"Hello Neil. How's it going?" It was Nigel. Would it be worth answering?
"Fine thank . . . "
"Yes I'm fine, Karen's a bit under the weather," he went on. "Fluids." he whispered loudly. "Fluids," again tapping his nose.
"Sorry to hear that. Hope she fee. . . . "
"Feels better? Oh yes she will once she's had dinner. Something light: ribs are on the menu and they'll do those with chips if you ask."
"Well I hope you both en . . ."
"Oh yes, we'll enjoy the ribs. There's broccoli and stilton soup as well. We like soup, helps to fill you up because the starters are a bit New Kitchen," he laughed at his wit, "aren't they?"
All of Nigel's questions were, in effect, rhetorical but he looked expectant, head slightly to one side. "New Kitchen, ye . . ."
"Yes, very good. It always makes real food lovers laugh, that does. Now we really look forward to the puddings. Have to leave room for those."
He looked at his watch.
"Oh dear, might have to push the last 250ml through to make sure we're not late for dinner. Cheerio."
Dinner was enlivened by issues around the word gay.
"I'm not prejudiced but I just don't understand why those people had to misappropriate a perfectly good word." This was Lorna's opening gambit.
"Of course I've done a lot in the theatre and they're everywhere," boasted Margaret "and a lot of them seem quite normal."
James remained silent.
The ladies carried on digging themselves deeper. Margaret going from condescension to patronising as easily as Blair went from Bush's puppet to war criminal while Lorna, if she was allowed to continue was going to be discussing the comparative merits of a scientific search for a cure and a modern twist on the final solution.
"I once worked for a gay chap who tried to get me drunk when I first met him: John, John Portly. He was the manager of a five star hotel in Scarborough and I was looking for work. He gave me a job running a bar in a separate building - it was like a pub owned by the hotel. Anyway at the end of my first evening John came in as the last customers were leaving and asked if I'd like a drink. I went to make myself a gin and tonic but he stopped me and asked me to join him in his penthouse apartment at the top of the hotel."
"You didn't go did you?" asked Margaret, beginning to close any gaps between stances taken by herself and Lorna.
"Of course What could happen?"
Margaret coloured slightly and answered, "well they're very over-sexed you know."
"Well we went up to John's apartment and he proceeded to ply me with quite large quantities of gin. Conversation was good and we found that we had a lot in common: our schooling, interests in natural history and literature. It was a pleasant time but the gin kept flowing. Unfortunately for John he was trying to keep up with the gin and eventually he fell into a drunken stupor."
"Unfortunately for John? More like fortunate for you," interjected Lorna, "What did you do? Kick him and scarper?"
"No, he was very drunk and I was quite worried about him so I helped him to his bed an kipped on the sofa. In the morning he was pretty hung over and very embarrassed. He came into the sitting room and went very red. 'I didn't try anything on did I?' He was relieved to earn that we had just chatted. I explained that it had been an enjoyable evening, that I wasn't gay but that didn't matter. We remained friends for years. He left Scarborough and went, very appropriately to be the manager of the Queen's Hotel in a northern city. Whenever I was in the area I would give him a call and we would have a night out. He'd take me to the gay bars and introduce me to his friends and acquaintances, in a very camp voice: 'this is Nick, he's my straight friend so hands, and eyes off.'"
"How could you bear it?" Lorna asked with an expression that would have done nicely had she accidentally swallowed a slug.
"Yes I'm fine, Karen's a bit under the weather," he went on. "Fluids." he whispered loudly. "Fluids," again tapping his nose.
"Sorry to hear that. Hope she fee. . . . "
"Feels better? Oh yes she will once she's had dinner. Something light: ribs are on the menu and they'll do those with chips if you ask."
"Well I hope you both en . . ."
"Oh yes, we'll enjoy the ribs. There's broccoli and stilton soup as well. We like soup, helps to fill you up because the starters are a bit New Kitchen," he laughed at his wit, "aren't they?"
All of Nigel's questions were, in effect, rhetorical but he looked expectant, head slightly to one side. "New Kitchen, ye . . ."
"Yes, very good. It always makes real food lovers laugh, that does. Now we really look forward to the puddings. Have to leave room for those."
He looked at his watch.
"Oh dear, might have to push the last 250ml through to make sure we're not late for dinner. Cheerio."
Dinner was enlivened by issues around the word gay.
"I'm not prejudiced but I just don't understand why those people had to misappropriate a perfectly good word." This was Lorna's opening gambit.
"Of course I've done a lot in the theatre and they're everywhere," boasted Margaret "and a lot of them seem quite normal."
James remained silent.
The ladies carried on digging themselves deeper. Margaret going from condescension to patronising as easily as Blair went from Bush's puppet to war criminal while Lorna, if she was allowed to continue was going to be discussing the comparative merits of a scientific search for a cure and a modern twist on the final solution.
"I once worked for a gay chap who tried to get me drunk when I first met him: John, John Portly. He was the manager of a five star hotel in Scarborough and I was looking for work. He gave me a job running a bar in a separate building - it was like a pub owned by the hotel. Anyway at the end of my first evening John came in as the last customers were leaving and asked if I'd like a drink. I went to make myself a gin and tonic but he stopped me and asked me to join him in his penthouse apartment at the top of the hotel."
"You didn't go did you?" asked Margaret, beginning to close any gaps between stances taken by herself and Lorna.
"Of course What could happen?"
Margaret coloured slightly and answered, "well they're very over-sexed you know."
"Well we went up to John's apartment and he proceeded to ply me with quite large quantities of gin. Conversation was good and we found that we had a lot in common: our schooling, interests in natural history and literature. It was a pleasant time but the gin kept flowing. Unfortunately for John he was trying to keep up with the gin and eventually he fell into a drunken stupor."
"Unfortunately for John? More like fortunate for you," interjected Lorna, "What did you do? Kick him and scarper?"
"No, he was very drunk and I was quite worried about him so I helped him to his bed an kipped on the sofa. In the morning he was pretty hung over and very embarrassed. He came into the sitting room and went very red. 'I didn't try anything on did I?' He was relieved to earn that we had just chatted. I explained that it had been an enjoyable evening, that I wasn't gay but that didn't matter. We remained friends for years. He left Scarborough and went, very appropriately to be the manager of the Queen's Hotel in a northern city. Whenever I was in the area I would give him a call and we would have a night out. He'd take me to the gay bars and introduce me to his friends and acquaintances, in a very camp voice: 'this is Nick, he's my straight friend so hands, and eyes off.'"
"How could you bear it?" Lorna asked with an expression that would have done nicely had she accidentally swallowed a slug.
"He was a friend and jolly good company. He was just looking for friendships and, looking elsewhere
for someone he could love and would love him. He wasn't into the promiscuous gay scene that receives
all of the publicity."
"Are you still in touch with him?" asked Margaret in a tone that suggested she would use more anti- bacterial lotion next time she was in the neighbouring chair.
"No, sadly not. He died of aids, contracted from a partner he loved but who was a far from faithful. He was an early casualty too - a great loss."
"Are you telling us that you're gay?" asked Margaret, "as I said I'm not prejudiced."
James smiled.
"Well, am I showing up on your gaydar?"
"Well no, actually."
"You're right, I'm not gay."
"There's a waiter in the Tintagel Restaurant, he is," announced Lorna with a an acid tone. "He gives me the creeps."
"Excuse me ladies, Nick, I must go now," and James left. Maybe in search of better company.
----OOO----
In the morning, at 5 am the deck and ship was sprinkled with moths, beetles, heteroptera, orthoptera and a few flies. By 8 am it was crowded by passengers seeking the bug man.
"Hello Mick? Have you seen the moths?"
"Yes, Nigel, I've been on deck since . . "
"Have you seen this one?" pointing to the beetle that someone had just brought to the bug man. "Yes, It's a . . . ."
"We don't like them. They're like beetles but they fly."
"A different voice asked, "Sorry Nick you were going to tell us what it is," he stated, glaring at Nigel. "It's a beetle, a relative of the . . ."
"It's not a beetle," Nigel sneered, "they don't fly so how did it get on board?" "Many beetles . . . "
"Tell me that. Did it swim?" he laughed.
A crowd of twenty passengers glared at Nigel and the Captain spoke out.
"No more. Stop interrupting. People listening. Not interested? Then go away." To the relief of the interested parties Nigel retreated.
The bug man's services were required until, and even during lunch. "Would you do a lecture about insects?" many asked.
"Ask the Cruise Director," was the cryptic reply.
The last request came from lady who dashed into the restaurant.
"Ah, there you are. It's huge and it's on my bag. Oh, I'm really sorry you're eating."
It was tempting to point out that was the usual reason for being in the restaurant but she sounded genuine.
"I am, I am really sorry its just I was so excited, and scared that I screamed and people said you need to find the bug man and I just set off in a tearing hurry."
"It's fine, I've pretty much finished and never have pudding. Where are you on deck?"
"Near the back on the left hand side if you face the front."
"I'll be up in a minute. OK?"
"Oh thank you so much."
The last mouthful finished it was time to head for the port side aft, out of the restaurant and then up four flights of stairs.
"Hello Mitch? In a hurry?" "Been summoned to . . " "Court?" he laughed.
"No, Nigel, to identify an . . "
"Are you still in touch with him?" asked Margaret in a tone that suggested she would use more anti- bacterial lotion next time she was in the neighbouring chair.
"No, sadly not. He died of aids, contracted from a partner he loved but who was a far from faithful. He was an early casualty too - a great loss."
"Are you telling us that you're gay?" asked Margaret, "as I said I'm not prejudiced."
James smiled.
"Well, am I showing up on your gaydar?"
"Well no, actually."
"You're right, I'm not gay."
"There's a waiter in the Tintagel Restaurant, he is," announced Lorna with a an acid tone. "He gives me the creeps."
"Excuse me ladies, Nick, I must go now," and James left. Maybe in search of better company.
----OOO----
In the morning, at 5 am the deck and ship was sprinkled with moths, beetles, heteroptera, orthoptera and a few flies. By 8 am it was crowded by passengers seeking the bug man.
"Hello Mick? Have you seen the moths?"
"Yes, Nigel, I've been on deck since . . "
"Have you seen this one?" pointing to the beetle that someone had just brought to the bug man. "Yes, It's a . . . ."
"We don't like them. They're like beetles but they fly."
"A different voice asked, "Sorry Nick you were going to tell us what it is," he stated, glaring at Nigel. "It's a beetle, a relative of the . . ."
"It's not a beetle," Nigel sneered, "they don't fly so how did it get on board?" "Many beetles . . . "
"Tell me that. Did it swim?" he laughed.
A crowd of twenty passengers glared at Nigel and the Captain spoke out.
"No more. Stop interrupting. People listening. Not interested? Then go away." To the relief of the interested parties Nigel retreated.
The bug man's services were required until, and even during lunch. "Would you do a lecture about insects?" many asked.
"Ask the Cruise Director," was the cryptic reply.
The last request came from lady who dashed into the restaurant.
"Ah, there you are. It's huge and it's on my bag. Oh, I'm really sorry you're eating."
It was tempting to point out that was the usual reason for being in the restaurant but she sounded genuine.
"I am, I am really sorry its just I was so excited, and scared that I screamed and people said you need to find the bug man and I just set off in a tearing hurry."
"It's fine, I've pretty much finished and never have pudding. Where are you on deck?"
"Near the back on the left hand side if you face the front."
"I'll be up in a minute. OK?"
"Oh thank you so much."
The last mouthful finished it was time to head for the port side aft, out of the restaurant and then up four flights of stairs.
"Hello Mitch? In a hurry?" "Been summoned to . . " "Court?" he laughed.
"No, Nigel, to identify an . . "
"Bug?"
A little more forcefully than usual "No Nigel that would be 'a' bug it is 'an' insect that I'm going to see." "Oh, sorry, Neil. I'll let you get on."
It was a Nepid - a water scorpion about 9cm long and not very happy. A half hour was spent holding it for people to photograph and the last of those asked, "Are you going to give us a lecture on insects?" "If you like, suggest it to the cruise Director."
A little more forcefully than usual "No Nigel that would be 'a' bug it is 'an' insect that I'm going to see." "Oh, sorry, Neil. I'll let you get on."
It was a Nepid - a water scorpion about 9cm long and not very happy. A half hour was spent holding it for people to photograph and the last of those asked, "Are you going to give us a lecture on insects?" "If you like, suggest it to the cruise Director."
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