You will have wondered how I have been ploughing my way through my smorgasbord of birthday experiences – each adventure gifted to me on the event of my 60th birthday after some shameless begging of chums to treat me to something that I may not have experienced before. In my defence, I was extremely broke at the time – trying to keep a leaking roof above my head both literally and metaphorically – and I assert that my request evidenced ingenuity and the last remnants of a positive spirit as I waved goodbye to my fifth decade.

Now, as a sexagenarian with extremely generous and patient friends I can report back that I continue to shamelessly mine this rich vein of experiential gold. I may now be 61, but I think this birthday gig still has dancing feet.

One invitation that has taken longer than others to arrange has been my Bollywood inauguration. Popping around to a friend’s to watch my first Bollywood film should have been fairly simple to organise, but once Boot Camp Book Club get a whiff of this prospect they all want to gatecrash. When our host also mentions that food will be involved, it takes us over a year to calibrate our diaries to ensure that all of ‘my ladies’ can join me on the sofa.

Just when it looks like plans are taking shape, on the eve of our Bollywood film club, I learn that the ‘nasty rash’ I have been ignoring for the last 10 days is actually shingles; I fear that it may take another year to rearrange the evening – or worse, that the event may take place without me. But my ladies are not for scratching and they promptly choreograph their Chicken Pox certificates to prove that my festering sores will not put our curry night in jeopardy. One of our crew has even secured a Bollywood invite for her humanoid collie, Archie, and she messages me separately requesting that we do not disappoint her canine buddy by cancelling film night because – although a little shy – he has been practising some nifty dance moves for his first Colliewood experience.

On arrival at our host’s, we are greeted by a life-size cut out of Shah Rukh Kahn – apparently the biggest name in Bollywood. I can understand his allure for he is all chocolate coloured eyes and shiny hair however I wish this handsome prankster would refrain from making me jump out of my shingled skin on the many occasions that I return to the kitchen to ensure our host is not embarrassed with any culinary surplus at the end of the evening. I realise that my sociable greed will make me a little heavy footed if my chums break into some Bhanghra dance sequence (they take boot camp exercise very seriously), however I decide I can always distance myself with some rhythmic scratching, or take Archie for a quick walk around the block .

As honoury birthday girl – albeit a year too late – our host allows me to choose the Bollywood film that we will watch. Knowing nothing at all about this genre I realise that I am floundering; I need to pull on the vast experience that I have amassed over 61 misspent and enjoyable years. I blag it. As it is a week night and I know that there will be a limit to how long I can resist scratching my shingles rash in public (attractive), I make my choice purely on length of film and title. This approach rules out the tempting allure of the charmingly titled four hour box office smash, ‘Toilet’ in favour of ‘Dil Se’, which is billed as an expectation-defying romantic thriller featuring our cardboard cut out and his unfeasibly luscious, glossy hair…oh and his two female love interests who will no doubt form a love triangle with his barnet.

We settle in. I show my naivety by anticipating a Mumbai version of ‘Grease’ or ‘The Sound of Music’. Instead we are treated to a suicide bomber love interest and a separatist group at odds with the Indian government and their military. Our host tells us that this is atypical for Bollywood, but the choreographed roof top train journey alone will stay with me for ever – and apparently was responsible for the film’s subsequent international fame. If there is ever a GWR rail experience offering the same scenery and the same catchy ear worm of ‘Chiyya Chiyya’ then I will be rushing to buy a rail ticket, even though I always travel by road.

Bewitched by our cardboard cutout, I find myself watching the film on two screens – one a 60 inch flat screen plasma with wrap around Dolby sound, the other my mobile phone on which I surreptitiously research Shah Rukh Kahn’s back catalogue. Good to learn that he is well regarded for his patented laugh and his ability to blubber and stutter in tragic situations. I feel I have a lot in common with our Bollywood star and note that he is only a couple of years younger than me, so would be an acceptable toy boy if ever our trains should crash tracks.

Most of all I am mesmerised by Kahn’s ability to shake his shiny locks and perform multiple costume changes in an eclectic hot bed of inflammatory political situations. So entranced are we all by our hero’s ability to stutter back from brutal beatings and explosions to gamely throw himself into yet another dance number, that we fail to notice that our Bollywood mascot, Archie, is now absent from the lounge. Worried that he may have been scared by the noise of loud gun shots – or that he has decided that the choreography is just not to his liking, we pause the film and go in search.

It turns out that Colliewood is a huge hit with our bootcamp mascot for, after polishing off some chickpea dahl and a basket of naan, Archie is found beside our cardboard Bollywood star, shaking his lustrous pelt and grinning at an imaginary camera. Finally realising that it is a week night, Archie sighs, whistles to his owner and slings his lead nonchalantly over one well-honed shoulder as he sashays towards the front door. It is a clear signal that our Bollygood night must come to an end and I reluctantly resume my scratching.