Oh, I Forgot I had a Blog

Yes, well, what can I say? I'm old. I had forgotten about this and I had to follow a link from Teresa Stenson's blog to find the place. Oh dear. I am a failed blogger.

So why am I back? Well, obviously, I have something to sell!

I've put together an anthology of some of my published stuff. The book is called The Upside-Down Jesus and other stories. Here's a wee bit about it:

The Upside-Down Jesus and other stories is a collection of published and prize-winning short stories, flash fiction and micro-fiction giving voice to a variety of different characters.

A child struggles to overcome her fear of the upside-down Jesus, a man dons his ‘egg-stealing coat’ once a week, a teenager becomes obsessed with the colour purple, an old man keeps his wife closer than others would like, a psychiatrist considers the folly of his patients, and a little girl watches her neighbour slowly disappear.

Tracy Chevalier, judge of the 2010 Mslexia Short Story Competition, on “The Upside-Down Jesus”:

“ … a heartbreaker leavened by a gorgeous young Scottish narrator … the girl’s voice is beautifully sustained and so we feel we really know her by the end.”

Annemarie Neary, judge of the first quarter 2013 Flash 500 Competition, on “When No One Is Looking”:

“… close to perfect … expert writing – tight and rhythmical … deft evocation of the childish sense of impotence, of no one listening … excellent work.”

Purchasing info for anyone who wants to buy a book. Unfortunately, the postage is a bit of a bugger, but I don’t control the Post office (yet!) so there’s not a lot I can do about it – sorry.

To buy from Lulu costs £6.99 + p&p, follow this link:

http://www.lulu.com/shop/karen-jones/the-upside-down-jesus-and-other-stories/paperback/product-21501492.html

To buy a signed copy direct from me costs £6.00 + p&p:

UK total cost = £7.30

Europe total cost = £9.50

USA total cost = £10.50 ($17.50 at current exchange rate)

The Post Office is putting up its prices on 1^st April, so these prices are fairly accurate for the next week.

If you want to buy direct from me, drop me a pm with your address, I’ll give you the PayPal address, once the money is in the account, I’ll get your book sent out to you asap.

The book will be available from Amazon at £6.99 + p&p in a couple of weeks from now if you’d prefer to wait until then.

If you’re going to see me in person e.g. at Rio Café next Monday, at salsa, at zumba or because you live in my street, just let me know if you want a copy and I’ll bring it to wherever we’ll next meet – cost remains £6.00.

I'll be visiting some other bloggers in the next few weeks to chat about the book, so I'll try to remember my blog exists and keep you up to date on what's happening.

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.