The Amazon Blog 34

In the Observatory Bar Brian the art teacher was sitting quietly chatting to his wife about the entertainers on board and how they compared with those they'd seen on other ships. The conversation was sporadic as he was clearly tired and she really wanted to read her book. A plain lady and unsteady on her feet which were permanently at a quarter to three readers may recall her from Blog 7 when the wind took advantage of her instability and left her leaning precariously against the deck head. Brian was sipping occasionally from a pint glass which he topped up from time to time from a tin of Newcastle Brown Ale cradling the glass in his lap. She nibbled a Twiglet like a mouse. During the lengthening lulls Brian's head began to loll. Finally sleep spread from his head, down his neck and into his arms and came to rest in his hands. A sudden stifled cry announced that he had lost his grip on the glass and that the contents had spilled chillingly into his lap.

"Another drink sir Brian?" enquired Almira. 

--OOO--

Two postcards of Scarborough . . . not like . . ." 

---OOO---

The accounts department delivered on board statements to each cabin, listing every transaction during the five weeks away. Each G&T, every bottle of wine, every Grouse and every bottle of water (or more correctly the bottle of water) had a line. They were posted under cabin doors. Walking along the corridor each door had a portion of the folded and stapled A4 sheets peeping out. Well, nearly every door. Cabin 3376 was the exception where no tell-tale white corner protruded. Entering the cabin the reason for the omission became clear. A quire of paper had been placed on the bed, too thick to fit under the door, accounts had found it necessary to summons Na, the cabin stewardess, to open the door.

--OOO--

The last dinner was slightly subdued with flashes of end of term high spirits. "Shall I?"
"Shall you what?"
"Go over there and discover if that's a wig."
"How are you getting home? Do you have a car at Portsmouth?"
"No, mind you we are very close to home this evening. Why can't they pull into the Exe where my friend Johnny would pick me up with his speedboat."
It was hard to imagine her leaping onto a small boat or being transferred in a bosun's chair.
"Have you packed yet?"
"All done. How about you?"
"No! It will be one tomorrow morning before I put my cases out."
"I suppose you've packed and everything is meticulously folded."
"I'm packed and you might be right."
"Well I'm off to have a last Scotch with the old fogeys," announced James. "I thank you for your company and wish you a safe journey home."
"Goodnight boys, good luck we're going dancing."
"See you around."
The ladies set off for the halls of Terpsichore leaving a self-styled "old fogey" and Bugman.
"James, it has been an honour and a privilege, thank you."
"Oh I'm just a boring old man, I'm sorry to have bored you with my memories."
"They reach across the years sir, reach across the years. It's good to meet a man who worked in the steam tugs that crowded the Thames in the old days." "You know the last one is in Canary Wharf and there were hundreds of them. All gone, all gone." (Like tears in the rain.)

---OOO---

A subdued audience watched the variety show and the Neptune Lounge emptied quickly after the last curtain call. The library was deserted and there, on the large table was the almost completed jigsaw puzzle next to the lid of its box. Angry letters scrawled across the picture spelled out, 'TWO PIECES MISSING.'