The derivation of the phrase "the bitter end" is often said to be maritime. The bits are posts, like
vertical cleats around which mooring ropes are secured. That part of the rope that is around the bits
and then inboard is referred to as the bitter end and to reach the bitter end is to have no more rope to
play with. This blog has reached its bitter end - it has run out of events and words.
The process of disembarkation was finely tuned with luggage then owners being processed in an order
that was determined by the grade of cabin which in turn corresponded with the decks in reverse
order.
"Good morning ladies and gentlemen this is Alan your cruise director speaking to you from the bridge. Welcome to Portsmouth. The luggage from deck 9 is now in the terminal so passengers from deck 9 may proceed ashore." The order of disembarkation started with those who paid the most for their cabins and ended up with those who travelled in the cheap seats low down in the ship. This strict pecking order was disrupted occasionally by the need to match coach timetables. It seems odd that many of the people in the deck 9 cabins and suites complained about the movement of the ship when the position of their cabins ensured that the movement would be felt most strongly. It was simple geometry.
Several people came over and said goodbye others sat, lost in their thoughts and worries, dreams and memories.
"Good morning again ladies and gentlemen. Would people travelling on the National Express service 334 please make their way to the gangway."
Phrases drifted from conversations around the lounge: "Well if you are ever in Evesham you must call by," "We must meet up for a meal sometime."
On the other side of the lounge the Loud Shirts were insisting that a quiet and unassuming couple hand over their address and telephone number so that they could "Keep in touch." It's at moments like that when it would have been good to have cards printed with a fictitious address and telephone number.
---OOO---
"Passengers travelling with Ports Direct may now make their way to the gangway situated on deck 4 amidships. Your luggage has been set out in the terminal."
Having arrived at the terminal it was clear that only two passengers were travelling with Ports Direct and neither of them had all of their luggage.
"I'm a case short. How about you?"
"Two cases. It's a good job the car is on a fixed rate and not waiting time."
Luggage continued to arrive. Inside the terminal building there were still some cases for the upper decks, their owners probably rising late and having one last ship's breakfast. Luggage from deck four started to arrive and this was lined up under the overhang of the building. Deck three luggage was likely to end up outside at this rate.
Passengers from deck 4 started to collect their luggage but still there were two cases missing.
The Professor arrived with his wife and most of their luggage.
"Ants, makes me think of ants."
"Ah but if they were they'd be better organised," he quipped.
"At a cost - not sure people would tolerate the fatalities."
"If you look over there," he pointed, "you can see that couple with the loud shirts becoming agitated. Methinks that he's going to bore that porter to death with his moaning - the first fatality."
Another cage of luggage was unloaded and brought under cover and from that load appeared the two missing cases as well as the Professor's missing luggage.
Passing through customs and immigration, where no one seemed to be on duty, a slight lady, travelling at speed with a trolley overtook the line and didn't stop until she was safely in the concourse. Once there relief spread across her face washing away the mask of anxiety. She looked across, smiled broadly and patted the top case.
"They're all safely through, tucked into my undies."
"Just remember to take them all out! You never know, they may be revived by an hour in the wash."
"Good morning ladies and gentlemen this is Alan your cruise director speaking to you from the bridge. Welcome to Portsmouth. The luggage from deck 9 is now in the terminal so passengers from deck 9 may proceed ashore." The order of disembarkation started with those who paid the most for their cabins and ended up with those who travelled in the cheap seats low down in the ship. This strict pecking order was disrupted occasionally by the need to match coach timetables. It seems odd that many of the people in the deck 9 cabins and suites complained about the movement of the ship when the position of their cabins ensured that the movement would be felt most strongly. It was simple geometry.
Several people came over and said goodbye others sat, lost in their thoughts and worries, dreams and memories.
"Good morning again ladies and gentlemen. Would people travelling on the National Express service 334 please make their way to the gangway."
Phrases drifted from conversations around the lounge: "Well if you are ever in Evesham you must call by," "We must meet up for a meal sometime."
On the other side of the lounge the Loud Shirts were insisting that a quiet and unassuming couple hand over their address and telephone number so that they could "Keep in touch." It's at moments like that when it would have been good to have cards printed with a fictitious address and telephone number.
---OOO---
"Passengers travelling with Ports Direct may now make their way to the gangway situated on deck 4 amidships. Your luggage has been set out in the terminal."
Having arrived at the terminal it was clear that only two passengers were travelling with Ports Direct and neither of them had all of their luggage.
"I'm a case short. How about you?"
"Two cases. It's a good job the car is on a fixed rate and not waiting time."
Luggage continued to arrive. Inside the terminal building there were still some cases for the upper decks, their owners probably rising late and having one last ship's breakfast. Luggage from deck four started to arrive and this was lined up under the overhang of the building. Deck three luggage was likely to end up outside at this rate.
Passengers from deck 4 started to collect their luggage but still there were two cases missing.
The Professor arrived with his wife and most of their luggage.
"Ants, makes me think of ants."
"Ah but if they were they'd be better organised," he quipped.
"At a cost - not sure people would tolerate the fatalities."
"If you look over there," he pointed, "you can see that couple with the loud shirts becoming agitated. Methinks that he's going to bore that porter to death with his moaning - the first fatality."
Another cage of luggage was unloaded and brought under cover and from that load appeared the two missing cases as well as the Professor's missing luggage.
Passing through customs and immigration, where no one seemed to be on duty, a slight lady, travelling at speed with a trolley overtook the line and didn't stop until she was safely in the concourse. Once there relief spread across her face washing away the mask of anxiety. She looked across, smiled broadly and patted the top case.
"They're all safely through, tucked into my undies."
"Just remember to take them all out! You never know, they may be revived by an hour in the wash."
The anxiety started to reappear.
"Really, could they?"
"No, only teasing, hope the grandchildren, golf club, and the Pilkingtons all enjoy them. Oh, by the way the latin name is Lethocerus. That's the bug, not me.."
---OOO---
The ride back was luxurious in a huge Audi limousine with a driver who was interested in the trip and was therefore regaled with stories of life on board a cruise ship. Sleet and wet snow spelled out 'welcome back to Blighty' and by midday the journey was over, the driver thanked and the prospect of the European washing mountain was a poor substitute for a view of the Amazon. Luckily there was nothing to be done about the washing: having turned the water back on nothing flowed so there was no choice but to adjourn to the pub for a pint of good English ale and a light lunch.
By late afternoon water had managed to find it's way to the kitchen but not the bathroom so firing up the immersion was too high a risk. A couple of kettles full of water made it possible to wash and be presentable enough to return to the pub for dinner and what was once referred to as a bijoux drinkette. In the end the level of consumption slipped past the bijoux.
Safely in bed it felt strange to be so still, in fact it was so strange that there was a very clear sensation of movement, having lived with the ship's rolling and pitching for five weeks the mind could not adjust. The morning brought no relief from the sensation of swaying ever so slightly (it was not drink related). It also brought no water to the bathroom or at least just a dribble of cold into the bath. In cold weather, filling a bath with kettles is a bit of a race. The first few kettles full of steaming water are spread so thinly across the bath that they cool very quickly and it becomes a race between the kettle and the heat transfer coefficient. Eventually this plan was abandoned and a makeshift shower achieved with the sink, a bucket, a plastic mug and a lot of shivering. A long way from a cabin with shower, room service and a stewardess but the Hop Pocket proved to be The Observatory Bar, Restaurant and library rolled into one - in some ways it's good to be back.
---OOO---
So they're gone now, passed out of our lives, The Loud-Shirts, The Twitchers, the Professor and Bore. With Margaret, Lorna, James, the brusque immigration lady in St Lucia and others they have been the colours on the palette used to paint this blog. On a canvas of wonder made from a river as wide as a sea, sparkling islands in baby blue waters and the endless ocean, this blog has been an attempt to create a series of sketches: some filled with light and some with darker tones. Pictures that tried sometimes to amuse or perhaps inform and maybe even surprise.
Thank you to those who sent kind encouragement (they were timely reminders that there were people on the rail, rolling along on the words of the blog). Apologies for not acknowledging your messages but internet access costs on board were prohibitive.
Will there be another blog? Despite the suggestion, there will certainly not be a Hop Pocket Blog for obvious reasons. There may be more trips. Much will depend on the effect of the recommendations that have been made to the agent who handles cruise lecturers. But be assured, for better or worse, if he travels again by himself, Nick will take you with him.
"Really, could they?"
"No, only teasing, hope the grandchildren, golf club, and the Pilkingtons all enjoy them. Oh, by the way the latin name is Lethocerus. That's the bug, not me.."
---OOO---
The ride back was luxurious in a huge Audi limousine with a driver who was interested in the trip and was therefore regaled with stories of life on board a cruise ship. Sleet and wet snow spelled out 'welcome back to Blighty' and by midday the journey was over, the driver thanked and the prospect of the European washing mountain was a poor substitute for a view of the Amazon. Luckily there was nothing to be done about the washing: having turned the water back on nothing flowed so there was no choice but to adjourn to the pub for a pint of good English ale and a light lunch.
By late afternoon water had managed to find it's way to the kitchen but not the bathroom so firing up the immersion was too high a risk. A couple of kettles full of water made it possible to wash and be presentable enough to return to the pub for dinner and what was once referred to as a bijoux drinkette. In the end the level of consumption slipped past the bijoux.
Safely in bed it felt strange to be so still, in fact it was so strange that there was a very clear sensation of movement, having lived with the ship's rolling and pitching for five weeks the mind could not adjust. The morning brought no relief from the sensation of swaying ever so slightly (it was not drink related). It also brought no water to the bathroom or at least just a dribble of cold into the bath. In cold weather, filling a bath with kettles is a bit of a race. The first few kettles full of steaming water are spread so thinly across the bath that they cool very quickly and it becomes a race between the kettle and the heat transfer coefficient. Eventually this plan was abandoned and a makeshift shower achieved with the sink, a bucket, a plastic mug and a lot of shivering. A long way from a cabin with shower, room service and a stewardess but the Hop Pocket proved to be The Observatory Bar, Restaurant and library rolled into one - in some ways it's good to be back.
---OOO---
So they're gone now, passed out of our lives, The Loud-Shirts, The Twitchers, the Professor and Bore. With Margaret, Lorna, James, the brusque immigration lady in St Lucia and others they have been the colours on the palette used to paint this blog. On a canvas of wonder made from a river as wide as a sea, sparkling islands in baby blue waters and the endless ocean, this blog has been an attempt to create a series of sketches: some filled with light and some with darker tones. Pictures that tried sometimes to amuse or perhaps inform and maybe even surprise.
Thank you to those who sent kind encouragement (they were timely reminders that there were people on the rail, rolling along on the words of the blog). Apologies for not acknowledging your messages but internet access costs on board were prohibitive.
Will there be another blog? Despite the suggestion, there will certainly not be a Hop Pocket Blog for obvious reasons. There may be more trips. Much will depend on the effect of the recommendations that have been made to the agent who handles cruise lecturers. But be assured, for better or worse, if he travels again by himself, Nick will take you with him.
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