Typhoid Trixy sweeps across the City of Joys

Trixy directs operations from her command centre at the Woodlands Hospital in Calcutta

I think it's my fault. As I was saying it, I knew I was inviting the gods of fate to a risky dance. On our last night but one, as we were having yet another celebratory meal with people we'd encountered on the Annapurna trail, I boasted with pig-headed confidence that we've been eating our way across three continents without any ill effects.

The next day we had to delay our departure from Nepal by a day because I had erupted at both ends.

Four days later Amanda is running a temperature of 40 degrees Celcius, suffering from severe headache, light sensitivity, no appetite, massive sweats. Within two days she's on a drip in a hospital in Calcutta with severe typhoid.

Yep, despite having forked out the GDP of a small country on vaccinations, lotions and potions - including typhoid - the bird ingested something bad and dirty and succumbed to the inevitable.

It could have been the cold dal baht that we ate against our better judgement on the train to Calcutta or the hidden bits of ice at the bottom of the papaya lassi in the backpackers hangout in Sudder St wot did it, but it could have been anything.

After five days of really being very ill, Amanda is now feeling much better. She's complaining about the ice cream, got the nurses well organised (after an uncomfortable moment of having to explain to one rummaging through her bedside drawer what a tampon is) and is writing down To Do lists for me. (Sympathy cards can be addressed to me)

Hopefully she'll be evicted by the weekend, and be fit to continue travelling. Calcutta is great, but I'm itching to hit Rajasthan. Time is fleeting - despite having delayed our departure from India by 10 days.

Shaky repairs: scaffolding on the Indian Museum

Mum left all her possessions unprotected on the platform for a while


Victoria Memorial at sunset

The Hooghly River with the Howrah Bridge in the background