool waters of the swimming pool.