At breakfast we consider our predicament. We've arrived at the Summer Sands Resort in Ullal only to find that it doesn't sell beer. Catastrophe! Before making any decisions we need to take a look around. It's clear that after Goa this place is quiet, and we're definitely back in India. Instead of the English Breakfast we've been used to, the buffet breakfast is definitely an Indian concoction with very little we recognise. No real problem there, though whilst we're happy to experiment with food at other mealtimes, breakfast tends to be a special meal and you sort of like it to be familiar. The resort is very pleasant, with a games room, pool, and larged grassed area partly shaded by palms. The resort leads directly onto the beach, and its immediately apparent that we've been spoilt by the beach at Colva. Although a long and sandy, this one is very steep. That's not so bad, but the water appears very polluted. After a short walk along we discover the reason why. A village adjacent to the resort backs onto the beach, and the villages use the beach as a rubbish tip and toilet. We don't think we'll be swimming here!

We meet a Swiss couple walking a large Great Dane dog (or was it a Danish couple walking a large Great Swiss dog - we can't remember) and we ask about local eateries. "I would not try local restaurants unless you are, how you say, very brave" replies the Swiss man, but he gives us the name of a good restaurant in Mangalore which, we suspect, is his. After due consideration we decide to remain at the Summer Sands, but to catch the bus into Mangalore and look for alternative venues for dinner.

Although it's Sunday the bus is running to the usual daily frequency of 20 mins, and one comes along almost as soon as we step outside the gates. The journey to Managlore takes about 30 mins and is a similar experience to the buses we took in Goa i.e packed to the gunnels with a whistling conductor. We get off at the central bus depot. What we want to do is orientate ouselves so we know where useful things are, like currency exchange, restaurants, and general shops.

We catch an auto-rickshaw to a road that is mentioned in the Lonely Planet guideas having these things, then walk from there. As we pass a barbers shop the proprieter beckons to Clive, "Haircut sir?" Initially Clive declines but, since his hair is almosts touching his ears, and since we're not doing anything in particular, we decide it's as good a time as any for a haircut. This one is very short, partly due to a language difficulty, and this time Clive opts for the head massage, partly because the barber doesn't give him the chance to refuse. Sarah takes photographs. After the pummelling, we continue on our walk, using a rather inadequate Indian map we've obtained from the resort.

Mangalore is hot and dusty, with little to recommend it. Most large shops are shut, and the city has an air of desolation. We've walked quite a long way and are hot and thirsty. We're about to give up on finding somewhere decent to eat when Clive spots a sign which says 'Heera Panna - Family Restaurant & Bar' which sounds promising although the surroundings are not the best and it appears to be in an underground car park. Clive walks down the car ramp and sees a door in a concrete wall with a chap standing nearby. "Is it open?" he asks, expecting a negative reply, but he opens the door with a flourish to reveal a quality restaurant which would do any English high street proud! It's air conditioned, well staffed, with flock wallpaper and foot-tapping Indian music.

Very soon we're ensconced at a table with menus in front of us drinking our first Kingfisher of the day. Suddenly Sarah says "Do you realise, this is our Christmas lunch!" We had totally forgotten that it was Christmas Day! "Well lets push the boat out" says Clive and we order a full meal and another Kingfisher. Clive then phones his Dad in London to wish him a Happy Christmas, and the head waiter takes our photograph.

Fed and watered, we continue our jouney round Mangalore, via the railway station (through a large Southern Railway archway) and along past the central Maidan where a cricket match of some local importance is taking place. We arrive back at the bus depot and congratulate ourselves on navigating our way around Mangalore using a poor-quality Indian map with hardly any street names on it.

Back at the resport we're sitting by the pool after having had a swim and we get chatting to Will and Ed, a couple of 21 year-old English guys who are cycling across South India. Or at least they were cycling until one bicycle was damaged and one of them injured himself. They'd had to abandon their bikes in Kochi and continue by train. We talk about the beer situation and they tell us that the reception will obtain beer if you ask. So we agree to meet up at 8pm and we'll 'shout' the beers because, apparently, they're on a tight budget.

Clive enquires at reception and, sure enough, the staff immediately agree to go and get four bottles of Kingfisher. The price is reasonable, and they're obviously making a few rupees out of it. A man arrives at our room with the beer in a bag and we ask him to put it in their fridge for later. I'm given the name of a man to contact when we want to drink it. The whole transaction appears a little surreptitious. At 8pm we go down to the restaurant, but we don't want to eat formally inside so we get a table set up outside in a courtyard, which is much less formal and conducive to some old chat and a few beers.

Shortly after, Will and Ed turn up, and we tuck into the beers and some food and swap stories. They're both well travelled despite their young age and we relate well to them. Shortly an Austrian couple turn up who Will and Ed have met on their journey, and it's clear that we'll have to get some more beers in, so Ed agrees to go to reception and order some. He returns shortly afterwards to announce that he's ordered eight, but that he's been told they can't drink them at the restaurant. We can see the problem immediately; Clive, a middle-aged balding bloke has requested four beers for social drinking with his wife. This the staff can cope with and are prepared to bend the rules. Ed, on the other hand, a young dude with poor judgement and a glint in his eye, has ordered eight beers in order to start a rave party with trance music, dope smoking, free sex and likely to end in a riot involving molotov cocktails, tear gas and water cannon. This they cannot cope with.

Clive, assuming the role of the Elder Statesman, goes to reception to provide a personal guarantee that things won't get out of hand. (Those that know him may suspect that Clive is not the right person to give such a guarantee). It's clear however that one particular member of staff is not happy with any beer being drunk on the premises, including Clive's original four. Eventually Ed receives word, via a man in a trenchcoat, hat pulled down over his eyes, in a darkened doorway drawing on a cigarette, that the beers have been delivered.

He eventually discovers them about 10m from their chalet, hidden in a bush! Not wanting to move from our present location in the courtyard, but wishing to keep a low profile, we keep the new stash under the table and only ever have the original four empty bottles on top That way we can claim we are only drinking the original four. The staff seem happy to turn a blind eye and we're left alone. As is the way on these occasions, we end up putting the world to rights and separate as lifelong friends, never to see each other again.