The morning began in deep, deep blue water, 3 miles of it below the keel. By 9am the sea was a dirtier
blue and only 200 metres deep. Sailing towards the mouth of the Amazon the ship settled a little
deeper as even 150 miles from the mouth the water is predominantly from the river. A huge ray swam
lazily by on the port side languid wings barely moving and careless of the huge ship interrupting its
gentle journey. Some time later a dolphin made a brief appearance and shoals of tiny flying fish, the
shallower water being their nursery. The temperature rose and the sun, barely in the sky burned like
acid on the skin. By lunchtime the water was the colour of milky coffee and only 20 to 100 metres
deep. Sediment and debris from as far afield as Peru had stained the sea to the horizon.
For some hours a container ship raced for the channel marker and won easily as the Boudicca slowed
and the screw churned up the bar across the mouth of this amazing river.
By mid afternoon, burned raw despite the factor 50+ and the ship had entered the mouth of the river. No sign of land as the river is 200 miles wide at that point.
"Can I help?" Two asked simultaneously.
"They shouldn't have sofas this low."
Resisting the urge to say you chose to flow over it, "Can we help?"
Taking hold of his hand was like grasping a damp rubber glove filled with cold, diced liver with, deep in each finger a cold chicken bone. There was no tone whatsoever and little grip. The hand on the shoulder disappeared but somehow two managed to restore Mr Globe to his feet.
"They ought to take these sofas out of here - they're a menace," were his words of thanks.
He lurched towards the lift and, no doubt, lunch.
Lunch collected, seat taken and Kindle turned on when: "Hello, we're Nigel and Karen, who are you?"
"N......"
"This is our twelfth cruise. Have you cruised before?" "Well in the . . . "
"We cruise twice a year. We'd like to do a world cruise but we cannot because of the fluids."
"The flu . . . "
"They only last for a month in the chiller so on this trip I'll have to have Hartmanns for the last few days."
"Ah a med. . . "
By mid afternoon, burned raw despite the factor 50+ and the ship had entered the mouth of the river. No sign of land as the river is 200 miles wide at that point.
-----000-----
Before lunch the air-conditioning's seductive caress was the reason for heading to the Observatory Bar
and, much to the detriment of the ship's centre of gravity, Mr Globe had managed to spread himself
across a sofa. The effort of extricating himself from the lift had clearly been exhausting and he lay,
helplessly across the straining furniture, a drink in one hand and a flask of peanuts in the other. Both
were consumed in a moment. There was a pause and then his face, somewhere between the jowls and
above the chins, started to pull a succession of faces that were reminiscent of a pale blancmange
impersonating John Prescott. The wheezing became more and more distressed, the sofa began to
complain and it then became clear that he was trying to rise. Despite a similarity in form to one of
those dolls that cannot be knocked over the pear shape was working against him and he appeared to
have become the doll that cannot get up. He began to rock but only his head and feet moved - the rest
remained still. He tried to lean forward but failed to move his centre of gravity and was beginning to
show signs of real, physical distress.
"Can I help?" Two asked simultaneously.
"They shouldn't have sofas this low."
Resisting the urge to say you chose to flow over it, "Can we help?"
Taking hold of his hand was like grasping a damp rubber glove filled with cold, diced liver with, deep in each finger a cold chicken bone. There was no tone whatsoever and little grip. The hand on the shoulder disappeared but somehow two managed to restore Mr Globe to his feet.
"They ought to take these sofas out of here - they're a menace," were his words of thanks.
He lurched towards the lift and, no doubt, lunch.
---OOO---
Mr Globe was near the entrance to the Tintagel restaurant. No doubt he had settled as quickly as
possible to expedite the quick arrival of food. Luckily there was a route around him and empty places
further in to the room. A waiter pointed to a seat on a table for four.
Lunch collected, seat taken and Kindle turned on when: "Hello, we're Nigel and Karen, who are you?"
"N......"
"This is our twelfth cruise. Have you cruised before?" "Well in the . . . "
"We cruise twice a year. We'd like to do a world cruise but we cannot because of the fluids."
"The flu . . . "
"They only last for a month in the chiller so on this trip I'll have to have Hartmanns for the last few days."
"Ah a med. . . "
"'scuse us," and they left for the buffet only to return with salads and chips.
"We like to start with a salad - it's so good for you. You're having salad too. There's sticky toffee pudding as well. Have you been to the Amazon before?"
"Well I . . ."
"We haven't but we're disappointed with the trips. There seem to be a lot of excursions into the jungle and places that might be dirty and that's no good what with the fluids."
They paused to eat.
"We didn't think that it would be this hot, did you?"
"'scuse us," and they set off for the buffet and the sticky toffee pudding.
They returned with identical 'main courses': crab cakes, roast potatoes, broccoli and creamed swede with a thick river of gravy over the latter. There was something familiar about them and then it became clear: they walked the deck, slowly, each morning in identical fleeces and jogging pants with loud stripes down the sides. The memory had been triggered by the observation that they were dressed alike and even ate in unison. Perhaps they both plugged themselves into the fluids in the privacy of their own cabins.
"Please excuse me, I must . . ."
"Ooo aren't you having any sticky toffee pudding?"
"No, thank you."
"Mmm, I suppose so."
"My father is mad about butterflies. He lives on the Isle of Wight, you know."
It was hard to think what prescience she imagined might have made that information available. Are 'bug men' good at divining where the fathers of strangers dwell?
"Butterflies are not really my field. I know most of the native British species but won't get to first base in the Amazon."
"No, no. We don't expect you to know about butterflies." She laughed at the ridiculousness of the thought.
"No, we wanted to know about the flying fish."
"Ah, now they're not strictly insects."
"Exactly," he joined in triumphantly.
"Are these little ones the same as the big ones we saw earlier?"
The question was asked with such hope and their demeanour was so friendly that it would have been churlish to answer the question. 'No they're smaller' would have been rude.
"I think that they are the same species as the four-winged ones we were seeing in the deep ocean and that this shallower water is a nursery area where they feed and grow until, they are of a size to swim out from the continental shelf for an adult life on the deep ocean until, they return to the shallower water to spawn."
"Wow, how do you know all these things?"
"It's just a theory."
"But you make it so easy to understand - you ought to give talks on board."
"Hmm - well ask the cruise director and tell him that I'm happy to do so. In fact I expected to have done so by now."
"Excuse me."
"Yes?"
"Your lecture this afternoon." A sudden sinking feeling, had the Cruise Director added a talk to the bill without telling.
"Lecture? This afternoon?"
"Yes - The story of Wallace in the jungle."
"No, sorry, that's not me, that's Professor Andrew."
"We like to start with a salad - it's so good for you. You're having salad too. There's sticky toffee pudding as well. Have you been to the Amazon before?"
"Well I . . ."
"We haven't but we're disappointed with the trips. There seem to be a lot of excursions into the jungle and places that might be dirty and that's no good what with the fluids."
They paused to eat.
"We didn't think that it would be this hot, did you?"
"'scuse us," and they set off for the buffet and the sticky toffee pudding.
They returned with identical 'main courses': crab cakes, roast potatoes, broccoli and creamed swede with a thick river of gravy over the latter. There was something familiar about them and then it became clear: they walked the deck, slowly, each morning in identical fleeces and jogging pants with loud stripes down the sides. The memory had been triggered by the observation that they were dressed alike and even ate in unison. Perhaps they both plugged themselves into the fluids in the privacy of their own cabins.
"Please excuse me, I must . . ."
"Ooo aren't you having any sticky toffee pudding?"
"No, thank you."
----OOO----
"Are you the bug man?" Well it was better than 'Are you the bugger?'"Mmm, I suppose so."
"My father is mad about butterflies. He lives on the Isle of Wight, you know."
It was hard to think what prescience she imagined might have made that information available. Are 'bug men' good at divining where the fathers of strangers dwell?
"Butterflies are not really my field. I know most of the native British species but won't get to first base in the Amazon."
"No, no. We don't expect you to know about butterflies." She laughed at the ridiculousness of the thought.
"No, we wanted to know about the flying fish."
"Ah, now they're not strictly insects."
"Exactly," he joined in triumphantly.
"Are these little ones the same as the big ones we saw earlier?"
The question was asked with such hope and their demeanour was so friendly that it would have been churlish to answer the question. 'No they're smaller' would have been rude.
"I think that they are the same species as the four-winged ones we were seeing in the deep ocean and that this shallower water is a nursery area where they feed and grow until, they are of a size to swim out from the continental shelf for an adult life on the deep ocean until, they return to the shallower water to spawn."
"Wow, how do you know all these things?"
"It's just a theory."
"But you make it so easy to understand - you ought to give talks on board."
"Hmm - well ask the cruise director and tell him that I'm happy to do so. In fact I expected to have done so by now."
---OOO---
A few turns around the scorched deck and another interruption."Excuse me."
"Yes?"
"Your lecture this afternoon." A sudden sinking feeling, had the Cruise Director added a talk to the bill without telling.
"Lecture? This afternoon?"
"Yes - The story of Wallace in the jungle."
"No, sorry, that's not me, that's Professor Andrew."
"But you gave the talk on the history of Brazil yesterday didn't you?"
"No, that was the Professor. I think you have us confused. You certainly have me confused, he's shorter than me, has more hair and no beard."]
"Really, are you sure?"
"LIfe has been complicated but, while I might not be sure who I am, I do know that this is a beard."
"I am sorry. I'm Derek. I have a friend you might know. He read Marine Biology at Portsmouth. You were based there weren't you?"
"I'm Nick and no, sorry I was not at Portsmouth."
"But you did read Oceanography didn't you?"
"No you're still thinking of the Professor."
"Am I? Crikey, sorry. So you're Andrew."
"No I'm Nick and I'm awfully sorry but have to go now."
"Cheerio - see you this afternoon, looking forward to it."
"No, that was the Professor. I think you have us confused. You certainly have me confused, he's shorter than me, has more hair and no beard."]
"Really, are you sure?"
"LIfe has been complicated but, while I might not be sure who I am, I do know that this is a beard."
"I am sorry. I'm Derek. I have a friend you might know. He read Marine Biology at Portsmouth. You were based there weren't you?"
"I'm Nick and no, sorry I was not at Portsmouth."
"But you did read Oceanography didn't you?"
"No you're still thinking of the Professor."
"Am I? Crikey, sorry. So you're Andrew."
"No I'm Nick and I'm awfully sorry but have to go now."
"Cheerio - see you this afternoon, looking forward to it."
----OOO----
Never mind we had reached the Amazon 
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