The afternoon disappointed: no bloodshed in the library, Mr Orb did not explode having eaten one
wafer-thin mint too many and the day didn't end in a lifeboat with people who wanted to eat each
other. Still you cannot have everything. Frankly it had been a day when slipping quietly over the side
seemed like an option.
Captain "Vash, Vash, Vash" held his cocktail party during the evening and moderately fine it was too.
There was a great delay while most folk had their picture taken by the resident photographers against
a background that hinted at a southern ocean sky and then once more with the Captain whose press
office had made it very clear that he would not shake hands with anyone as a preventative for
norovirus. Your author skipped the photographic niceties and went straight for the dry martinis. After
five the captain's speech seemed quite witty but that was only because a couple of stiff G&Ts had been
taken aboard before changing for dinner. Actually that is cynical - the Norwegian skipper was very
droll and had a good sense of timing - frankly better than the resident comic. He introduced his senior
officers and it has to be noted that there are several languages involved. Quite how an instruction from
the bridge is translated into Serbian, Georgian, Finnish and Portuguese is incomprehensible but they
seem to make it work on the basis that the ship has not, yet, hit anything.
At the end of the Captain's "do" the Oceanographer reached out and tapped a shoulder, 'won't shake hands, old boy, captain's orders, but you're the lepidopterist aren't you?"
"Mmm, no. None of that pretty boy stuff for me. I'm a coleopterist." Remember that the author had had several G&Ts and some dry martinis by now (assuming that the lunchtime bottle of Sauvignon had worn off).
"No, seriously, the passengers will ask me about any sort of wildlife and I need help when in comes to insects."
"Very happy to help but also know my limitations."
"Excellent, I'll send any insect queries your way."
"Hang on a moment, you're an oceanographer, there are only five or six oceans but I'm an entomologist and there are several million insects."
"You'll do fine - and thanks." He disappeared into the crowd.
Once more no information about lectures - perhaps that's just as well. Maybe it would be fun to offer to perform the blog.
Maybe not.
------000------
Interesting array of "formal wear" on display in the evening. Ranging from the American idea of a loud bow tie (ready tied) matched with a ridiculous cummerbund and a white or off-white dinner jacket, through jacket and shirt (no tie) to proper evening dress. James had managed a light jacket with grey slacks, a white shirt and that tie. Lorna was wearing a silvery evening gown while, surprisingly, Maragret had a semi-formal dress with a tailored jacket. More disapproving looks as a bottle of wine was ordered followed by the ladies rather pointedly drinking a toast to each other in water. On the table next door a hollow cheeked woman with skin that betrayed years of smoking and gave a fairly good representation of a contour map of Great Whernside, began an argument with her waiter.
"I was perfectly clear: no ice in my water." The last four words had been enunciated slowly and loudly. "Sorry Madam, no ice in water." He held up her glass.
Then to fellow on her right, "Why can he not understand? I don't want iced water, it's too cold for my teeth."
"Ah, madam like water straight from tap. Yes?" "That's what I said: NO ICE IN WATER.."
The Filet Mignon was excellent as was the bottle of Australian Cabernet. The conversation was stilted. The ladies chatted happily about their dancing and bemoaning the fact that the watercolour class clashed with the extra dancing and the intermediate bridge group. Conversation with James was difficult - the neighbouring chatter made his hearing, or lack of it, even more profound. The ladies
At the end of the Captain's "do" the Oceanographer reached out and tapped a shoulder, 'won't shake hands, old boy, captain's orders, but you're the lepidopterist aren't you?"
"Mmm, no. None of that pretty boy stuff for me. I'm a coleopterist." Remember that the author had had several G&Ts and some dry martinis by now (assuming that the lunchtime bottle of Sauvignon had worn off).
"No, seriously, the passengers will ask me about any sort of wildlife and I need help when in comes to insects."
"Very happy to help but also know my limitations."
"Excellent, I'll send any insect queries your way."
"Hang on a moment, you're an oceanographer, there are only five or six oceans but I'm an entomologist and there are several million insects."
"You'll do fine - and thanks." He disappeared into the crowd.
Once more no information about lectures - perhaps that's just as well. Maybe it would be fun to offer to perform the blog.
Maybe not.
------000------
Interesting array of "formal wear" on display in the evening. Ranging from the American idea of a loud bow tie (ready tied) matched with a ridiculous cummerbund and a white or off-white dinner jacket, through jacket and shirt (no tie) to proper evening dress. James had managed a light jacket with grey slacks, a white shirt and that tie. Lorna was wearing a silvery evening gown while, surprisingly, Maragret had a semi-formal dress with a tailored jacket. More disapproving looks as a bottle of wine was ordered followed by the ladies rather pointedly drinking a toast to each other in water. On the table next door a hollow cheeked woman with skin that betrayed years of smoking and gave a fairly good representation of a contour map of Great Whernside, began an argument with her waiter.
"I was perfectly clear: no ice in my water." The last four words had been enunciated slowly and loudly. "Sorry Madam, no ice in water." He held up her glass.
Then to fellow on her right, "Why can he not understand? I don't want iced water, it's too cold for my teeth."
"Ah, madam like water straight from tap. Yes?" "That's what I said: NO ICE IN WATER.."
The Filet Mignon was excellent as was the bottle of Australian Cabernet. The conversation was stilted. The ladies chatted happily about their dancing and bemoaning the fact that the watercolour class clashed with the extra dancing and the intermediate bridge group. Conversation with James was difficult - the neighbouring chatter made his hearing, or lack of it, even more profound. The ladies
exited before dessert and left us to our cheese boards and, in one case port. As we departed the table
James leant across and said, "I would love a port but I'm 80 now and I have to be careful. Always make
the Scotch bottle last three days."
Tuesday
A day filled with sun and clear skies brought the temperature up to 68 and its oceanic brilliance revealed much. Initially it revealed people who had hidden away through the greyer days: the diminutive Sri Lankan surgeon who seemed barely as tall as his wife was wide (she wasn't obese just extraordinarily wide); the miniature man (who peeped over the rail); the lady with the quarter past three feet and some companions for Mr and Mrs Gemini. The latter should have been mentioned before, being regular walkers who lapped the deck each morning arm in arm. Each morning they appeared in matching trousers and fleeces and most recently matching shorts and polo shirts much like two suits on racks in Marks and Spencers - identical but one just slightly larger than the other. They were not alone in this mirroring of plumage, several other couples wore matching tops, as, indeed, did the Twitchers but the Geminis were perfect in every way. There was no evidence but it seems likely that they wore matching pants and perhaps he even wore a matching training bra in sympathy with his wife.
The lady with a quarter to three feet nearly came a cropper on her way around the deck. Turning the corner into the wind she lost her balance and was pressed backwards until leaning at 30 degrees against the bulkhead. She was grateful for a helping hand and then continued, a rather extreme female Charlie Chaplin.
A pre lunch drink was called for where the next table was occupied by The Captain (not of this ship) and his wife. He made very sure that everybody in earshot (and some who hadn't realised that they were) knew about his career at sea.
"You won't want to be out that long in Manaus in that temperature will you?"
"Why are you asking me what I want to do? Do what you want to do. Is that the right answer?" "Well."
"No, is that the right answer?"
"Yes."
"Well thank goodness for that. So what are you going to do? Go on a canoe, a taxi a coach or something?"
"No I'm not going on a canoe: I'm going on..."
"A taxi? Doing you own thing?" He was certainly not going to allow her to complete a sentence if he could help it.
"No! An excursion on an air conditioned coach."
"If you're going on a taxi do you want me to come with you?"
"No, I'm going on an excursion, on an air-conditioned coach."
"Ah, if it's air conditioned I could come too."
"Then I wouldn't be doing my thing."
They stared ahead contemplating the next gambit in their game of marital bliss.
"What time do we dock in Funchal tomorrow?"
"The time that the captain has announced at 12 noon for the last three days. Did you listen?"
"Yes," she replied.
"So what time did he say."
"8 o'clock, I think."
"Why did you add 'I think'?"
"Because I'm not sure."
"So you didn't really listen."
He had been a captain, deep sea for 20 years, and it was possible to imagine her delight at his retirement.
Tuesday
A day filled with sun and clear skies brought the temperature up to 68 and its oceanic brilliance revealed much. Initially it revealed people who had hidden away through the greyer days: the diminutive Sri Lankan surgeon who seemed barely as tall as his wife was wide (she wasn't obese just extraordinarily wide); the miniature man (who peeped over the rail); the lady with the quarter past three feet and some companions for Mr and Mrs Gemini. The latter should have been mentioned before, being regular walkers who lapped the deck each morning arm in arm. Each morning they appeared in matching trousers and fleeces and most recently matching shorts and polo shirts much like two suits on racks in Marks and Spencers - identical but one just slightly larger than the other. They were not alone in this mirroring of plumage, several other couples wore matching tops, as, indeed, did the Twitchers but the Geminis were perfect in every way. There was no evidence but it seems likely that they wore matching pants and perhaps he even wore a matching training bra in sympathy with his wife.
The lady with a quarter to three feet nearly came a cropper on her way around the deck. Turning the corner into the wind she lost her balance and was pressed backwards until leaning at 30 degrees against the bulkhead. She was grateful for a helping hand and then continued, a rather extreme female Charlie Chaplin.
A pre lunch drink was called for where the next table was occupied by The Captain (not of this ship) and his wife. He made very sure that everybody in earshot (and some who hadn't realised that they were) knew about his career at sea.
"You won't want to be out that long in Manaus in that temperature will you?"
"Why are you asking me what I want to do? Do what you want to do. Is that the right answer?" "Well."
"No, is that the right answer?"
"Yes."
"Well thank goodness for that. So what are you going to do? Go on a canoe, a taxi a coach or something?"
"No I'm not going on a canoe: I'm going on..."
"A taxi? Doing you own thing?" He was certainly not going to allow her to complete a sentence if he could help it.
"No! An excursion on an air conditioned coach."
"If you're going on a taxi do you want me to come with you?"
"No, I'm going on an excursion, on an air-conditioned coach."
"Ah, if it's air conditioned I could come too."
"Then I wouldn't be doing my thing."
They stared ahead contemplating the next gambit in their game of marital bliss.
"What time do we dock in Funchal tomorrow?"
"The time that the captain has announced at 12 noon for the last three days. Did you listen?"
"Yes," she replied.
"So what time did he say."
"8 o'clock, I think."
"Why did you add 'I think'?"
"Because I'm not sure."
"So you didn't really listen."
He had been a captain, deep sea for 20 years, and it was possible to imagine her delight at his retirement.
Lunch was taken in the Tintagel Restaurant on a table for two next to a table for four that Mr Globe
had consumed as a table for three or probably one. There was a buffet or diners could request that the
waiter deliver the same food but without the diner needing to leave his or her seat. Not only was it
necessary to remove one chair from Mr Globe's side of the table to accommodate his bulk but other
tables had to be moved so that he could make his way to his selected table. He did not go to the buffet.
The waiter brought a bowl of soup and soon afterwards was required to deliver a salad. The salad
accompanied two gammon steaks with pineapple and a prodigious quantity of chips. He did refuse a
second roll. His bulk prevented him from sitting squarely at the table his relatively tyrannosaurian
forelimbs would struggle to reach the plate and so he sat at an angle, eating single-handedly. The
'salad' was soon followed by a demand for Ice Cream Sundae, "bring me two."
A wretched cold made it necessary to begin the afternoon washing handkerchiefs which made the prospect of the afternoon lecture, one of a series about James Cook, all the better.
The speaker introduced himself by announcing that he was a member of the Captain Cook Society and that he had very nearly visited every place that Cook had on his itinerary. For an awful moment some members of the audience wondered if it was a sales pitch by THOMAS Cook. The give away was the fact that he was wearing a periwig and a flounced shirt. He went on, "I, James Cook was a meticulous recorder and perhaps the greatest navigator that ever lived." He paused meaningfully - well it had meaning for him - it was more of a warning for the audience.
"Well, of course, I’m not actually James Cook but this shirt was made by a lady in Whitby who makes costumes for Cook museums and she made this especially for me. She made the coat and tricorn hat as well but they were a little warm and bulky to pack." He collapsed his tiny brass telescope as if this might final convince the audience that he was not the real James Cook and started to pump the remote for the power-point presentation. He overshot the slide he wanted and then, very slowly, went back to the beginning.
"Cook was born in Marton in Yorkshire where his parents moved in 1736." This opening statement was a cause for concern. By 1736 Cook would have been 10. He was born in Marton but not as at the age of ten. His parents moved to Marton some time before 1728, when Cook was born and moved to Great Ayton in 1736. One error might have been acceptable but within the first few minutes there had been sufficient malapropisms to suggest that he might do better as a lecturer dressing as that redoubtable lady rather than his hero. The excellent oceanography lecture in the morning had to end after 45 minutes in time for the Captain's daily address. The Cook lecture overran by 20 minutes!
A wretched cold made it necessary to begin the afternoon washing handkerchiefs which made the prospect of the afternoon lecture, one of a series about James Cook, all the better.
The speaker introduced himself by announcing that he was a member of the Captain Cook Society and that he had very nearly visited every place that Cook had on his itinerary. For an awful moment some members of the audience wondered if it was a sales pitch by THOMAS Cook. The give away was the fact that he was wearing a periwig and a flounced shirt. He went on, "I, James Cook was a meticulous recorder and perhaps the greatest navigator that ever lived." He paused meaningfully - well it had meaning for him - it was more of a warning for the audience.
"Well, of course, I’m not actually James Cook but this shirt was made by a lady in Whitby who makes costumes for Cook museums and she made this especially for me. She made the coat and tricorn hat as well but they were a little warm and bulky to pack." He collapsed his tiny brass telescope as if this might final convince the audience that he was not the real James Cook and started to pump the remote for the power-point presentation. He overshot the slide he wanted and then, very slowly, went back to the beginning.
"Cook was born in Marton in Yorkshire where his parents moved in 1736." This opening statement was a cause for concern. By 1736 Cook would have been 10. He was born in Marton but not as at the age of ten. His parents moved to Marton some time before 1728, when Cook was born and moved to Great Ayton in 1736. One error might have been acceptable but within the first few minutes there had been sufficient malapropisms to suggest that he might do better as a lecturer dressing as that redoubtable lady rather than his hero. The excellent oceanography lecture in the morning had to end after 45 minutes in time for the Captain's daily address. The Cook lecture overran by 20 minutes!
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