Cruise Day 12 – At Sea (and then back to Southampton).

Not a huge amount to say about today, really. Breakfast, packing, tea, Countdown, packing, dinner, dishing out tips, theatre, bed. That’s about it.

Oh, wait, actually...

I’ll start this post with a few things I forgot to mention.

The toilets: there’s a sign that says, ‘Please do not flush while sitting down as these toilets work on a pressurised system.’ Okay, firstly, who the hell is flushing while sitting? In what circumstances would that seem like a good idea? Is it the poor man’s version of a bidet to flush while you sit? Secondly … ooooh, I wonder what would happen? No, I didn’t.

Also, I should have mentioned that Johnny Ball (yes, that Johnny Ball – and for the younger folk, he’s Zoe’s dad) was a guest speaker on the ship one night, in the theatre, so they obviously expected a big audience. We didn’t go, but we heard people talking about it later. Apparently it was dreadful. Interesting when he talked about his early life, but then he just started rambling incoherently and people were leaving in droves. Aw, poor Johnny Ball.

Back to today…

So, on the events list today: SALE! The shops are having a big sale of lots of stuff all priced at £7.95; Art Class; Passenger and Crew Talent Show; cricket; Helen Young talking about the weather again (you can tell it’s a British company, eh); Bingo: Countdown.

Well, obviously we’re doing Countdown, but we may have to give that sale a wee go as well.

It feels a bit odd, this last day. When you’re onboard a ship it really does become your world, and the thought of leaving and going back to the real world is not very attractive – going back to cooking and cleaning and general drudgery, when it has all been done for you for twelve days, is a bit depressing.

The sale is insanely busy and Mum has to sit it out or she’ll be jostled and lose balance. I’m looking at some jewellery when a very posh sounding woman shows me two bracelets she’s thinking of buying and asks my opinion on which she should buy – she’s looking for a ‘young’ opinion. I really will miss this. She’s smiling at me … right up until she hears my accent, then my opinion goes for nothing and she gets away from me as quickly as she can. Meh, been there before and it doesn’t bother me anymore.

I buy a couple of things I don’t need, get Mum and go back to the cabin to pack. Why do things never fit back in cases? Do they expand? Do the cases retract? Why? I get most of it done, then we go for tea and Countdown.

The atmosphere in the peninsular room is quite terrifying today – original winner and nemesis are eyeing each other, scowling. The game gets under way. I feel like I’m particularly poor today, but to be fair, no one is having a great game. When it comes to the end, the entertainment officer asks the most recent winner his score – 41. Anyone got any higher? Original winner’s husband jumps up, ‘Yes! Yes! I’ve got 45! I’ve won at last!’ – turns to wife – ‘I’ve never beaten you before! This is the first time! Yes! And I haven’t just beaten you – I’ve won the whole game!’ Everyone claps and cheers – even his wife. Then I put my hand up. ‘Eh, excuse me, I’ve got 46.’ Man collapses into his chair, ‘Noooooooooooooo! Damn. Oh well, I least I beat her,’ he says, indicating his wife.

So, yeah, I won Countdown on the last day. I went back to the cabin and put on pair of Mum’s trousers and hitched them up as high as I could, then I cut my hair with one of those ‘cut your own hair things’ – I’m one of them now. Okay, that last wee bit may not be true.

Back upstairs to finish the packing, find Roy (our cabin steward) and give him his tip. Off to the restaurant for last dinner – aw, it’s very sad. Have a good laugh with John and Richard and we swap Facebook details so we can keep in touch. John’s sister is a writer, so he gives me a link to something she’s had published. I promise (threaten?) to send them links to my stuff. Tip the waiting staff and the sommelier. J & R go to the casino and we go to the theatre. It’s the last night, and I know mum really wants to go, so we go.

It’s Colin ‘Fingers’ Henry. Oh God, it’s Colin ‘Fingers’ Henry … and it’s one of the best nights I’ve had. He’s hilarious. Well, if you like Les Dawson’s style of comedy he’s hilarious, and I loved Les Dawson. He does that thing Dawson did where he tells part of a joke, then a flourish on the piano, then a bit more of the joke, then more piano, all the while shaking his head and rubbing his hand over his face in an ‘I-can’t-believe-I’m telling-such-a-bad-joke’ way. I’m in tears laughing. Absolutely brilliant. The woman who said we should definitely see him was right.

We head out to the casino to say final goodbyes to John and Richard, but there’s no sign of Richard, so a quick cheerio to John (who’s playing poker, surprise, surprise) and we get back to our room and an early night as we have to be up and away at 8 in the morning. All bags have to go outside the cabin tonight, so we keep the bare minimum in toiletries etc. as we’ll have to carry these in hand luggage – not easy when you have a wheelchair to push. Oh, I forgot to say that the wheelchair is now falling apart, but should just about last until we get home.

Mum gets to sleep pretty quickly, as always. I have my usual pillow and duvet battle for most of the night.

‘That’s rain – we must be nearly back in Britain.’

‘Nope, it’s the ship.’

‘Are you sure?’

To be honest, I’m not.

We’re up at 6.30 am, final things thrown into the couple of small bags we’ve kept behind, then down to the restaurant for breakfast. Just before our food arrives Mum says, ‘Oh – eh, I think I left my hearing aid in the room.’ I dash back to the lift. When the doors open, the woman we met at breakfast whose mum had the very early nights is standing there. We look at each other. She raises one eyebrow.

‘Hearing aid,’ I say.

‘Tablets,’ she says.

We fall about laughing in the lift, much to the confusion of the other people there. We have a laugh – very quickly – about the stuff that’s gone on, and really do wish we’d met sooner, then it’s her floor and she’s gone

I search everywhere in the room, but no sign of the hearing aid. I do see that Roy has found my mum’s rosary beads and prayer book and left them out, so I take them down to her. My breakfast is pretty cold now.

We get assistance going off the ship and help to the bus with our cases. It’s very well organised. We head off, waving goodbye to our ship, our home for the last twelve days, and settle in for the ten hour journey home. I fall asleep almost immediately – a very, very deep sleep

We’ve been travelling for a couple of hours when Mum nudges me, giggling – she’s found her hearing aid in her pocket. I fall back asleep and stay that way for most of the journey home.

And that’s it – the end of our cruise. Would I do it again? Absolutely – I had a great laugh, the food was good, the ship was lovely, the staff were (mostly) excellent, the company was good. If I could afford it I’d go again next year. But I seriously doubt I’ll ever be able to afford a cruise, so I’ll just have to refer back to this diary when I want a reminder of the laughs we had. I’m glad I wrote it up – I hope it hasn’t been too boring to read.

Cruise Day 11 - At Sea (and getting closer to home).

Oh, the ship is bouncing about again, and we haven’t even reached The Bay of Biscay yet. It’s still sunny and warm, but very windy up on deck, so it’s not going to be a final day of sunbathing.

At breakfast we sit at a table with a woman who is 83 years-old – we know this because she mentions it frequently. She tells us all about her medical conditions, her living conditions, how she has been up far too late on this cruise, ‘When you’re old you like to get to bed early.’ She manages to give us all this information in the space of time it takes her daughter to get her a cup of tea (which she moans about). As her daughter sits down the old woman says, ‘I’m just saying, we were up awfully late last night, weren’t we?’ The daughter looks at me and rolls her eyes to the ceiling, then says, ‘Well, it was the latest night yet, I’ll give you that.’ She mouths ‘ten-thirty’ to me. Ha – I really wish I’d met her sooner. But then she asks if we went to see Colin ‘Fingers’ Henry the other night, ‘cause he was absolutely brilliant and we shouldn’t miss him, and I have second thoughts

We do our usual wander/crossword/ get a bit lost, then Mum goes to watch the movie ‘The King’s Speech’. I decide to give it a miss and explore bits of the ship I’ve never seen/found. After some searching I discover what we previously thought was the mythical lift to Deck 19 – it actually does exist. It takes you to the circus. Do I want to go to the circus? What if no one else has found the lift and there are starving, angry clowns and manic stilt walkers up there? Hmmm – probably best not to find out.

A quick look at the newsletter tells me I could do any of the following: line dancing; a talk on dry skin care; roulette tournament; whist drive; football; a talk by guest speaker Helen Young on weather forecasting; a talk on swollen ankles and fluid retention; Countdown at 4.15.

A wee sleep until tea and Countdown it is.

At tea we meet three women who are travelling together. The one who sits in the middle does most of the talking; the other two are kind of like her backing singers, nodding, making appropriate agreeing noises, laughing at her stories. It’s quite fascinating to watch – she even tells their stories for them, occasionally saying, ‘Isn’t that right?’ to which they nod and say, ‘That’s right.’ They’re really nice, a good laugh – just a weird dynamic going on there.

At one point during tea lots of people start congregating around one of the windows and pointing out to sea, going, ‘Ooooooooh!’. We can’t see what’s going on. The table behind us are discussing what it might be. One of them decides she’ll go and find out and report back. She comes back looking deflated. ‘It’s a wee boat.’ ‘What?’ ‘A boat – they’re all excited because they can see a boat.’ A boat, in the sea – well, who’d have thought? You can understand the excitement and clamour for good viewing positions. Tut. I was hoping for a mermaid at the very least. Or Johnny Depp.

Countdown time – yay. One of the conundrums is PRSTOUNGI. My hand is up first, ‘Posturing.’ Nope, they were looking for sprouting. People tut and shake their heads at me. I feel myself getting ready to shout, ‘But that word is there – it fits those letters!’ I stop myself just in time – nearly hitched my trousers up to just under my bust there and have definitely shoved my hair behind my ears. Need to be more careful. The man who won yesterday wins again. Original winner is desolate and consoled by her husband. Tomorrow is the last contest – it’s going to be tense – blood may be spilled.

It’s the last formal night tonight. Guess what the men wear? I’m wearing a dress I bought about four years ago and have never worn. I really don’t do dresses, except summery dresses when on holiday, and this is a dressy dress. I feel incredibly uncomfortable, but Mum loves it, so I put up with it. We have our photographs taken again, expecting the worst. How odd – we actually look human. I’m a human with slightly chubby hands, but human all the same. Finally a set of pictures we can buy.

Richard and John haven’t bought any photographs – they keep saying they’re just going to steal them, but we’re sure they’re joking. Probably. The waiters present us with a folder filled with souvenir menus from our trip – it’s tips night tomorrow, so they’re pulling out all the stops to make sure we remember how wonderful they are. Actually, they are pretty wonderful, so a good tip is guaranteed.

After dinner the lads are off to Texas Hold-Em again and Mum has talked me in to going to the theatre as The Headliners are on. This is the ship’s entertainment team and she promises me that they present West End quality musical productions. Okay, that’s pushing it slightly, but they really are very good. Great dancers, a couple of excellent singers and the whole thing is generally very well done. But what amazes me is how they can do their routines on a ship that is now bouncing around like mechanical bull (more exaggeration). There’s a guy on stage balancing on one leg on a bentwood chair – I can hardly stay upright in my seat. It’s incredible. They finish to a well-deserved standing ovation. Mum is just delighted that she got me in to the theatre again.

A couple of drinks and off to bed.

Last day tomorrow – it will definitely be too cold for sunbathing, but I’m sure we’ll find things to do. And there’s the packing, of course. And the last Countdown.

Mum’s out for the count pretty quickly, as usual. She doesn’t wake up and ask about rain. I’m quite disappointed.

Cruise day 10 - Gibraltar (there it is - over there).

It’s my birthday. It feels a bit weird not being at home, not having the boys appear with cards and presents. It feels a bit flat, really. I go out to the balcony and look for Gibraltar - it'll be that big rock thing over there.

Those who are doing the Gibraltar excursion have to be back by 1.30 as we have to set sail early to get back to Southampton on time. I feel like I should keep a look out for Richard and John. We’re skipping Gibraltar – no shopping to do - so it’s up to deck 16 to sunbathe again. As we walk past the spa Mum notices they have a special on their massages and decides she’s buying me one for my birthday. Yeah, ‘cause the cruise wasn’t enough of a gift. She’s determined to do it, so I happily agree. When we book they ask if I want a man or a woman to massage me. It feels wrong to say ‘man’ (c’mon, it’s my birthday), so I say I don’t mind. I’m booked in with Petra at 5 pm. I suppose Petra could be a man …

After about half an hour on deck, Mum decides she doesn’t really feel like sunbathing and would rather go down to the cabin to read – she insists she can find her own way. We don’t need any laundry done, so I take her down then get back to the hard work of lying face down in the sun.

At 1.15 my peace and quiet is not so much disturbed as blasted across the sea as an entertainments officer screams, ‘It’s time for the Great British Sailaway! Are you READY!’ I look up and see that everyone is waving Union Jacks. Oh dear. Music is blaring. ‘Let’s start with SCOTLAND! Have we got any Scottish people?’ A Scottish roar goes up, though it’s a bit half-hearted. I decline a proffered Union Jack. ‘Let’s say goodbye to Gibraltar, Scottish style!’ A horrible medley of ‘Scotland the Brave’, ‘Flower of Scotland’ and ‘You Tak the High Road’ booms through the speakers, followed by the Proclaimers’ ‘500 Miles’. To be honest, we tend just to say ‘bye’ in Scotland – unless I’m doing it wrong.

‘Have we got anyone from WALES?!’ Another roar, though still fairly muted, except for the Welsh widows who do Wales proud in the roaring stakes. Male voice choir singing stuff, followed by Tom Jones and ‘Delilah’ – crowd goes wild, much hip shoogling and flag waving. ‘And now to IRELAND! Any Irish people?’ Hmmm, not so many given the gentle shout – or maybe it’s just the Union Jacks that have stunned them into silence. Some fiddle music followed by … eh, I don’t actually remember. Maybe U2 … or Dana?

‘Now, have we forgotten anyone?’ Crowd screams itself hoarse, ‘ENGERLAND!’ Flag waving frenzy and it’s time for ‘Rule Britannia’, ‘Land of Hope and Glory’, God Save the Queen’ … and my exit to the relative sanity and silence of the cabin.

‘That idiot’s been on the phone again. I’m beginning to worry that he’s for real and when we see the news when we get back the stock exchange will have done exactly what he says it’s been doing. Or we’ll see him being stretchered off in a straitjacket. That’s more likely.’

I tell Mum about the sailaway party – she hopes I’ve recorded it so she can watch it later. Not.

After tea, things have quietened down on deck 16, so we get a bit more sunbathing done, then I have to go for my massage. The spa is absolutely stunning – beautifully decorated in shades of grey and quiet and dark and soothing and … just gorgeous. Petra appears – she’s a woman after all. Tut. She’s a gorgeous girl with an Eastern European accent. She gets me to fill in a form about my medical conditions and medications – this takes a while. She takes me through to the therapy room and I get ready to relax. I’m having a shoulder, back, scalp and foot massage (yes, I know that’s a bit odd, but that’s what I chose – leave me alone).

When she starts on my back and shoulders she says what every masseuse says, ‘Oh – oh my goodness, you have a lot of tension here – a lot of knots.’ The minute she says it I remember the line in ‘The Odd Couple’ when Oscar says to Felix, ‘You’re the only man I ever met who has clenched hair!’ This sets my mind off on one of its journeys: it was Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon in the movie. It was Jack Klugman and Tony Randall in the TV series. The characters’ names were Felix Unger and Oscar … can’t remember. Oh no. I have to remember. I spend the whole hour going through the alphabet in my head, not relaxing, trying to get Oscar’s second name. ‘Cause it was really important, you know?

It’s Madison, by the way.

Once it’s all over, Petra says she’s going to ‘give me’ some oils for my muscles, some for my insomnia, some for … something else. ‘When you say ‘give’, Petra, how much do these actually cost?’ £32 each. I’ll give it a miss, thanks.

Despite being unable to actually relax completely, I do feel a lot better and am grateful to Mum for this extra gift. I also plan to watch The Odd Couple again as soon as possible.

I get back to my cabin to find I have a text. It’s a happy birthday message from my friend Rick. Aw, that was nice. There’s another text – it’s from Alfie – aw, he’s decided to text me on my birthday, even though we agreed none of them should text me in case it was crazy expensive. The text says, ‘Is it on?’ I text back asking what he’s talking about. ‘Oh, sorry – wrong number – was texting someone about five-a-sides. Happy Birthday, by the way.’ Tut.

When we get to the dinner table that night I spot balloons – lots of balloons.

‘Mum – you promised.’

‘It wasn’t me – it really wasn’t. Maybe they just know form your passport that it’s your birthday.’

I sit down – the balloons are directly above my head. The waiters come over and shake my hand and say happy birthday. Then John and Richard arrive, grinning. I might have known. They give me a lovely gift. It was ‘chocolate day’ on board today (samples of chocolates, chocolate cakes, chocolate fountain etc.) and they’ve bought me chocolates and chocolate wine. Did I mention before that they’re lovely? They really are. They also give me this cool wee card with owls on that rocks from side to side – it sits on the table and rocks with the ship.

After dinner the waiters all gather round and sing Happy Birthday – then they do this weird, slightly aggressive version I’ve heard them do at other tables. They sing ‘Happy Birthday to you!’ then do this kind of fast clapping thing, with a bit of foot stamping, then onto the next line. I beam bright red, but manage to smile. John and Richard are loving every minute of it. They buy us today’s cocktail, which is a Harvey Wallbanger, but the bar has run out of Galliano, so it’s really just a vodka and orange. It’s lovely, just the same. They down theirs in minutes, we sip at ours all night.

The guys go off to the casino and bars, we head for the quiz having decided that ‘Rob Lewis IS Phil Collins’ is probably an exaggeration. Actually, I’d rather he wasn’t Phil Collins – I hate Phil Collins.

Tonight’s quiz is just a mad carry on and one of the questions is, ‘Who do you think Laura looks like?’ Laura comes round all the tables and stares at us or pulls faces or strikes poses. The answers that are given include: Dawn French, Jennifer Aniston, Vanessa Feltz, Kate Winslet, Jordan, Kerry Catona, Jo Frost (Supernanny) and, cruellest of all, Vicky Pollard. I’ll leave you to work out for yourselves what she actually looks like – good luck with that.

Back to the cabin and the usual fight to sleep, hoping that the massage might have a positive effect on me and my insomnia.

Only two more days on board now, and no more ports. I’m quite happy where I am, thanks – don’t really want to go home yet. Another few days would be nice.

Ah, but there’ll be Countdown tomorrow, and the next day, so that’s something to look forward to.

‘I think it’s raining.’

‘I think it’s just the sound of the ship.’

‘You could be right.’

‘I could be.’

Cruise Day 9 - At Sea.

I thought it was Gibraltar today, but we have one day at sea before we reach the next, and final, port. Checking the newsletter for possible activities today: tennis; circus skills; a talk about tired legs and swollen feet (that’ll be mobbed); learn to waltz; bingo; Countdown. Countdown is back! Yay!

At breakfast we chat to a young couple and their kids (and suppress the urge to say, ‘They should be in school, you know.’) Apparently the kids are entertained and looked after all day. The mum feels a bit guilty about this, but the kids are desperate to finish eating so they can get away to their clubs and clearly love every minute of it. They even get dressed up and go out to dinner together and have their own newsletter with daily events, which I’m fairly sure is a bit more exciting than swollen legs, bingo and Countdown.

We go up to sunbathe again, but it’s very busy today with everyone being on board. We still manage to find a couple of spare loungers and settle in for the morning/afternoon.

After tea it’s Countdown – yay – and we have finally found the quickest and easiest route to the room where it’s held. The same people as usual are playing, mainly still untanned apart from me and Mum. We get the feeling they’ve just been sitting in their cabins for the past four days, waiting. The woman who usually wins is beaten by her arch rival (guy who constantly questions her words and at one point called her a cheat). She whispers through gritted teeth to her husband, ‘He beat me. I can’t believe he beat me. I lost.’ She may need counselling. I’d advise the guy who won to hide for a while.

Mum decides to go to the salon to have her hair done. £29 for a wash and dry. £29. Seriously. I have a look at the rest of the Spa prices: £119 for a massage; £219 for a 24 karat gold facial (eh, I’m not sure I want my face coated in gold, but at that price it had better be what they mean); £29 for a Fire and Ice pedicure (they're giving things funny names to justify the price); £39 for a ‘deep bikini’ waxing – I suppose that’s danger money. Yeah, we won’t be using the Spa, thanks.

It’s a formal night tonight – a themed Black & White night. Once again, this is easy for the men – tuxedo. Bit more of an effort for us, but we get ready and decide to try the formal photographs again: Seeing the results, I look pregnant and Mum declares herself ‘all twisted’, so we don’t buy this lot either.

We’re a bit later for dinner and John and Richard are relieved to see us arrive – partly because they thought something else had happened to us, partly because they’ve signed up for the Texas Hold-Em tournament at 10 pm and time is getting on, so they’d like to order. They’ve come up with all sorts of scenarios for burros, my favourite being burro chariot races – they’ve even worked out technical problems relating to relative size and how to take corners etc. It’s good that they’ve been busy. We decide it would be traditional for Bob Dylan to ride a burro in a chariot race that he’s never heard of.

They go off to play poker, we finish our coffee and, having noticed tonight’s theatre act is someone called Colin ‘Fingers’ Henry, we go to the quiz. Looking across at the casino, we see John standing next to the poker table; out already and it only started about five minutes ago. He shrugs, smiles and waves.

The quiz is all about James Bond tonight – we don’t do very well at all. When it's over, the duo Fifth Element play. I haven’t been able to stay and watch them since John and Richard pointed out that they look like Thunderbirds. It’s true – the guy playing piano definitely seems to have strings attached to his hands … up and down, up and down … and the girl does the same with the microphone. It’s too weird to handle, so we decide to feed a puggy another £20, then go and listen to some jazz piano, which is very good.

It’s my birthday tomorrow and I’ve made Mum promise not to make any fuss, especially having witnessed the waiters singing happy birthday to other unsuspecting victims. She assures me she hasn’t done anything at all. Good. She hasn’t planned anything, has she? No, really – she hasn’t.

She decides to listen to her MP3 player to get to sleep. After about 45 seconds, she’s gone.

4 am: ‘I could be wrong, but I think it’s raining.’

'It's the ship - honest.'

In a few hours time I will be 49. Being referred to as ‘that young girl’ could make me stay on this ship forever. If I stay here long enough, I may even win Countdown one day. You have to dream big.

Cruise day 8 - Corsica (but not for us).

A proper lie-in – lovely. After a late breakfast, we go up to sunbathe. It’s so quiet with most people off the ship – I like it like this. I go over to the rails to take some pictures. There’s an old guy sitting on the edge of a sun lounger, looking across at Corsica.

He smiles at me. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it? One of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen. I was up at 5 so I could watch the ship dock here.’

‘Oh, that’s way too early for me – I haven’t been up in time for any of the docks.’

‘Ah, but you’re just a young thing – you’ll be out having a good time ‘til the early hours, so you have to sleep later.’

Yeah – ahem. ‘So did you not feel like going off to explore today?’

‘Well, we were going to, but then I had a problem with my ankles and they got really swollen, so the family have gone without me.’

Tut. I stay and chat with him for a while, tell him to get his feet up and keep them up and maybe he’ll get to Gibraltar tomorrow. He just sighs again and goes back to looking at the view.

The rest of the morning/afternoon is spent lying very still in the sun.

The ship is a bit busier at tea time with some of the excursions finished. I overhear this bizarre conversation between two couples at the next table:

1^st woman: Have you met the Welsh widows yet?

2^nd woman: No – what Welsh widows?

1^st woman: Oh, they’re great fun – there’s a group of them. Their husbands all died within a couple of months of each other, so now they holiday together all the time, mainly cruises.

2^nd woman: Oh, that was lucky.

What? Seriously? I’m dying to turn round to see how the husbands take ‘that was lucky’ but decide it’s safer not to.

We go back to the cabin for some rest – all that sunbathing and eavesdropping fairly takes it out of you – and Foghorn Leghorn is on the phone again.

‘If the bank just wasn’t so short sighted – I mean, if they give me two million today, I’ll have five million back to them in three days. Why can’t they see that?’

‘Cause you’re a nutcase with an imaginary life, is our guess.

Later we do a bit of shopping for entirely unnecessary items, then off to the restaurant for dinner. John arrives first and whispers, ‘Bob Dylan, traditional, and “no idea”’ to me. I don’t get the chance to ask what he’s talking about as Richard arrives and we start chatting about our days.

They’ve had another of their adventures. The little train in Corsica stopped for a few minutes, so Richard decided to hop off and get some water as it was another blistering hot day. When he turned round the train was pulling away, John hanging off it yelling at him to run. So Richard ran – he doesn't have what you might call a runner’s build, but he ran until he caught the train and jumped on, other passengers tutting and shaking their heads at him. I warn them that I don’t want to look out tomorrow and see the two of them swimming back to ship from Gibraltar.

John: So what about those questions you were going to ask Karen, Richard?

Richard: Oh, yes. Karen, who was the first to record ‘House of the Rising Sun’ and who wrote it?

Unfortunately I’ve completely forgotten what John whispered to me earlier.

Me: Eh, I really can't remember who had a hit with that song.

John is staring at me – I still don’t take the hint.

Richard: It was The Animals and they wrote it too – in fact I think it was Georgie Fame who wrote it.

Me: Oh. Sorry – I really have no idea.

John: Karen, you’ve really disappointed me, girl. Bob Dylan sang that song way before The Animals – and no one knows who wrote it - it’s traditional, see?

Me: Ah, so that's what... Oh, sorry.

Richard: So that’s why you came haring up here? You were cheating?

John: Didn’t do me much good, did it?

When I stop laughing I ask what the third question was.

John: Now remember, your answer to this is ‘never heard of it’. What's a burro?

Me: It’s a wee donkey.

Richard: Ha! That’s another drink you owe me!

John: No, Karen, you’ve never heard of it. Tut.

The lads go off to the casino after dinner, we go to a quiz and are shamed by the fact that we are the only Scottish people in the room who don’t know what a spurtle is. Shocking. But even more shocking is that Delia Smith is still refusing to return Laura’s godmother.

We decide to go to the casino and play the slot machines. Mum and I have a very similar attitude to the puggies; if they're only paying out small amounts, we can’t be bothered and would rather they just ate the ten pounds we give them quickly. We must look mildly possessed as we frantically shove the money into the machine, trying to get rid of it as quickly as possible. Twenty pounds down, off to bed, strangely contented.

Mum falls asleep with her book on her face again. Another quiet night.

4 am: Is that rain?

‘Yes.’

‘Really?’

‘Nah, it’s just the sound of the ship.’

More lazing around tomorrow – someone has to do it.

Cruise Day 7 - Rome

I wake up still feeling a bit rough, but definitely better than last night. We go up for some breakfast, deciding that if I can keep that down, we’ll risk the afternoon trip to Rome. It’s more difficult than usual to watch the plate-pilers, but I manage my wee bowl of Special K and it stays put, so Rome is on.

We’re berthed at Civitavecchia (pronounced Chivitavekia), about an hour or so away from Rome. Our tour guide is the absolutely stunning Simona. She’s great, and listening to her talk I realise just how hopeless Nathalie really was. Simona gives out so much information, but she makes it funny and interesting. As we enter Rome it’s like driving into a live history lesson. Just hearing the names Marcus Aurelius and Julius Caesar mentioned in relation to buildings we pass sends a shiver down the spine.

The traffic is mad – Simona says Rome is a city of three million people, two million cars and one million scooters. She’s only half joking. Cars are parked everywhere, people are taking serious risks on their scooters – I’m just glad I don’t have to try to cross any roads.

I’ve noticed something odd: my mum has this habit of reading out road signs. Nothing important – just random stuff, street names, speed limits, distances. I now realise that all elderly people do this, and the fact that the road signs are in Italian is no deterrent. 47 voices are muttering about schools, stop signs and 'ooooh' new pizza restaurants. It’s mind-bending.

We stop at the Coliseum, our only chance to get off the bus. We have forty minutes here, so we wander down the hill to the best spot for taking pictures. We’re in a kind of small park and there are various homeless people lying around, sleeping. They’re all very young, and they’re not begging, they’re just lying there. It’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen – the Coliseum in the background, the poverty right in front of it. Horrible.

I hear some people from other tours talking. ‘Yeah, Trevi Fountain is a bit of a let down – just stuck up a side street. I wouldn’t bother if I was you.’

The Trevi Fountain is a let down? Seriously. She’s probably also pissed off that they appear not to have finished the Coliseum.

We go back to the bus and are swarmed by trinket sellers – total junk. They’re very persistent, but we manage to shake them off and get back on the bus. We head in the direction of St. Peter’s – this is what Mum really wants to see. It is a spectacular sight, but again only serves to highlight the haves and have-nots. The Pope’s official residence is ridiculously huge – it offends me just to look at it. Charity clearly doesn’t begin at home where the Vatican is concerned (no news there, I know). Mum is delighted to have seen it all, and that’s what’s important on this trip, so I’ll stop whining.

Simona points out some very posh looking, very empty restaurants. ‘They charge €20 for a cup of coffee – that’s why they’re empty.’ No doubt there are those who will go there, just to be seen to be seen, which is a bit pathetic.

Another thing I notice is that we haven’t seen anyone overweight. None. Everyone walking about the streets of Rome looks fit (I don't mean skinny, model types - just ordinary folk, but all in good shape). I wonder if it’s a combination of the Mediterranean diet and the fact that the city is built on seven hills – walking around here would definitely keep you fit and healthy.

I loved what little we saw of Rome – I’d love to go back for a while and have the chance to see it properly rather than from inside a bus. Definitely on the list of things to do.

We get back to the ship at 6 pm and we set sail again at 6.30. Mum has decided she’s definitely too tired to go to Corsica tomorrow, and doesn’t want to do Gibraltar, so we'll be on board for the rest of the holiday.

It’s Hawaiian night tonight – lots of loud colours and garlands.

Richard and John are at the table when we get to dinner. We tell them what happened to us re Barcelona and why we weren’t at dinner last night. They have tales of their own. They almost witnessed, and possibly prevented, an assault in Nice market. A tourist tried to take a picture of the man with the handlebar moustache, the one on the scooter, and he went nuts (yeah, because he’s trying not to get noticed with the way he dresses etc.) shouting at the guy, then threatening him, then going to have a go at him … until Richard and John stood either side of the tourist, at which point scooter man left.

Their tour guide in Rome was a real Italian mama type, telling everyone they were all her bambinos and she’d take good care of them. They went for a wander at the Coliseum and when they got back the bus had gone. Their Italian mama had abandoned them on one of Rome’s seven hills. They hung around, looking suitably dejected and lost, and one of the other tour guides, thankfully, brought them back. So much for being treasured bambinos.

I mention that today’s cocktail is the Bahama Mama and John orders one for each of us. The lads drink theirs like it’s lemonade – Mum and I take two hours to finish ours.

John and Richard are off to the casino, we head up to the sun deck and the tropical party night. We don’t last long, especially after Hamilton Browne, who ‘is’ Lionel Richie turns out absolutely not to be. We drain the last of our Bahama Mamas (nowhere near as good as the ones my friend Gillian makes) and go back to the cabin.

Richard and John are going to Corsica tomorrow, so I look forward to hearing what they get up to. We’ll be sunbathing all day. It’s a hard life.

2.30 am – ‘Am I hearing things, or is it raining?’

‘It’s just the noise of the ship.’

Ah … all is back to normal.

Cruise Day 6 - Cannes and Nice

Up and ready to go – not going to miss anything today. We get a call from the excursions team – do we realise that we’ve booked today’s excursion and Cannes is only accessible by tender? (A tender is a wee boat that takes you to the dock – they use this at ports where they are unable to berth.) Eh, yes, we are. But you have a wheelchair. Yep, and we told you that when we booked and you said it wouldn’t be a problem. She says that’s fine. I take the opportunity to tell her what happened about Barcelona. We don’t do refunds. I explain, again, exactly what happened, how it wasn’t, in our opinion, our fault, and that we would like her to reconsider. She says she’ll get back to us. She never does.

We decide to skip breakfast and just have the shortbread and coffee that’s provided in the room, then go to Tamarind Lounge where everyone is meeting to be allocated coloured stickers and numbers and told where to go to get the tender. This is much more efficient than yesterday’s debacle.

I’ve never seen a tender before, but Mum assures me she’s used them loads of times and has no bother getting on and off them. When I actually see the wee boat, see it bobbing about alongside our ship, which is also shifting a bit, I seriously doubt this. One member of the crew takes the wheelchair and folds it up; two others get either side of Mum and tell her to step across when they tell her to. She does that thing she does – just kind of launches herself and hopes for the best. I’m terrified, but, amazingly, it’s fine, and there she is, standing on the wee boat, hanging onto the rail, perfectly happy.

There are no seats at the front, but two people see Mum’s condition and move to let us sit down. There really are some very nice, helpful people on the cruise. The couple opposite are from Largs, so that sets off many memories and conversations (we’re typical ‘Glasgow folk to Largs’ types). When we get to Cannes we are allocated our guide, Nathalie; very smiley, masses of black, frizzy hair, clip board hugged tightly to her chest. Her English is good - not quite as perfect as you’d expect from a professional guide, but she’s so smiley I don’t really notice.

Nathalie tells us we’re going on the little train around Cannes. Mum is confused – last time she did this tour it was the bus round Cannes and the little train round Nice. She’s not happy with this change. It’s a bit of a walk to the wee train and a lot of people are complaining as they hadn’t expected this and aren’t very fit. Mum’s in the wheelchair, so she’s fine … until we get to the wee train and realise there’s nowhere to put the wheelchair. The guide talks to the driver and he says he has a basket he’ll put it in – no problem. The next problem is actually getting her on to the wee train – it’s a very high step. The driver produces one of those wee steps for toddlers, the ones for reaching the toilet/sink, and between us he and I manage to get Mum on the train, not helped by the fact that she’s having another giggling fit.

The little train is not actually a train and doesn’t run on tracks – it’s just one of those things you see at theme parks that looks like an old steam train from the front and has open carriages attached. As it pulls away I see our wheelchair sitting on the pavement. Oh dear. Hope for the best that the driver had a plan and it will still be around when we get back. The little train is very bumpy. Very, very bumpy and the driver is wheeching us up and down hills and round corners and along narrow streets. I’m beginning to feel a bit sick. Fortunately Mum has brought the travel tablets, so I take a couple and hope for the best.

Cannes is absolutely beautiful, especially in such glorious weather. Nathalie is keen for us to see The Carlton Hotel, which is where all the top stars stay when they come for the film festival. She mentions Brad Pitt more than is strictly necessary. The beach looks small, but gorgeous, with some very fancy sun loungers dotted around. We stop at the top of a hill where we can get out and take some photographs of the spectacular view.

Once we’ve ‘done’ Cannes we head back to get on a bus for Nice. Nathalie has this disturbing habit of talking directly to one passenger when she’s giving out info, and when we get on the bus it’s me and my mum. We feel obliged to nod and answer questions, and smile way more than the information warrants. Eventually Mum just falls asleep – good tactic.

We stop in Nice and Nathalie tells us we’re going to walk down to the market, we should get off the bus and follow her. More grumbling from those with disabilities as the market is about a ten minute walk and involves going down some stairs. Mum and I fall behind as moving the wheelchair around these streets isn’t easy, and Mum has to get out and walk down the stairs, very slowly. We catch up with everyone at the market. We have 45 minutes to spend on our own. Yay. We go and get a coffee and a croissant and watch the market (we couldn’t get the wheelchair through market – no chance) and the people going by.

We spot one ‘character’ – an old guy with bizarre hair and a very fancy white, handlebar moustache. He’s wearing a suit and a hat and riding a scooter. He’s got ‘eccentric’ screaming from every pore. A sudden roar comes from the Irish pub (yes, I’m afraid so) opposite – that’ll be the rugby again. We know that we can’t really spend the full 45 minutes here as it will take us longer to get back to the bus, so we set off and get there at just the right time.

Cannes and Nice really are beautiful and I would love to go back there for a proper holiday. I think this is probably all you’d ever get out of cruise excursions – the chance to get a feel for somewhere, to know if you’d like to spend more time there. It’s a good way to check out possible holiday destinations, but nothing more.

Back at the dock in Cannes there’s a massive queue to get to the tenders. The sun is at its hottest and everyone is feeling tired and irritable and really not keen on hanging around here for ages. The queue snakes forward slowly and after about half an hour we’re almost at the front. A couple of people ahead of us point out that there’s a separate entrance for the disabled lift. We thank them and move over, but just as we get there, two people walk in front of us and start complaining to the staff that they paid for priority boarding and shouldn’t have to wait here with all these people. They want something done about it immediately. They ignore us and the fact that they’re blocking the disabled entrance. Two more people join them and start up the same complaint, one of them adding that she’s actually officially disabled, just doesn’t have her badge with her. Eh, yeah, but she’s not in a wheelchair and is still blocking the lift. They pretend they can’t hear me asking them to let us through. Mum suggests we just ram them with the wheelchair. It’s very tempting. The rest of the queue start yelling at them to get out of the way, to get back to the end of the queue, they’re not jumping ahead etc. Eventually I raise my voice and ask them if I can please get through. They pretend they hadn’t seen me and move, but only enough for me to squeeze past them.

By the time we get down in the lift to the next queue, we’re way at the back. The people who were in front of us up on the dock spot us and shout to us to come forward – they’ve kept our space. Like I say, some people are lovely, others are selfish gits. Such is life.

Finally back on the ship we head up for tea. Mum has her usual, but I don’t feel quite right, so I just have an orange. The orange tastes odd – like the flesh tastes of orange skin. Instead of throwing it away, I keep on eating. This proves to be a very bad decision. We go up to sunbathe, but after lying down for a few minutes I’m feeling really rough and tell Mum I’ll go down to the cabin for a while and come back and get her when I feel better. It soon becomes apparent that I’m not going to get any better, so I get Mum and then lie down, hoping that a sleep is all I need.

I start throwing up at 6 pm and and continue to do so at fairly regular intervals until 5 am. For a tiny orange, it certainly made its presence felt and somehow reappeared eight times throughout the night. We miss dinner, we miss everything. Mum goes and changes our Rome excursion to an afternoon panoramic bus trip. I hope I’ll make it tomorrow, but can’t be sure.

Did I say today could only be better? Well, mostly it has been, but tomorrow is looking like being a cancellation. Rome is the one place Mum hasn’t been before and she really wants to see it.

Fingers crossed.

Cruise Day 5 - Barcelona (sort of).

Alarm goes off at 7 am. Mum is sitting in the chair by the window completely ready to go. No idea what time she got up at. We go to the Saffron Restaurant (the one we use for dinner) for breakfast. In the morning passengers are allocated any available seat rather than the allotted tables we have for dinner. We end up at a table with Richard and John – poor souls just can’t escape us.

During breakfast the captain makes an announcement saying they are having trouble berthing and everything will be running at least an hour late. We were supposed to leave for our bus at 9.45 am. It’s only 8.30 am when we finish eating, so we go back to the cabin to wait for further announcements.

By the time it gets to 11.45, we’ve still heard nothing and are concerned about the lack of information, so we go to the reception desk. Getting out of the lift on Deck 5, the ship looks like a modern, slightly posh, Marie Celeste. I explain to the guys on reception (yeah, okay, there was no one left on reception on the Marie Celeste etc.) that we were supposed to be on the 9.45 tour that was delayed, do they know what’s happening? Yeah, it left at 10.25. I tell them we didn’t hear any announcements, but they insist calls were made and that if we’d been in the public areas we would definitely have heard them. But it says in the news letter to stay out of the public areas as it can cause congestion. Then we should have had our TV tuned to the channel to receive announcements in our stateroom. Eh, we did. He shrugs - the announcements were definitely made. I ask him what we do now. He shrugs again and says there’s a regular shuttle bus. Yep, that’s great – me, Mum and the wheelchair on a shuttle bus.

We decide to go for it, at least see a bit of Barcelona on our own. When we get on to the dock I see one of the excursions staff getting people on to a bus for a tour. I explain what has happened. That’s a shame – there’s the shuttle bus. I ask if we’ll get a refund. No refunds, under any circumstances. She doesn’t offer any help at all, doesn’t offer to put us on another tour – nothing. Very pissed off now.

We get on the shuttle bus for the short drive to the town. We’re dropped off at The World Trade Centre – no map, nothing – just get on with it.

Mum is very keen for me to see The Sagrada Familia, which she thinks is at the end of Las Ramblas (anyone who’s been to Barcelona groaning yet?). So we head off, in the blistering heat, me pushing the wheelchair. After a long, long walk along Las Ramblas, Mum says we should really be able to see spires or something by now. I decide to find a tourist information office. The first one I find is down some stairs, looks like it’s in a subway. I park Mum in her wheelchair at the top and walk down. There’s also an escalator going up. A woman is standing at the bottom of the escalator, blocking it with her suitcase.

‘Excuse me – could you help me get this case upstairs? I really just can’t do it.’

‘Eh, gimme a minute to just ask them a quick question, then I’ll come back and help.’

‘Oh, the queue is very long – you’ll be there for a very long time. Couldn’t you help me first?’

I wonder how long she's been standing there waiting for help. Fine. I grab her case and carry it to the top, where she assures me I will be rewarded by God. If he could just help me find this bloody church, that would do.

The queue for information is, indeed, ridiculously long, so I find a map and head back to Mum. Mum is surrounded by tourists asking her directions in various languages. She’s just laughing and shaking her head.

Can’t make any sense of the map, mainly because I don't actually know where we are at this point, so using my very rusty school Spanish I ask two passing women how to get to Sagrada Familia. They indicate a bus. I tell them I’m walking, with the wheelchair. They look slightly horrified and give me directions in very fast Spanish that I just don’t get, but I do get that these directions are going on for a very long time. They pat my arm and shake their heads as they wander off. At this point I begin to wonder if Sagrada Familia is actually in Barcelona at all.

We give in and get a taxi. Taxi driver doesn’t speak English, but takes one look at us and says, ‘Sagrada Familia?’ Yep – that’s us - it must be obvious that we need to be 'saved'. It’s a good ten minutes in the taxi and I’m told later that it’s about a 40 minute walk from where we were, which would have been closer to 90 minutes pushing the chair.

Sagrada Familia is a spectacular sight, but I’m so hot and tired, and I’m struggling to manoeuvre the wheelchair in the crowds – people can, believe it or not, be very ignorant and selfish when confronted with wheelchair users – that I really just want to take some pictures then get the hell out of Barcelona. That’s exactly what we do.

Back at the ship, I’m finding it hard to get out of my bad mood, and I know it’s affecting Mum, but it’s been the worst possible start to our few days of excursions.

At tea we sit with a couple who are not at all happy with P&O – I’m not happy with them at the moment either, so we have a good moan. The woman is hilarious – really over the top complaints, but done in such a funny way, by the time she’s finished listing everything that bugs her I’m laughing so much I finally get out of my huff. Her final statement: ‘Our cabin steward is a lazy bastard – runs a damp cloth over a few things, but cleans nothing. The cabin has never been hoovered since we got here. I’ve placed some crumbs under the chair, taken pictures of them, and I’m going to see how long they stay there.’ Taking pictures of crumbs – that’s the way to relax and get into the holiday spirit. I imagine the woman and the steward in a kind of Mexican stand-off re the crumbs – him moving them a little every day, just to freak her out, but never actually clearing them away. Crumb wars. The couple normally travel with Royal Caribbean and say they’ll never use P&O again.

Back to the cabin for a rest before dinner. Foghorn Leghorn is yelling into his phone (at least I assume he’s talking on the phone – Mum has other ideas), ‘No, no! Don’t do that – if we do that we’ll bankrupt the entire stock market!’

Mum rolls her eyes. ‘I’m telling you, he’s mad – delusional.’

There's a 'Sail Away' party on the sun deck as we leave the port, but we're too tired to go up and see what it's like. There'll be others on other days.

No John and Richard at dinner, so we don’t get to hear about their day in Barcelona and we don’t get to tell them about our misadventures … so we moan about it to Manoj, our waiter. He’s surprised to hear about the lack of refund. ‘That’s stupid – why would P&O risk losing two passengers’ future business for the sake of £68?’ Why indeed, Manoj – maybe you should be running the company.

Our trip to Cannes and Nice leaves at 8.30 next morning, so we need to get an early night. I set the alarm for 6.30, but Mum will probably still be up and ready before it goes off. I'm tempted to sleep on the reception desk so I don't 'miss any calls'.

Mum gets into bed and reads her book. Minutes later she’s asleep and the book has fallen onto her chest. I put the book away and put her glasses on the night table. It's been a stressful day for her and she's shattered.

‘Thanks,’ she whispers, then she’s out for the count. If it actually rained now she’d sleep through it, which would be a real shame.

Try to sleep, hoping tomorrow is a better day. Could it be any worse? And not even any Countdown to take our minds off things.

Cruise day 4

Awake to find the ship has stopped bouncing about – good, we must be out of The Bay of Biscay. At breakfast we meet some other Scots. They tell us they travelled down by train from Edinburgh and were pampered all the way – breakfast and lunch provided, big comfy seats, and only a seven hour journey. Bit pissed off that we didn’t know about this. Tut.

Off to book our excursions. We opt for the Panoramic Barcelona tour i.e. it’s a couple of hours on the bus. Mum’s done it before and I point out that we have the wheelchair this time, so could try something different, but she reckons this is still the best bet and she really just wants me to see The Sagrada Familia. We book Cannes and Nice and ‘the little train’ for Sunday and Rome for Monday. Looking at the tickets later, I realise that the Rome trip is nine hours long. Not sure Mum will be able to cope with that, but we’ll see. We decide to leave booking Corsica until later and are going to give Gibraltar a miss as Mum says it's not worth the bother unless you're after lots of duty free.

Get the crossword first then head up to sunbathe. The weather really is spectacular for the time of year. It gets too hot and Mum decides she’d rather just sit out on the balcony at our cabin because it’s got more shade. We haven’t used the balcony much – the man in the next cabin seems to be on his balcony all the time, smoking cigars that choke us, so we haven’t really been able to go out there. Sitting there we hear him on the phone – it’s like having a cabin next to Foghorn Leghorn. The person he’s talking to could probably hear him without the aid of the telephone.

‘Yes, yes – I’ll try to see you in Barcelona tomorrow. Can’t wait to get off this ship – it’s awful. There are people everywhere. We’re not leaving the cabin at all – having everything delivered to the room. The excursions are the only days we’ll venture out. It’s terrible. So crowded. Just can’t believe how many people there are.’

Eh, it’s a ship that takes over three thousand people and one and a half thousand crew – what the hell did he expect? We already hated him because of his stupid cigars. Now we hate him because he’s an idiot.

I decide to go to the gym. I’ve been and looked at it before, I've thought about it, I've talked about it, now it’s time to give it a go. If you’ve never been on a treadmill on a ship before, may I suggest you give it a miss? Although the ship isn’t bouncy anymore, it’s still shifting about a bit, so being on the treadmill is really unnerving. I’m holding on to the handles, sure I’m going to fall off, and I’m only walking. I give up and decide to just walk around the promenade deck until I feel like I’ve had a bit of a workout. I start walking and pass other people walking in the opposite direction. After I’ve passed them several times, I realise that they are walking for exercise too, but I’m the only one walking this way – apparently the wrong way. Nothing new there, really – if there’s a wrong way to do something, I’ll find it.

I get back to the cabin. Mum has come in from the balcony because, ‘That bloody idiot kept smoking cigars and talking rubbish, very loudly, on the telephone. I think there’s something wrong with him. He’s probably here with his carer.’

Time for tea and then Countdown. Check hair and height of waistband. All normal. Same woman wins Countdown again. There may be a riot. Entertainment officer announces that there will be no more Countdown until after the following four days of excursions. Anger is replaced by horror and disbelief. Someone wants to know why – after all, not everyone is getting off the ship. That’s just the way it is. Waistbands are hoisted up a notch further and they leave, dragging the toes of their brown leather sandals along the carpet, totally depressed.

It’s another formal night for dinner, but we decide to avoid the photographers – hands looking very fat tonight, and there’s the jowls, so no point in wasting time. As we get out of the lift, we see two women pushing two men in wheelchairs and another woman walking by their side. They all stop and point at my mum and go, ‘Ooooooooh. Stroke?’

Mum nods. ‘Yep – twenty years ago.’ The men in the wheelchairs look horrified, so I assume they have been affected only recently and were hoping for a complete recovery.

The woman who wasn’t pushing a chair comes up to Mum, pats her on the shoulder and says, ‘Aw, you are lovely. You’re doing very well, dear. Are you on holiday?’

Mum looks at me and tries not to laugh, then turns back to the, clearly mental, woman. ‘Eh, yes.’

‘Aw, good for you.’

They go off into the lift and we fall about laughing.

Mum’s hanging on to me. ‘Are we on holiday? No, we live here. On this cruise ship. All year round. And what the hell was all that about anyway? Did they want to start a bloody club or something? The stroke club? What a great laugh that would be.’

Definitely the most stupid question we’ve heard in a long time.

No general knowledge questions from the lads tonight, but the patter is good, as is the food. Richard and John are going to Barcelona on the same tour as us, but are more concerned about how they’re going to see the rugby match on the Sunday morning and are doing the rounds of the ship’s bars to find out if anyone is showing it. Yes, that’s why they’re doing the rounds of the bars. They head off to the casino and to their rugby quest; we head for mad Laura and her daft quizzes. No word of Delia Smith still releasing her godmother.

Back to the cabin – we have to be up early and plan to have breakfast in the restaurant so we’re ready in time for the Barcelona tour.

‘Is it Barcelona tomorrow?’

‘Yep.’

‘So we’ll have to be up early?’

‘Yep – I’ve set the alarm for 7 am.’

‘That should be fine.’

3 am. ‘Is that …’

‘It’s just the noise of the ship.’

It’s going to be strange getting off the ship – I’m used to it now and it feels … well, normal. But looking forward to Barcelona and going crazy... oh, and having our first cooked breakfast of the cruise. Oooooooh, will we cope with changing the routine?

Cruise Day 3

Awakened by blinding light, early in the morning. Hang on – the curtains are closed. Ah, the bedside lamp – the one right next to my head. Mum explains she put that light on, instead of opening the curtains like she did yesterday, so as not to wake me.

Today’s list of possible events includes: Passenger Talent Show Registration; a talk about the Krays; bingo; basketball; dance class; Texas Hold-Em tournament; Countdown.

Hmmmm … I wonder what we’ll choose?

Off to breakfast upstairs again. The ship is still bouncing about in The Bay of Biscay, so everyone carrying a tray of food looks like Mrs Overall from Acorn Antiques delivering Miss Babs’ tea. A couple sit at our table. The woman is extremely overweight, the man fairly slight. Her tray – bran flakes, a banana, and a yoghurt. His tray – every fried food known to man in huge quantities. I keep waiting for them to have a palm-to-forehead d’oh moment and swap trays, but it doesn’t happen. We all chat as we eat, but every time the man speaks, his wife looks at me, rolls her eyes and sighs. He’s not saying anything annoying or odd, so I have no idea why she keeps doing this. Mum can’t make eye contact while this is going on ‘cause she knows we’ll both burst out laughing.

We get into the lift after breakfast and I suggest that I’ll go down and get the crossword and Mum can just go back to the cabin if she feels confident about finding her own way. She does. By the time I’ve gone down to floor five, got the crossword and walked back up seven flights of stairs, I get to our cabin just seconds after Mum. I open the door and she’s having a fit of the giggles, collapsing on to the bed. She’s been all over the place trying to find the cabin, and kept finding the laundry room instead. We agree that I should stick with her to avoid this happening again … unless we’re actually planning on doing some laundry, in which case I’ll send her out like a detergent-seeking missile and track her progress.

The weather is amazing, way better than it should be at this time of year, so we head up to the sun deck to sunbathe. It’s mobbed, but we find a couple of sun loungers. Now all we have to do is work out how to get Mum on to one of them. In the end she just kind of launches herself at it and has another giggle as she imagines what this must have looked like. Then we both lose it as we wonder how the hell we’re going to get her back up again and come up with a scenario where she has to stay there for the rest of the cruise, fed, watered and entertained on a sun lounger.

After a few hours (everyone around is us stuffing themselves with pizza and burgers and chips and beers – we drink water and feel all smug), it’s time for tea and then Countdown – yay. We go back to the cabin to drop off our towels. As we walk back along the corridor I see a tiny white-haired woman in her dressing gown and slippers. She calls back to someone in her cabin. ‘There’s a young girl coming – she’ll know what to do – I’ll ask her.’ I look behind me for the young girl, then I realise I am the young girl. I can hear Mum snigger.

‘Excuse me, dear, could you help us? We can’t work out where to plug in the hairdryer.’

This might sound daft, but it’s actually quite a task locating the one socket that will accommodate the strange plug on the hairdryer and it took me about half an hour on the first night to find it hidden next to the telephone. I know it will be too difficult to explain, so suggest I show her. I walk into the cabin and see her travelling companion – a very tall woman, white hair in curlers, floral dressing gown, the belt tied so tight it’s cutting her in two. Now, I’m not exactly sure where this woman thought her lips started, or, indeed, where she thought they ended, but let’s just say she’d covered all the possibilities with bright pink lipstick. I get their hairdryer working to much thanks and insistence that I am a gem, a wonderful girl, an absolute darling and (this from the lady with the lipstick) a lifesaver because she couldn’t have gone out with her hair in that state. No, she would have looked ridiculous with that hair. Yes. Definitely.

We get inside the lift and slide down the walls laughing. Tea is a quick scone and cake and then off to Countdown. We get there in plenty of time today, having learned our lesson. I don’t mean we actually find the room right away, but we give wiggle room for getting hopelessly lost, which we do. The woman who won yesterday wins again today. This does nothing to temper the unpleasant atmosphere, which now feels vaguely violent. The winner has the most bizarre hair and the highest trousers. Surely these things cannot be unrelated?

It’s a casual night for dinner, so no need to get dressy … but we do it anyway, ‘cause we can.

John: Karen, how do you spell pterodactyl?

Me: You mean the one that starts with a ‘p’?

John: Damn.

Richard, grinning at John: That’s another drink you owe me.

Richard and John have entered the poker tournament – they like a wee gamble, John more so than Richard. I convince Mum to give the theatre a miss tonight – it’s another comedian, and after the last one, she’s fairly easily dissuaded. So we head for The Exchange Bar and a quiz. This is our first experience of the entertainment team. Tonight it’s Andy and Laura. Andy is Scottish, Laura is … bizarre. She has the strangest accent ever, and is clearly hamming it up to great comic effect. She is from Norfolk (I think – maybe Norwich) but also spent a lot of time in Devon, so if you can imagine a combination of those two accents, then exaggerate it, you have Laura. I heard her call the number ‘saxty-sex’ as I walked passed the bingo one day. It says on her bio that Delia Smith ‘has her godmother’. Delia Smith, a kidnapper – who’d have thought?

Although the whole quiz and patter is very holiday camp, it’s pretty well done and funny and way better than our nights at the theatre. We have a couple of drinks and head back to the cabin at around midnight.

‘We better get some sleep – Barcelona tomorrow.’

‘Nah, Barcelona is on Saturday, Mum.’

‘Is it? Tut, so it is – sorry.’

3 am. ‘Is that rain?’

‘Nope – just the sound of the ship.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

Tomorrow we’ll sort out our excursions. There will probably be sunbathing, crosswords, Countdown, tea cakes, and laughter in large quantities.