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:
1st woman: Have you met the Welsh widows yet?
2nd woman: No – what Welsh widows?
1st 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.
2nd 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.
Well that was an education. I now know what a spurtle is - a porridge stirrer. (I looked it up) Thanks Karen.
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