The puzzlers are united. One signed up to stay on board for the next (Northern Lights) cruise but they
are united in their anxiety. A 5,000 piece puzzle that had been started might not be finished in time
and they were angry. The buzz as they combined their efforts had much in common with a nest of
wasps disturbed by a stick.
"We have to work together on this," the one armed lady insisted. "If we divide the puzzle up we should
manage it."
"OK I'll do all that green - the trees on the left hand side of the picture then you can do the cottage and Mary could you do the sky?"
"Just pass me all the light blue and white bits and I'll make a start. Who's going to do the flower beds?" "John will be along in a little while, he can do them."
"Good idea. What about when there's only one of us here? Can we do each others bits. I mean, if I'm here doing the sky and see a piece that will fit in your trees, Jacqui, can I put it in?"
The deep thought and careful balancing of territorial arguments against the need to finish the puzzle before the ship reached the Nab ploughed furrows across brows and was clearly harrowing. There were, perhaps, limits to co-operation even when there was a common purpose.
"Well we need to finish this but . . er . . . um,"
"What if we agreed a limit on the number of pieces?"
"Good idea but is that a limit for each sector or for any pieces outside our own sectors?
"Good point and is this x pieces per hour or per three hours?"
The concept of co-operation was clearly as difficult to grasp as the idea that Tony Blair could be a Middle East peace envoy.
---OOO---
"Excuse me," she said in a voice that was little more than a whisper and had a conspiratorial air. "Excuse me, could I have a word, please?"
"How can I help?"
"You are the bug man aren't you?"
"Yes. Bugs 'r' Me or is it Bugs U Like."
She looked a little hurt or confused at the levity.
"Can we go somewhere private? Where we cannot be overheard." She didn't look the racy type and it was hard to imagine what could not be said there in the lobby to the lounge.
"Erm, if you like. What about out on deck - there isn't anybody on the shady side, the port side."
She sat in the next chair, shivering slightly in the stiff north westerly breeze and looked around to make sure that there was no one else nearby.
"You must have some."
"Some what?"
"Some of them, you know," she looked around once more, "the bugs. You must have some specimens that you collected from the deck or your trips away from the ship."
"Well actually no - didn't come equipped to take specimens."
"What, you mean like butterfly nets and things?"
"That sort of thing and specimen tubes, lepidoptera papers, pooters and, of course, permits."
She blanched as the sentence ended.
"P p p permits?"
"That's right. CITES and the like."
"CITES?"
"Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species."
"But they can't have been endangered, there were hundreds of them."
"Well without proper research it would be difficult to know whether any of the species were covered by CITES but there are other restrictions - export and import. As a scientist the expectation would be to contact the Brazilian Ministry for the Environment or similar for permission to collect and export specimens and there are bio-security restrictions on importing biological material into the UK." Anxiety showed on her face as clearly as a tattoo.
"You've picked up one of those really impressive bugs haven't you and kept it as a souvenir?"
"OK I'll do all that green - the trees on the left hand side of the picture then you can do the cottage and Mary could you do the sky?"
"Just pass me all the light blue and white bits and I'll make a start. Who's going to do the flower beds?" "John will be along in a little while, he can do them."
"Good idea. What about when there's only one of us here? Can we do each others bits. I mean, if I'm here doing the sky and see a piece that will fit in your trees, Jacqui, can I put it in?"
The deep thought and careful balancing of territorial arguments against the need to finish the puzzle before the ship reached the Nab ploughed furrows across brows and was clearly harrowing. There were, perhaps, limits to co-operation even when there was a common purpose.
"Well we need to finish this but . . er . . . um,"
"What if we agreed a limit on the number of pieces?"
"Good idea but is that a limit for each sector or for any pieces outside our own sectors?
"Good point and is this x pieces per hour or per three hours?"
The concept of co-operation was clearly as difficult to grasp as the idea that Tony Blair could be a Middle East peace envoy.
---OOO---
"Excuse me," she said in a voice that was little more than a whisper and had a conspiratorial air. "Excuse me, could I have a word, please?"
"How can I help?"
"You are the bug man aren't you?"
"Yes. Bugs 'r' Me or is it Bugs U Like."
She looked a little hurt or confused at the levity.
"Can we go somewhere private? Where we cannot be overheard." She didn't look the racy type and it was hard to imagine what could not be said there in the lobby to the lounge.
"Erm, if you like. What about out on deck - there isn't anybody on the shady side, the port side."
She sat in the next chair, shivering slightly in the stiff north westerly breeze and looked around to make sure that there was no one else nearby.
"You must have some."
"Some what?"
"Some of them, you know," she looked around once more, "the bugs. You must have some specimens that you collected from the deck or your trips away from the ship."
"Well actually no - didn't come equipped to take specimens."
"What, you mean like butterfly nets and things?"
"That sort of thing and specimen tubes, lepidoptera papers, pooters and, of course, permits."
She blanched as the sentence ended.
"P p p permits?"
"That's right. CITES and the like."
"CITES?"
"Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species."
"But they can't have been endangered, there were hundreds of them."
"Well without proper research it would be difficult to know whether any of the species were covered by CITES but there are other restrictions - export and import. As a scientist the expectation would be to contact the Brazilian Ministry for the Environment or similar for permission to collect and export specimens and there are bio-security restrictions on importing biological material into the UK." Anxiety showed on her face as clearly as a tattoo.
"You've picked up one of those really impressive bugs haven't you and kept it as a souvenir?"
"Er yes," but her hesitation suggested that it wasn't quite as simple as the bug.
"What else?"
"Well I picked up some of the moths too, and a beetle or two."
"How much material have you got?"
"I haven't counted them." The raised eyebrows acted, as intended, as a prompt. "Probably about two hundred."
"Mmm, that's quite a lot of insects. I'm guessing you chose the biggest ones. Yes?"
"The big moths were so pretty and the beetles and that bug so impressive."
"How have you stored them?"
"The moths are in plastic bags hidden at the back of the drawers in our cabin."
"When did you last look at them?"
"Oh not since we left the Amazon."
"Oh dear, my guess is that they will have started to rot by now. Specimens like that are dried and stored on setting boards or in paper wraps to prevent condensation."
"So I'll have to throw them away."
"Almost certainly."
"But if I'm not allowed to have them will my cabin stewardess report me?"
"I doubt it but you could always put them in the bin on deck 7 aft." The image of the lady creeping around the deck in the dark, face blackened with charred cork and a hood pulled over her grey hair was hard to dismiss.
"You said that the moths were in plastic bags. What about the bug?"
"They're in with my dirty laundry."
"They? More than one?"
"Oh yes, twelve of them."
"Twelve?"
"One each for the grandchildren, one for the Pilkingtons, who've been looking after the house, my husband wants one to show off at the golf club and I want to keep one for myself."
"Well they will probably be OK packed in dry clothing and the chances are that packed like that in your cases no one will stop you."
"So you're saying it's alright."
"Well not exactly - I'm saying that it will probably not be a problem at Portsmouth and it is very unlikely that the Brazilians are going to track you down in the Bay of Biscay."
Relief spread across her face.
"I'll bin the moths tonight, after the show. Thank you so much for your help." She walked away looking a little less furtive.
Another image came to mind. The scene, the customs shed at Portsmouth with the insect smuggler standing facing a bemused customs officer who had, in front of him an open case. Bemused because he was holding up two items of underwear sequinned with four inch long bugs.
---OOO---
The strange case of the contraband insects triggered a memory of a very hot June day in 1992 or thereabouts. It had been a day spent touring two French nature reserves offering advice on their management and collecting beetle specimens for identification later. The majority of the beetles were, inevitably, dung beetles and the last batch of three inch by one inch glass specimen tubes had been collected in haste and contained more dung than beetle. Hubert, the manager of the reserves, arrived at the ferry terminal just in time for the 15:30 ferry to be caught without too much running.
The crossing was uneventful as should have been the trip through customs as the Sealink carrier bag contained no more than the whiskey and cigarette allowance.
"Excuse me sir," the tone and gesture indicated that the use of 'sir' as a salutation had nothing to do with being deferential. "Would you mind opening that bag sir?" He pointed at the canvas shoulder bag which was dutifully opened. The officer's eyes lit up as he gazed down on the top row of three by one inch glass tubes all of which contained a brown substance.
"What have we here, sir? In these tubes." "It's shit, excrement with beetle specimens."
"Well I picked up some of the moths too, and a beetle or two."
"How much material have you got?"
"I haven't counted them." The raised eyebrows acted, as intended, as a prompt. "Probably about two hundred."
"Mmm, that's quite a lot of insects. I'm guessing you chose the biggest ones. Yes?"
"The big moths were so pretty and the beetles and that bug so impressive."
"How have you stored them?"
"The moths are in plastic bags hidden at the back of the drawers in our cabin."
"When did you last look at them?"
"Oh not since we left the Amazon."
"Oh dear, my guess is that they will have started to rot by now. Specimens like that are dried and stored on setting boards or in paper wraps to prevent condensation."
"So I'll have to throw them away."
"Almost certainly."
"But if I'm not allowed to have them will my cabin stewardess report me?"
"I doubt it but you could always put them in the bin on deck 7 aft." The image of the lady creeping around the deck in the dark, face blackened with charred cork and a hood pulled over her grey hair was hard to dismiss.
"You said that the moths were in plastic bags. What about the bug?"
"They're in with my dirty laundry."
"They? More than one?"
"Oh yes, twelve of them."
"Twelve?"
"One each for the grandchildren, one for the Pilkingtons, who've been looking after the house, my husband wants one to show off at the golf club and I want to keep one for myself."
"Well they will probably be OK packed in dry clothing and the chances are that packed like that in your cases no one will stop you."
"So you're saying it's alright."
"Well not exactly - I'm saying that it will probably not be a problem at Portsmouth and it is very unlikely that the Brazilians are going to track you down in the Bay of Biscay."
Relief spread across her face.
"I'll bin the moths tonight, after the show. Thank you so much for your help." She walked away looking a little less furtive.
Another image came to mind. The scene, the customs shed at Portsmouth with the insect smuggler standing facing a bemused customs officer who had, in front of him an open case. Bemused because he was holding up two items of underwear sequinned with four inch long bugs.
---OOO---
The strange case of the contraband insects triggered a memory of a very hot June day in 1992 or thereabouts. It had been a day spent touring two French nature reserves offering advice on their management and collecting beetle specimens for identification later. The majority of the beetles were, inevitably, dung beetles and the last batch of three inch by one inch glass specimen tubes had been collected in haste and contained more dung than beetle. Hubert, the manager of the reserves, arrived at the ferry terminal just in time for the 15:30 ferry to be caught without too much running.
The crossing was uneventful as should have been the trip through customs as the Sealink carrier bag contained no more than the whiskey and cigarette allowance.
"Excuse me sir," the tone and gesture indicated that the use of 'sir' as a salutation had nothing to do with being deferential. "Would you mind opening that bag sir?" He pointed at the canvas shoulder bag which was dutifully opened. The officer's eyes lit up as he gazed down on the top row of three by one inch glass tubes all of which contained a brown substance.
"What have we here, sir? In these tubes." "It's shit, excrement with beetle specimens."
The officer's ears had ceased listening after the first two words. His training was good and had
included a session on street names for drugs - shit - cannabis resin.
He picked up a tube and went to pull the stopper.
"Please, you really don't want to do that."
"I think I do but I'm sure you don't want me to open it."
With a flourish the tube was unstoppered and presented to his nose ready for the incriminating sniff. "Euurgh, that's shit."
"I did try to warn you."
Stopper replaced his eyes narrowed and instead of uttering the words 'on your way' his pride had been dented and so he said, "What else did you say is in these tubes?"
"Beetle specimens."
He reached down and took a tube from deeper in the bag. A small yellow and black ladybird ran along the length of the tube. More training came back into his mind. Beetles, Colorado beetles: he remembered the posters and wondered if there was still one in the shed.
"Beetles you say - huh - Colorado Beetles no doubt. Pick up the bag and go into the side room there." The words 'go into the side room' when spoken by customs officer play a strange trick on the ears: they seem to punctuated with the sound of rubber slapping on wrists.
"Sit down there." He pointed to an uncomfortable looking plastic chair.
"I'm going to make a 'phone call. We've got experts for occasions like this, they are on call and our insect man ail be down here in a jiffy and will be able to tell us just what sort of nasty you're trying to smuggle into the country." He took a sheet of paper with names and telephone numbers from a file. "Excuse me."
"You just be quiet." He dialled a number and started to drum his fingers on the desk.
"Excuse me . . ."
"I said be quiet."
Standing and walking over to the desk he was taken aback but not as shocked as he was when he looked at the name in the passport and the name on the list.
"I won't be answering the telephone because I'm stuck in here with you. I am your expert on beetles." "Get out. Get out and don't let me ever see you again."
"Ve left Portsmouth in your typical English weather - unpleasant, but it got better ven ve arrived at Funchal vhere it vas nice, yes?" He nodded in affirmation. "Zen ve vent to Mindelo und zee veather vas nice again and zen had ze following vind to Macapa vhere ze problems started. Ze anchor vas fouled and ve lost two hours but ve got to Santarem veer zee sun shone. Ve had a nice day zhere, yes?"
"Ze next day, at Boca de Valeria vas grey for you but black for me. Zee electric motor for zee tender vent bust and ve lost half a day." He continued to catalogue the journey port by port up and down the Amazon and into the Caribbean.
"Ve left Antigua and the veather vas against us and ve had to miss ze Azores."
"Shame." A lone voice came out of the crowd, the Captain peered against the spotlight from the stage and frowned.
"Even my fourteen year old daughter could have worked out zat ve could not make up enough time to stop in the Azores after ve had bumped and rolled our vay into heavy seas for three days. But at least you know zat if you're ill I vill do vatever it takes to evacuate you onto zee nearest land." He went on to thank everyone for being a 'nice group' and ended by presenting employee of the month certificates, plaques and a cheque. The crew accountant and the assistant cruise director were suitably embarrassed and smiled awkwardly at the assembled passengers.
He picked up a tube and went to pull the stopper.
"Please, you really don't want to do that."
"I think I do but I'm sure you don't want me to open it."
With a flourish the tube was unstoppered and presented to his nose ready for the incriminating sniff. "Euurgh, that's shit."
"I did try to warn you."
Stopper replaced his eyes narrowed and instead of uttering the words 'on your way' his pride had been dented and so he said, "What else did you say is in these tubes?"
"Beetle specimens."
He reached down and took a tube from deeper in the bag. A small yellow and black ladybird ran along the length of the tube. More training came back into his mind. Beetles, Colorado beetles: he remembered the posters and wondered if there was still one in the shed.
"Beetles you say - huh - Colorado Beetles no doubt. Pick up the bag and go into the side room there." The words 'go into the side room' when spoken by customs officer play a strange trick on the ears: they seem to punctuated with the sound of rubber slapping on wrists.
"Sit down there." He pointed to an uncomfortable looking plastic chair.
"I'm going to make a 'phone call. We've got experts for occasions like this, they are on call and our insect man ail be down here in a jiffy and will be able to tell us just what sort of nasty you're trying to smuggle into the country." He took a sheet of paper with names and telephone numbers from a file. "Excuse me."
"You just be quiet." He dialled a number and started to drum his fingers on the desk.
"Excuse me . . ."
"I said be quiet."
Standing and walking over to the desk he was taken aback but not as shocked as he was when he looked at the name in the passport and the name on the list.
"I won't be answering the telephone because I'm stuck in here with you. I am your expert on beetles." "Get out. Get out and don't let me ever see you again."
---OOO---
The whales were barely visible. Really it was just the spouts that showed, one, two, three, four a few
hundred yards from the starboard bow. The tantalising glance of a dark, wet back and they were gone.
A Yellow-Footed Gull flew by, three hundred miles from home followed by Kittiwakes in a loose group
and better adapted to long periods at sea.
---OOO---
The ship's Captain's farewell cocktail party was the last chance for Mr Loud-Shirt to demonstrate that
his poor taste extended to an unpleasant waistcoat which he wore with no shame beneath a naphtha
scented tuxedo. It was also the occasion when the Captain summarised the voyage. in his own laconic
style.
"Ve left Portsmouth in your typical English weather - unpleasant, but it got better ven ve arrived at Funchal vhere it vas nice, yes?" He nodded in affirmation. "Zen ve vent to Mindelo und zee veather vas nice again and zen had ze following vind to Macapa vhere ze problems started. Ze anchor vas fouled and ve lost two hours but ve got to Santarem veer zee sun shone. Ve had a nice day zhere, yes?"
"Ze next day, at Boca de Valeria vas grey for you but black for me. Zee electric motor for zee tender vent bust and ve lost half a day." He continued to catalogue the journey port by port up and down the Amazon and into the Caribbean.
"Ve left Antigua and the veather vas against us and ve had to miss ze Azores."
"Shame." A lone voice came out of the crowd, the Captain peered against the spotlight from the stage and frowned.
"Even my fourteen year old daughter could have worked out zat ve could not make up enough time to stop in the Azores after ve had bumped and rolled our vay into heavy seas for three days. But at least you know zat if you're ill I vill do vatever it takes to evacuate you onto zee nearest land." He went on to thank everyone for being a 'nice group' and ended by presenting employee of the month certificates, plaques and a cheque. The crew accountant and the assistant cruise director were suitably embarrassed and smiled awkwardly at the assembled passengers.
The Captain bid everyone farewell and wished them an enjoyable last day of their cruise and hoped
that they would travel with the line again.
---OOO---
There would have been no point in going on this adventure if it had not been possible to find a way to
share the experience so thank you to all who struggled through the typos, predictive text errors and
ramblings: thank you for leaning on the rail and watching life go by. 
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