Читать книгу An Idiot Abroad - Karl Pilkington - Страница 8

My Seven Wonders experience started today with a trip to get my injections. I’ve never had to have an injection to go on holiday before. I don’t tend to go to extreme places normally. I like my holidays to be the same as being at home but in a different area. The time we were in the Cotswolds and could only get whole milk instead of semi-skimmed was almost enough to make me turn around and go back home, so this is going to be a challenge for me.

I was booked into a clinic off Tottenham Court Road in London, which seems a bit odd, as this area is mainly known for its electrical shops. It would be like going to Chinatown for a curry. They told me I had to have six injections – Tetanus, Typhoid, Yellow Fever, Rabies, Hepatitis A and B. I asked if I could have the injections in my arse, as I have just moved house and need to be able to use my arms when they deliver my new washing machine. (I’m guessing this isn’t a problem Michael Palin has ever had to worry about.) The nurse said she had never been asked to put injections into an arse cheek and said I was worrying too much and that my arm should be fine.

She gave me the jabs and said I was covered for every worst-case scenario, including being bitten by a dirty chimp. I told her this is why we have over-population problems. Why are idiots who annoy dirty chimps being protected?

Good job I didn’t have the injections in my arse, as I had to sit on it all day waiting for the washer/dryer to be delivered. They gave me a window of 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. That window has a name. It’s called Saturday.

I was up at 7.50 a.m. It turned up at 5.40 p.m.

My arm ached after fitting the machine into the kitchen.

I did some filming today with Ricky and Steve. They told me the places I would be visiting: Egypt, Brazil, India, Mexico, China, Jordan and Peru. I have to confess, these are all places I’ve never really fancied visiting. If it wasn’t for the Wonders I doubt most people would go to these destinations. Me and Suzanne mainly go to the Cotswolds, Devon, Spain or Italy. I’m not a proper traveller. I don’t like to be challenged or have too much of a change and prefer a week away just to relax rather than broaden my mind. I’m not very adventurous. Maybe I’d see the Wonders if time travel was possible but then I also had a really nice time in Majorca back in 2007 in a villa with four bedrooms and its own swimming pool which was only £300 for the week, so I’d probably just end up using the time machine to go back to that holiday as I know I enjoyed it, plus I wouldn’t have to pay again as I paid for it back then.

Steve told me that some of the areas we would be visiting are quite dangerous. Krish, the producer, said I shouldn’t worry, as we will have a man with a gun protecting us at some of the locations. Being attacked by a dirty chimp with rabies doesn’t seem such a worry anymore.

I had to go and get my medical done to make sure I was fit enough for the challenge of travelling around the Seven Wonders of the World. It was a really posh clinic on Harley Street. I knew it was a classy place, as the waiting room had all the same style chairs, which is rare. Most doctors I have been to have loads of different styles that have been bought at various times. It always reminds me of Christmases at home when we’d borrow chairs from various neighbours so we could seat everyone for dinner.

They say you can tell the quality of a doctor’s by the magazine selection. The place on Harley Street had loads. They had every magazine you could wish for and some that you wouldn’t. One of which was Boyz, a gay magazine. I was the only one in the waiting room so thought I would have a flick through it to see what gays like to read about. There wasn’t much reading to be done, as it was just picture after picture of half-naked men (mainly the lower half) dressed as mechanics, farmers and plumbers with their tackle out. I’ve never understood what gay blokes get from looking at these pictures, as they have knobs of their own to look at. Other than the pictures there was the odd bit of text that was always a pun on the knob and bollocks. The main one I remember was Suckcocko. The puzzle was exactly the same as a normal Sudoku, just with the knob twist to its name.

I had my medical. The doctor said I was in good shape for my age. It’s the first time someone had ever brought my age into my health. It made me feel quite old.

I was picked up at 4.30 a.m. and taken to the airport for our flight to Cairo. Six hours later we were on the road to our hotel. I hadn’t been told anything about who or what I’d be meeting, eating or seeing. Apparently that’s the way each trip is going to work, which I know will annoy me, as I don’t really like surprises. Not big ones anyway. Just having a pack of Revels holds enough of a surprise for me.

The first thing that hit me about Egypt was the traffic. It was mental. There was a song in the 1980s by a girl group called The Bangles who sang ‘Walk like an Egyptian’ yet no one seems to be walking anywhere here – everyone is driving. They make every three-lane road into a six-lane road, and cram so many people into their cars it’s ridiculous. Passengers are squashed up against the windows like those Garfield cats that people used to stick on their car windows in the 1980s. The horns are in constant use, but this might be because there are so many people crammed into the car someone’s arse is accidentally pressing against the horn.

It was a long journey to the hotel. As we drove, all the nice hotels seemed to disappear until we finally pulled up at a place called The Windsor. It is one of the oldest hotels in Cairo and it is situated in one of the roughest areas. It even has a security scanner at the entrance, as if to prove how dodgy the area is. As I walked through, my belt set off the bleeper. It was enough to startle me, but it didn’t seem to wake the security man.

As well as being one of the oldest hotels, it had the staff to match. You wouldn’t get people of this age working in hotels in England. An old fella brought my case from the coach. We were parked right outside the entrance, but it took the old fella the same amount of time it took me to fill out all the forms and collect my key. It reminded me of the time I was moving flats and I found a company that did removals and was cheaper than everyone else. They charged £10 an hour. I realised what an error I had made when the man turned up. He must have been close to 70 years old. It took him 30 minutes to climb the stairs to our third-floor flat. He had a sweat on just bringing us the empty boxes. It cost a fortune in the end.

Another man took me to my room. I was on the second floor, just where the cleaners congregated. I couldn’t believe it. Not the fact that it’s where they congregated, but the fact that the hotel had cleaners. It was also clearly a bit of a storage area, as there was a piano outside my door and five TV sets stacked on top of the wardrobe in my room.

I was given the full tour of the room: ‘Telephone there. Bathroom here.’ He said one or two other things, but I could not hear properly due to the creaking of the floorboards and the noise of the traffic outside. There were two beds separated by a fluorescent tube light on the wall that, once you switched it on, showed up all the damp stains on the walls in their full glory.

I wandered downstairs to meet up with the crew and bumped into the owner outside. I don’t know if he was waiting to meet me to check if everything was okay or if he was about to have his piano lessons. He was in his late sixties and looked smart but tired. He was keen to tell me that Michael Palin had stayed here once. If these are the sorts of places Palin stayed in, no wonder he went round the world in 80 days. He was obviously keen to get home as soon as poss. The owner then introduced me to his dad, who was in his nineties, at least. I wish I hadn’t met him, as it would have made asking for a better room a lot easier.

At 4 p.m. we ordered food. Most of us asked for chicken kebabs, apart from Jan, our cameraman, who is more of a hardened traveller than the rest of us. When we were talking about the worst places we had visited on the coach ride into Cairo and I had said a week in Lanzarote was pretty grim, Jan announced he had done three months in Antarctica.

Finally, at 5.30 p.m. our food was brought to the table. It actually left the kitchen at about 5.22, but all the staff were quite old and shuffled slowly from the kitchen to our table.

Went to bed. Nodded off counting the car horns outside.

I met Ahmed this morning. He’s a local lad who is an expert on the Pyramids and Egyptian history in general. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to understand him, but his English was better than mine. He may as well have talked Egyptian to me, as the English words he used went right over my head. One of the words he used was ‘tintinnabulation’, which he told me means a ringing or tinkling sound.

He took me to a mosque. Praying and religion are a big deal in Egypt. Ahmed prays five times a day. I would never keep to it if I lived here. I struggle having my five fruits a day. Religion has never been a big part of my life. I wasn’t christened. My mam told me not to tell many people about not being christened, as she said I would be a prime target for witches. To this day I don’t know what she meant by that.

Ahmed told me about how he believes that after death you go to a place that is perfect in every way. I said I’m quite happy with my life as it is now. In Ahmed’s perfect world he listed not having to use the loo. I told him going to the toilet is one of my favourite parts of my day. It’s proper ‘me time’ where I get to clear my head and think about things with no other disturbances, but after seeing the toilets in Egypt I can understand why he thinks this way. They are just holes in the ground with a hose for cleaning up.

We then went off to old Cairo to see the market.

The markets are made of up tiny, rough roads, crammed with motorbikes and vans. The stalls themselves sell mostly clothing, cotton and wool. ‘How can I take your money?’ was a popular shout from most of the store owners as I browsed at the wide selection of tat on offer.

I wanted to buy a gown for Ricky, as he likes to slob out when he’s at home. Most days he has his pyjamas on by 5 p.m. I found one pretty quickly, but it took 45 minutes to get the price I wanted. I wish they just had price tags on the products to save the hassle of haggling. If you nipped out for bread and milk you could be gone for hours. The only good thing about this way of buying products is that you would never have that awkward situation when you’re a penny or two short and have to ask a shopkeeper to let you off.

We passed a man with crates full of living rabbits and pigeons. They were being sold as food. I’ve never eaten rabbit but I’ve never had one as a pet either. I like the way you could get one as a pet though and eat it if you found it too much trouble to look after. I think we’d eat guinea pig too if they weren’t so expensive.

The new market was also full of tourist tat. Headscarves, ashtrays, toy camels, plastic pyramids. Even though I had no intention of buying anything when I set out for the market this morning, by the time I left I had purchased a plastic cat and an eagle for me mam. I’m hoping she will find it handy, as she used to have two birds. But one died, so she replaced the dead one with a pebble with one of the dead bird’s feathers glued on it so Kes, the other bird, still feels like he has company. I figured that the eagle from the market would make a good replacement.

I stopped to have a cup of tea, but it wasn’t very relaxing, as I was constantly hassled by people trying to sell me wallets, glasses, lighters, fags, necklaces, rings and watches.

I witnessed the call to prayer for the first time today. It’s something that can’t go unnoticed. It’s the only time the car horns are drowned out, by the singing of prayers from different parts of the city. Everything comes to a halt. The only time I experienced something like this was when I worked at a printer’s when I was eighteen. All the printers and packers and guillotine workers all stopped at 11 a.m. to listen to ‘Our Tune’ with Simon Bates on Radio 1.

During the call to prayer each area of the city tries to be louder than the other. Everyone seems to get involved, and they may as well, as there is no escaping it. It makes you think about religion even though you weren’t thinking about it, in the same way I’d suddenly fancy an ice-cream when the ice-cream man’s chime would sound. The only time I was aware of religion growing up was when Songs of Praise came on the telly on a Sunday evening. This was always my cue to go and have my bath for the week ahead.

Ricky called last night. He was moaning ’cos I hadn’t been in touch. He said he had left loads of messages asking me to call him, but I can’t access them, as I’ve been locked out of my phone after entering the wrong security code more than four times. I told him I could still get texts, but that they cost me around 70p to receive them.

‘What about email? You got email on your phone?’

Ricky

‘Yeah, but I don’t really wanna answer them ’cos they're like 70 pence a time or something. I got an email from Oxfam, saying if I wanted to buy some goat again. That’s cost me a quid.’

Karl

‘Even if you don’t answer it or retrieve it?’

Ricky

‘If it gets to my phone, I’m charged for it. That is it. So don’t start sending pictures of your head and that.’

Karl

‘You’re an idiot then, because now I’m gonna send you a message or an email every couple of minutes. Why do you tell me these things?’

Ricky

‘Dunno.’

Karl

Ahmed took me to the Cairo Museum today. I hated it. It was exactly what I thought it would be like. I’ve never enjoyed museums. I had also seen a lot of this stuff at the Millennium Dome when there was a King Tut exhibition on. I didn’t want to go to that either, but Suzanne, my girlfriend, had arranged for us to see her brother there. It was like the Cairo Museum. Box after box of some old ornament painted gold. Even the corpse of King Tut was in a box. Most people were more impressed by the fact that Jilly Goolden, the wine critic, was having a tour.

Ahmed told me they were expanding the museum so it could fit more tourists inside, but I think this will just encourage the museum people to put even more old boxes on display. It’s interesting to see that people had so much clutter even thousands of years ago. The only way to get rid of it all was to bury it, and then some archaeologist went and dug it all up. Humans have always been hoarders of tat. I think that’s why lofts were invented; it’s somewhere to stick all the crap we collect in our lives rather than bury it.

Ahmed explained how many of these items were made for the kings to take into their next lives. This would annoy me if I lived back then and people kept saying, ‘Hey, King Karl, I’ve got you a lovely gift.’

‘Have you? Let’s have a look.’

‘No, it’s for when you’re dead.’

‘Well, I’d rather see it now, if I’m honest.’

‘No, it’s all wrapped for when you’re dead.’

‘Will you stop going on about me being dead!’

Surely I should choose what I’m going to be surrounded with in my next life? At least then I’d have time to have a chariot boot sale to get rid of my least favourite things. I left the museum, as I couldn’t take anymore. It was too busy for me, with people pushing and shoving. There were even some people there with babies in prams screaming their heads off. It’s not a great place to take a baby, is it?

I noticed there was a KFC outside, so I had one, as I needed something that reminded me of home. I went to place my order, but the girl behind the counter pointed to a note on the counter. The note informed customers that it was a deaf KFC. I was confused. Did this mean they only served deaf people? The girl behind the counter pointed out the menu. There were instructions on how to place an order, which basically involved pointing to the items you wanted, which is the way I normally order my food when I’m abroad anyway. It was quick and easy and quite a good idea, as I was worried that no one would speak English and I wouldn’t be able to order a Zinger Meal. It turned out that not speaking meant life was a lot easier.

It was nice to be in a fast food restaurant that didn’t have dance music blasting out of the speakers and staff yelling at each other like they are working on the floor of the Stock Exchange. Service was fast and friendly, due to the fact the staff weren’t stood around gabbing by the milkshake counter as they normally do in most fast food chains. I saw a man using a videophone to chat to someone using sign language. I’ve never thought about videophones being used for the deaf. We used to watch a lot of TV with subtitles when I was younger, not ’cos anyone in our family was deaf but ’cos my dad worked nights so we all had to be quiet.

Suzanne called today. She was annoyed, as the boiler was playing up at home and she asked me to sort it before I left. I always have problems with boilers.

Ricky sent me a text that just read: ‘70p.’

I wore the jellabiya that I bought for Ricky last night. I wanted something comfy to relax in so opened it and tried it on. I ended up sleeping in it too. That’s the good thing with the local dress – it’s so light and comfy. If you lived and worked here you could wear them as pyjamas and then just get up at five to nine, roll out of bed and go to work in them. I think this is the reason you see doctors wearing those light blue pyjamas. Same thing – wear them in bed, and if you’re on call and get woken in the night, you can go straight to work.

The only problem with wearing a jellabiya is there is no waistline, so it’s impossible to know if you’re putting on weight.

Steve called last night. I told him the museum visit was a waste of time. He was annoyed with me but said he had arranged for me to go on a Nile cruise. I can’t say I was looking forward to it. I don’t like the idea of being trapped in a space with a lot of other people and having no way of leaving. I told Steve it sounded too much like organised fun, but I had no other plans, so I went along with it.

I met the manager. A smart man in his late fifties or early sixties with jet-black dyed hair and mascara, he gave me a quick tour of the massive boat, which was set over three floors. He introduced me to his captains and cooks and then finally to a quiet man whose job it was to dive into the Nile to collect any items that are dropped by the guests. The manager explained how he has dived to collect cameras, watches and jewellery for careless guests. As the manager spoke about other items he has rescued, he stood there all in black with his polo-neck jumper tucked in his trousers like a baddie in one of the Bourne Identity films. I asked if I could throw something in the Nile for him to collect later. The manager agreed. I was quite excited about it and went to eat.

The food was good. I had soup to start then turkey and veg, followed by some chocolate cake.

The entertainment I had to sit through consisted of a man who whizzed round on the same spot for fifteen minutes, an Egyptian comedian who had an annoying voice, and a belly dancer. I have never been into this sort of entertainment. I’ve never been to a strip club or lap-dancing place, so I didn’t know what was the best thing to do. Is it more polite to look at the woman’s babajangers and arse, as she dances around shaking everything, or is that pervy? But if I just kept my head down and showed more interest in the turkey on my plate, would that be an insult to her? In the end I did a bit of both.

Once the dancing was over I went to find the manager and his diving friend. I asked if he was sure it was okay for me to throw something in. He said yes, it was, no problem. I asked the manager to check with the diver that he was happy, but the manager just said that if he asks the diver to do something, he does it. I said I wanted to throw my Egyptian mobile phone in the river, but the manager was not happy for me to do that. We ended up agreeing that we would throw in a salt-and-pepper pot. But before we threw it in, he wanted to wrap it in bright pink gaffa tape so it was more visible in the dark, muddy waters of the Nile.

I started to doubt the man’s ability to retrieve the salt-and-pepper pot and asked again if the diver was happy to do this for us. The manager spoke on his behalf again and said, ‘Of course.’

I was just about to chuck the salt-and-pepper pot when the manager asked me to wait, as the boat needs to stop nearer to the edge where the current of the river is not as strong and the water isn’t so deep. It all started to sound like a made-up job. The baddie from The Bourne Identity then got off the boat and pointed to where he wanted me to throw it. So, hang on, the diver can only retrieve items if passengers drop them overboard close to the edge where the current is not strong and if they happen to have wrapped them in pink gaffa tape and have let the diver know before dropping them?

An argument then broke out between the manager and the diver. I asked what was wrong. The manager said the diver didn’t want to do it. I said it wasn’t a problem. I said I wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t brought it up. It all put a bit of a dampener on the night. I just think the manager wanted to impress us so much he was willing to throw a member of staff overboard for us.

I said I enjoyed the turkey and left.

Strange night.

I went into Cairo today and started to feel a rumble in the belly. I was told there was a toilet in the market. It turned out to be one of those public toilets you have to pay to use, but I didn’t mind, as I felt like I was going to get my money’s worth the way my belly was feeling.

Trouble was, I didn’t have any money on me to give to the old man at the entrance so I just walked past him. I opened the first cubicle to find a traditional Egyptian toilet. I then looked in cubicles two and three with no joy. I was close to using the urinal when cubicle four saved the day. It had a westernised toilet. I rushed in, shut the door and went to sit down when I noticed it wasn’t a complete westernised toilet. There was no bloody paper, just a tap with a hose attached. I contemplated giving it a go, but I really can’t see how you can clean yourself properly using just a hose. It’s the equivalent of trying to wash your car with just a hose. You can’t. You’d end up just spraying off the mud flaps. You need a sponge. I turned to leave but couldn’t, as there was no bloody handle on the door. I was locked in. I banged on the door but no one came. The man on the front door couldn’t hear me banging, probably due to the call to prayer. I’m glad I didn’t pay to use the place. It stank, had no toilet paper and no handle. I tried to call Krish or Christian but I had no phone signal. I couldn’t even sit down, as there was no toilet seat.

I was there for about ten minutes before someone opened the door to use the toilet. ‘No handle,’ I said. He was English and told me you have to pay to use the toilet and in return you get the handle. I’ve never heard anything like it.

‘Why doesn’t he just sell toilet paper ’cos there’s none in there,’ I said.

The English guy whipped out a roll from his bag and said he never leaves the hotel without it. ‘I keep it in my bum bag.’

Never has the name ‘bum bag’ been so appropriate.

In he went. I thought about waiting for him to finish and asking if I could borrow a few sheets but I didn’t fancy hanging around. Where’s an Andrex puppy when you need one?

I rejoined Krish and Christian, who hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone for 30 minutes. They had been busy sorting out where we were going to eat.

‘What sort of place do you fancy going to?’ asked Krish.

I wasn’t fussed. ‘Just somewhere with toilets,’ I said.

I was taken to a fancy place run by a man called George.

George, the owner, told me he would give me a proper traditional taste of Egypt, which worried me. What I’d seen of Egyptian food so far consisted of brown/beige mush that you dip bread into. I’m not a fan of this type of food. Humous and couscous doesn’t seem like a proper meal to me.

I used the toilets. They were nice and clean, and had handles and everything. Fancy.

We had to wait for 40-odd minutes before the dishes came to the table. George sat with me whilst I ate. It all looked okay. I just had a mouthful of each and asked questions later. It turned out I’d tried an ox’s brain, tongue and eye, and its knob and bollocks. Why would anyone want to eat this? Why would you take a big animal like an ox and eat either end of the beast but not the nice meaty bit in-between?

I suppose I came to Egypt to experience new things, and this was a first for me. I would normally be eating beef and veg on a Tuesday.

My stomach was a lot quieter than it was this morning. I think eating all that odd food had sent it into shock, so before I went to bed I had some Jaffa Cakes I’d brought with me to try and give my stomach something it was used to.

I met a local man today. His name was Mahmoud. He’s 22 years old and makes his living from giving camel rides close to the Pyramids. He invited me round to his house. His front door was open to anyone – even his camel. This seems a bit odd, when I’m not even allowed to keep a cat in my flat due to the rules in my lease.

On my arrival I used the toilet, as I don’t think the knob and bollock I had eaten yesterday agreed with me. The toilet seemed to be in use. By a chicken. Mahmoud chased it out. I was going to explain to him that a supermarket I worked at got a warning from Health and Safety for storing Pot Noodles in the staff toilet, but he was struggling to understand my accent as it was. I asked if there was somewhere to wash my hands. He pointed to the sink in the kitchen that was occupied by another chicken, a dead plucked one this time, surrounded by floating carrots and potatoes. He didn’t seem to mind that I rinsed my hands over his dinner.

Mahmoud’s wife was sat on the kitchen floor cutting potatoes. He explained how he could have four wives but he has just the one at the moment. I asked if he would go for a totally different kind of woman for wife number two. That’s how I would do it. I said Snow White had seven midgets and she had every characteristic covered. I wondered if that’s how he would choose his wives. He said he’s after a stronger one. He said it like he was talking about buying a new car.

That made things a bit awkward, so we left the house to take a camel ride to see the Pyramids.

I’ve never been on a camel before. They are not very comfy animals to ride. They have a lump in them for a start. Plus I was nervous, as the last time I rode an animal it was a horse at a fête when I was younger and it bolted after a woman put her fag out on its arse. I slid underneath and got kicked in the head.

Mahmoud led us along some pretty busy roads, which didn’t make us very popular, as we held the traffic up. We eventually got to the desert but couldn’t see much due to the sandstorm. My face was being battered by tiny grains of sand. The way Egyptians like to make money out of everything I’m surprised the tourist board hasn’t advertised it as ‘A day out in a sandstorm. The ultimate exfoliating experience.’

The plan is to get a closer look tomorrow.

I went to the Pyramids site again, this time by van. It was heaving today. We were there early, but we still weren’t the first. Coachloads of people were entering. The first thing you see is the Great Sphinx. I’m not a fan of this sort of thing – a lion’s body with a human head. A few men were selling models of it. The problem is, the nose is missing from the Sphinx, which means all the models they were selling also had the nose broken off, which just makes it look like a damaged ornament.

I really can’t believe what a state the Pyramids are in. I thought they had flat rendered sides, but when you get up close, you see how they are just giant boulders balanced on top of each other, like a massive game of Jenga that has got out of hand. I was told how it was only one of the Pyramids that was a Wonder of the World, even though there are three of them, which is odd, as they all look the same. It’s the Great Pyramid that’s the official Wonder. I’d be annoyed if I was the builder who built one of the other two if my workmate was getting all the praise for building the ‘Great One’. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was one of the other builders who knocked the nose off the Sphinx in anger after hearing that news.

I’m sorry to say they didn’t look as impressive as they do in the photos I’ve seen of them. They always look like they are sat in the middle of a desert with nothing around them, but in reality you can see a lot of blocks of flats in the background and the Pizza Hut at the entrance and there is a lot of rubble around them too.

I’m coming back tomorrow to get a tour with a guide.

We went to see the Pyramids again today. I was meant to meet up with Dr Hawass, who is the main man who looks after the Pyramids site, but he cancelled last-minute, as he was ill, so I got a tour from a man called Aladin. He knows everything there is to know about the Pyramids. He loves them, which I find odd ’cos it’s not like he’s a project manager who comes every day and sees the development of them – they’ve looked like this for years and they’ll not change or be done up.

Aladin began by raving about how the Pyramids were built. I don’t enjoy tours like this. They are more like a history lesson. Too many dates were being mentioned. I watched other people who were on tours and their faces also looked disappointed and uncertain – as if they weren’t sure what they were meant to do now they’d seen the Pyramids. It’s the same sort of feeling you get when you visit someone in hospital and you’ve had the smalltalk and given them their grapes and you want to leave, but feel like it’s too early to go. That’s how I felt.

I was told by Krish that I’m going to meet a couple today who actually have a use for the Pyramids and that we’ll be going inside one finally. It’s probably the first time I’ve been excited since I’ve been in Egypt.

I went to meet them at their apartment. They were called Andrew and Seija. They run something called Galactic Light and go into the Pyramids quite often, as they explained, ‘to connect with the powers of the Cosmos, the Unity or the Christ Grid around the planet, and Atlantis. As the great Pyramid is the focal point of the whole Grid system, it is connected to all sacred monuments around the Globe, as well as to the centre of our Galaxy and the centre of the planet Earth. It is an amazing, magnificent monument transcending space and time.’

That lost me a bit. I just wanted to see what one looked like inside after being disappointed by its lack of kerb appeal.

They had a nice apartment though, with a great view of the Pyramids from the toilet. They taught me how to relax and went through some mantras that we would be doing once we were inside the Pyramid.

All was going quite well, and I was starting to feel quite calm, until the call to prayer began. There was a speaker right outside their living-room window that blasted out the prayer for a good 20 minutes. This really was the main thing that put me off living in Egypt. I asked Andrew if they were aware of the speakers when they bought the place. I bet the estate agent got them in and out way before any call to prayer took place. After I had learnt a few chants, we had burgers and chips and headed for the Pyramids. It was the end of the day, but we had permission to be there after all the other tourists had left. It was quite eerie. There were no coaches or camels or people selling tat, and it was dark.

We entered the Pyramids and made our way up some steep steps that Andrew and Seija said were around 150 metres tall. We then had to squeeze through a small gap on our knees to get into a place called the King’s Chamber. I’m not that good with guessing sizes but I’d say you could get 50 people in there at a push.

The walls were a pinkish granite that looked impressive, but the stone coffin at the end of the room looked a bit of a mess. The stone looked like it had been cut roughly. It was as if by this point in the construction (23 years in) everyone had had enough and rushed to complete it. It’s like when you have an extension done on your house and you end up with a snag list of jobs like cracked plaster or loose plug sockets that take longer to get done than the extension itself.

The lid was missing from the stone coffin and so was the mummy.

Andrew and Seija lit some candles, which wasn’t that clever, as it was roasting in there already, with no ventilation, and there were no fire escapes, but I didn’t say anything, as I didn’t want to ruin the mood. They started the mantra. Seija then led me towards the stone coffin and made me get in it. I didn’t know this was the plan, but as they led me, they chanted the mantra all the way so I couldn’t stop to ask what was happening. It was one of the weirdest experiences of my life. I lay there, as still as I could, in a 4,000-year-old coffin while two strangers chanted over me. I was in there for about five minutes in all, and then Seija and Andrew pulled me out so that Seija could have a go.

Before we left, Seija asked if I felt any cosmic powers. I wanted to say yes, but I hadn’t, so I decided to be honest with her. She seemed disappointed by this news.

As weird as it all was, it was an amazing final experience, and it did make my trip to Egypt and the Pyramids all worthwhile. How many people can say they’ve lain in a candle-lit coffin in the middle of the King’s Chamber in one of the Great Pyramids?

It was also the only time I had been in Egypt when I couldn’t hear the call to prayer or beeping of car horns or even, as Ahmed would say, any sort of tintinnabulation.