This blog consists of entries e-mailed out from a ship on most days of a trip to the Amazon - they "went viral" with some hundreds of people following progress.
They were published on Facebook for friends.
Each day passed with the fear that the blog would find itself back on the ship and that a party of passengers might just jettison the author over the side.
Tuesday, 11 August 2015
The Amazon Blog 1 - The Prologue
The blog begins a month and a half and several thousand miles before its destination.
Amazonia is relatively flat (as long as you forget Werner Herzog's Fitzcarraldo) but offers much more
manageable hazards, many of which are medical or entomological. The former are managed by
inoculation and the latter by knowledge. It's not a coincidental destination..
Once upon a time the would-be traveller could call the Foreign Office and be advised of what precautions should be taken on the medical front but now you traverse a cliff of links and conclude by signing up for some kind of on-line consultation with a private health care company who, within 3 days, repeat the exercise by telephone. As a result the traveller, in a most un-Livingstone manner found himself at a major dispensary in the city.
Seated in a consulting room with the charming young pharmacist the procedures (one Hep A injection one Yellow Fever jab and the purchase of sufficient antimalerials) should have been straightforward. Twenty minutes later and benefitting from some unsolicited but welcomed advice Mina had logged onto the system and located the record of the telephone consultation.
"Ah, yellow fever vaccination and Hepatitis A," she said from behind her khimar. She reached for the refrigerator and extracted a small box. Without pause she raided a box labelled "for insulin only" and produced a needle better suited to darning a giant's socks or knitting a jumper. The box on the desk was clearly labelled as Yellow Fever and this triggered a distant memory which included the word subcutaneous. Now there are those who have called the would-be vacinee "thick skinned" but this doesn't qualify him for a 50mm needle to deliver a subcutaneous dose.
"Is there not a syringe and needle in the pack?" The size of the pack indicated that this would be the case - either that or the volume of vaccine was prodigious.
The pack was opened and Mina discovered the requisite equipment including the appropriate 12mm needle and a dedicated syringe.
"Where would you like the injection?"
"My left arm please."
The sleeve rolling caused some alarm with a proto-disagreement about how high it should be rolled. The awful fear that shirt removal might be required.
"Do you have any problems with injections?"
"Not so far."
"Do you understand the risks?"
"Yes, thank you."
"At your age the risk of a FLA-VIR reaction is considerably increased."
"Are you about to tell me about the 90% mortality rate?"
"We don't have to say that but," she glanced at the screen," it's true."
"Thank you."
Mina then proceeded to list the adverse reactions that 10, 20 and 30% of recipients experience and very few seemed pleasant. Impotence is of little consequence at this time of life but severe, flu-like symptoms for 5-10 days were not on the wish list.
"Relax your arm - it makes it easier for me."
A naturally helpful chap feels obliged to assist but this is difficult when the shirt sleeve, grasped by the right hand is forming a tourniquet around the left arm. The shirt sleeve was released and both arms relaxed.
"Oh."
"Sorry."
"Please could you hold your sleeve again."
"Of course but my arm might not be so relaxed."
The training had not allowed for deviation from the script. Neither had it differentiated between subcutaneous, intramuscular and intravenous when relaxing might matter for the latter two, it would make scant difference with the former except in the most anorexic of arms.
Sleeve held, skin pinched and attenuated live vaccine delivered it was time for Hep A and the repeat of a familiar routine.
"Please roll up your right sleeve."
"Please can we stick to the same arm."
"It's not usual - what if you react to both?"
Once upon a time the would-be traveller could call the Foreign Office and be advised of what precautions should be taken on the medical front but now you traverse a cliff of links and conclude by signing up for some kind of on-line consultation with a private health care company who, within 3 days, repeat the exercise by telephone. As a result the traveller, in a most un-Livingstone manner found himself at a major dispensary in the city.
Seated in a consulting room with the charming young pharmacist the procedures (one Hep A injection one Yellow Fever jab and the purchase of sufficient antimalerials) should have been straightforward. Twenty minutes later and benefitting from some unsolicited but welcomed advice Mina had logged onto the system and located the record of the telephone consultation.
"Ah, yellow fever vaccination and Hepatitis A," she said from behind her khimar. She reached for the refrigerator and extracted a small box. Without pause she raided a box labelled "for insulin only" and produced a needle better suited to darning a giant's socks or knitting a jumper. The box on the desk was clearly labelled as Yellow Fever and this triggered a distant memory which included the word subcutaneous. Now there are those who have called the would-be vacinee "thick skinned" but this doesn't qualify him for a 50mm needle to deliver a subcutaneous dose.
"Is there not a syringe and needle in the pack?" The size of the pack indicated that this would be the case - either that or the volume of vaccine was prodigious.
The pack was opened and Mina discovered the requisite equipment including the appropriate 12mm needle and a dedicated syringe.
"Where would you like the injection?"
"My left arm please."
The sleeve rolling caused some alarm with a proto-disagreement about how high it should be rolled. The awful fear that shirt removal might be required.
"Do you have any problems with injections?"
"Not so far."
"Do you understand the risks?"
"Yes, thank you."
"At your age the risk of a FLA-VIR reaction is considerably increased."
"Are you about to tell me about the 90% mortality rate?"
"We don't have to say that but," she glanced at the screen," it's true."
"Thank you."
Mina then proceeded to list the adverse reactions that 10, 20 and 30% of recipients experience and very few seemed pleasant. Impotence is of little consequence at this time of life but severe, flu-like symptoms for 5-10 days were not on the wish list.
"Relax your arm - it makes it easier for me."
A naturally helpful chap feels obliged to assist but this is difficult when the shirt sleeve, grasped by the right hand is forming a tourniquet around the left arm. The shirt sleeve was released and both arms relaxed.
"Oh."
"Sorry."
"Please could you hold your sleeve again."
"Of course but my arm might not be so relaxed."
The training had not allowed for deviation from the script. Neither had it differentiated between subcutaneous, intramuscular and intravenous when relaxing might matter for the latter two, it would make scant difference with the former except in the most anorexic of arms.
Sleeve held, skin pinched and attenuated live vaccine delivered it was time for Hep A and the repeat of a familiar routine.
"Please roll up your right sleeve."
"Please can we stick to the same arm."
"It's not usual - what if you react to both?"
"Then using both arms will result in being armless - at least this way the odds are that if an arm reacts
my dominant arm will remain active."
She reached for the diabetic syringes and needles once more.
"Methinks you'll once more find a syringe and needle in the pack."
Shuffling and opening of an over-chilled box.
"Oh yes."
Hep A is intramuscular and does, indeed, benefit from relaxed muscles but this was going to be difficult to contrive.
"If you don't want this in your right arm you could have it in your thigh or buttock."
It is odd that risks to the deltoid muscle pale into insignificance against the levels of exposure being proposed.
"No, really, it's fine in the left arm with the Yellow Fever."
"If you're sure."
There are so many ways of being sarcastic, at best, and patronising at worst but Mina was charming, well meaning, hopeless and deserved neither.
"Yes, I'm sure, thank you."
How strange to be thanking the torturer, especially one so inexperienced but there was the compensation that nothing intravenous was proposed and so no anxious watching for the assassin's air bubble.
The injection over, it was time for the paperwork.
"Just need to complete the Yellow Fever Carte Internationale for you. Please call for me if you start to feel unwell - any restriction of the throat, swelling or shortness of breath."
The irony was lost like a stifled cry for help through a restricted throat across a busy shop.
Time passes slowly when you are waiting for paperwork or anaphylaxis. There was some reading matter - the advice leaflet that had been discarded, not passed to the innoculee.
"Headache, myalgia and low-grade fever. These are common - they can occur in 10-30% of those vaccinated . . . encephalitis and, of course: neurotropic disease (YEL-AND) that starts with a fever and headache and then progresses to include one or more of confusion, focal neurological deficits, coma and Guillain-Barré syndrome." Failing this it seems that there is viscerotropic disease (YEL-AVD) "which progresses to hepatitis and multi-organ failure, like wild-type yellow fever. It also has similarly high fatality rates." Perhaps a light novel would have been a sensible thing to have taken to the appointment.
Mina returned empty-handed - no Carte Internationale.
"I'm sorry but my handwriting was too big for the card but that won't effect the immunisation of course."
"The card is rather important. They will not allow me to enter Barbados without it as my passport will show a recent visit to Brazil."
"Ah. Well I could ask my colleague to fill in the details but she isn't registered or trained in Yellow Fever vaccination."
"Maybe she could fill in the details and you could sign it?"
"That's a good idea. Wait here and remember to call if you . . . "
". . . feel constriction in the throat, breathless, nauseous or dizzy?"
"Are you a medical man?" she asked nervously.
"No, it's just that age hasn't seen off my short term memory yet. I'll be fine: if anaphylaxis was going to happen it would have set in by now."
"Really?"
"Yes, it's fairly immediate in most cases."
"I'll be back soon with your card."
"Thank you."
It was only 15 minutes, and with nothing else to do this was of no consequence, before Mina returned with a meticulously completed Carte Internationale. The handwriting was precise and tiny, carefully poised on the lines and, where necessary neatly centred in the boxes. Below it was a Jackson Pollock of a signature.
"Please come around to the counter to pay," asked Mina.
With a broad gesture towards the computer screen, "please can we resolve the malarial chemoprophylaxis first?"
She reached for the diabetic syringes and needles once more.
"Methinks you'll once more find a syringe and needle in the pack."
Shuffling and opening of an over-chilled box.
"Oh yes."
Hep A is intramuscular and does, indeed, benefit from relaxed muscles but this was going to be difficult to contrive.
"If you don't want this in your right arm you could have it in your thigh or buttock."
It is odd that risks to the deltoid muscle pale into insignificance against the levels of exposure being proposed.
"No, really, it's fine in the left arm with the Yellow Fever."
"If you're sure."
There are so many ways of being sarcastic, at best, and patronising at worst but Mina was charming, well meaning, hopeless and deserved neither.
"Yes, I'm sure, thank you."
How strange to be thanking the torturer, especially one so inexperienced but there was the compensation that nothing intravenous was proposed and so no anxious watching for the assassin's air bubble.
The injection over, it was time for the paperwork.
"Just need to complete the Yellow Fever Carte Internationale for you. Please call for me if you start to feel unwell - any restriction of the throat, swelling or shortness of breath."
The irony was lost like a stifled cry for help through a restricted throat across a busy shop.
Time passes slowly when you are waiting for paperwork or anaphylaxis. There was some reading matter - the advice leaflet that had been discarded, not passed to the innoculee.
"Headache, myalgia and low-grade fever. These are common - they can occur in 10-30% of those vaccinated . . . encephalitis and, of course: neurotropic disease (YEL-AND) that starts with a fever and headache and then progresses to include one or more of confusion, focal neurological deficits, coma and Guillain-Barré syndrome." Failing this it seems that there is viscerotropic disease (YEL-AVD) "which progresses to hepatitis and multi-organ failure, like wild-type yellow fever. It also has similarly high fatality rates." Perhaps a light novel would have been a sensible thing to have taken to the appointment.
Mina returned empty-handed - no Carte Internationale.
"I'm sorry but my handwriting was too big for the card but that won't effect the immunisation of course."
"The card is rather important. They will not allow me to enter Barbados without it as my passport will show a recent visit to Brazil."
"Ah. Well I could ask my colleague to fill in the details but she isn't registered or trained in Yellow Fever vaccination."
"Maybe she could fill in the details and you could sign it?"
"That's a good idea. Wait here and remember to call if you . . . "
". . . feel constriction in the throat, breathless, nauseous or dizzy?"
"Are you a medical man?" she asked nervously.
"No, it's just that age hasn't seen off my short term memory yet. I'll be fine: if anaphylaxis was going to happen it would have set in by now."
"Really?"
"Yes, it's fairly immediate in most cases."
"I'll be back soon with your card."
"Thank you."
It was only 15 minutes, and with nothing else to do this was of no consequence, before Mina returned with a meticulously completed Carte Internationale. The handwriting was precise and tiny, carefully poised on the lines and, where necessary neatly centred in the boxes. Below it was a Jackson Pollock of a signature.
"Please come around to the counter to pay," asked Mina.
With a broad gesture towards the computer screen, "please can we resolve the malarial chemoprophylaxis first?"
"Oh yes, sorry. How many days will you be in an malaria zone?"
"About 12."
"Well we can offer you mefloquine or chloroquine."
"Sorry but the first is incompatible with my other medication and Brazil is chloroquine resistant." "Pardon. Are you sure you're not medical?"
"Absolutely. Do you have Malarone?"
"Yes, but it's very expensive."
"Not if it works and, for me, the cheaper options won't."
"Well if you're sure, how many days will you be in an affected area?"
"Twelve to fourteen."
"Then you will need ......" there was a pause while Mina attempted to log back onto the computer. "Sorry, this won't take a minute."
How right she was: at least 2 or 3 minutes were required to discover that the answer would be 23. "You will need 23 tablets. You start taking them two days before entering an endemic area and continue for 7 days after you leave."
"That's fine, thank you."
"I'll just go and collect a few other bits and pieces from the shelves and see you at the till with my Malarone."
"It will take five minutes."
"That's fine, thank you."
Close to the pharmacy there was a stand of travel accessories and medicines. Now there is something terrifically ironic about an entomologist searching those shelves for a chemical to repel the objects of his affection.
There is only one really dependable insect repellent, namely diethyl-meta-toluamine or DEET to its friends. (There is another but it has a narrower spectrum and shorter active period). Why then does an apparently reputable pharmacy sell mumbo jumbo next to the real thing? Anyone going to a malaria region wearing nothing but their organic sandals, recycled cotton clothes and a smearing of bog myrtle can look forward to asking themselves the question, "Are these the symptoms of malaria?" The acronymic advice for preventing malaria is ABCD: Awareness, Bite prevention, Check and Diagnosis. Water that has been bottled on a ley line or in the middle of a crop circle will not inhibit a female mosquito. It might make you think that Scottish midges are less bothersome but it will not actually protect you from mosquito bites.
The 50% DEET was tucked between Jungle Juice and Mozzie Magic. Having selected an appropriate size it was time to settle the account. Mina was waiting at the pharmacy charge point.
Mina was waiting there and apologised for the size of the bill.
"You are welcome to stay in the consulting room until you are sure that there is no reaction."
"That's very kind but I'll make my way home now, thank you."
PIN number entered and payment made it was time to take the first prepared steps towards Amazonia - strange that they should be out onto the pavement of the bustling city.
"About 12."
"Well we can offer you mefloquine or chloroquine."
"Sorry but the first is incompatible with my other medication and Brazil is chloroquine resistant." "Pardon. Are you sure you're not medical?"
"Absolutely. Do you have Malarone?"
"Yes, but it's very expensive."
"Not if it works and, for me, the cheaper options won't."
"Well if you're sure, how many days will you be in an affected area?"
"Twelve to fourteen."
"Then you will need ......" there was a pause while Mina attempted to log back onto the computer. "Sorry, this won't take a minute."
How right she was: at least 2 or 3 minutes were required to discover that the answer would be 23. "You will need 23 tablets. You start taking them two days before entering an endemic area and continue for 7 days after you leave."
"That's fine, thank you."
"I'll just go and collect a few other bits and pieces from the shelves and see you at the till with my Malarone."
"It will take five minutes."
"That's fine, thank you."
Close to the pharmacy there was a stand of travel accessories and medicines. Now there is something terrifically ironic about an entomologist searching those shelves for a chemical to repel the objects of his affection.
There is only one really dependable insect repellent, namely diethyl-meta-toluamine or DEET to its friends. (There is another but it has a narrower spectrum and shorter active period). Why then does an apparently reputable pharmacy sell mumbo jumbo next to the real thing? Anyone going to a malaria region wearing nothing but their organic sandals, recycled cotton clothes and a smearing of bog myrtle can look forward to asking themselves the question, "Are these the symptoms of malaria?" The acronymic advice for preventing malaria is ABCD: Awareness, Bite prevention, Check and Diagnosis. Water that has been bottled on a ley line or in the middle of a crop circle will not inhibit a female mosquito. It might make you think that Scottish midges are less bothersome but it will not actually protect you from mosquito bites.
The 50% DEET was tucked between Jungle Juice and Mozzie Magic. Having selected an appropriate size it was time to settle the account. Mina was waiting at the pharmacy charge point.
Mina was waiting there and apologised for the size of the bill.
"You are welcome to stay in the consulting room until you are sure that there is no reaction."
"That's very kind but I'll make my way home now, thank you."
PIN number entered and payment made it was time to take the first prepared steps towards Amazonia - strange that they should be out onto the pavement of the bustling city.
The Amazon Blog 2 - Packing
The cat was unhappy with this from the beginning. The suitcases are stored atop of the large
wardrobe, there nested within each other and one on top. They had been there for some months since
last disturbed by human activity. They had, however, been the focus of considerable arachnid activity.
The first case brought down a streamer of cobweb and dust which floated, an elegant dragons tail
across the bed and inevitably across the sleeping cat. Being a cat requires sufficient pride to always
look as if what is happening is exactly what you planned. See a cat slip from a warm window cill and it
will sit there trying not to look surprised - fate has not the temerity to challenge a cat's conceit.
Whiskers transformed into a passable likeness of Fu Manchu the cat sat resolutely trying to exude
dignity. It was the second pair of cases that forced the issue. We always forget how heavy the items are
that we store in a suitcase. That is we forget until the moment that the case has passed over the point
of balance and begins a barely controlled plummet. "Oh yes, now I recall - that's where those box files
went." The cat was not impressed by this moment of recall a leapt out of the way only to be reminded
that his vision was obscured by his extended whiskers. Clever though he is, leaping and washing his
face are not within his multi-tasking range. The result was a rather undignified nose-dive into a pair of
neatly arranged shoes - his attempts to recover his dignity merely served to prove that cats should
never try to wear shoes.
Exhausted, it was time to sit and consult the list of things to pack. The iPad was booted and "Notes" opened. There in the list of notes was the title "Cruise - Boudicca - things to remember". A gentle touch opened the note and revealed that the first thing that should have been remembered was to make a list. The note consisted of the one phrase beneath the title - "Dust off cases".
In past times Nick had been known to pack in minutes - it couldn't be difficult so why did it seem to be an almost insurmountable problem. Intellectually it was a simple problem to solve - if you are going to be away for five weeks you need to take pretty much every shirt your possess, all trousers that are not moleskin (probably a little warm for the jungle), at least five ties and matching silks, DJ and evening trousers . . . It was easy, just tip the wardrobe into the first case, fill a second case with socks, pants, appropriate shoes, polish and toiletries and then wander around the house picking up things that look useful and chuck them into a third case. So why was it so difficult to engage with the action?
From the armchair one part of the answer was visible: the European ironing mountain. Once upon a time ironing had been a bit of an obsession. The thorough application of proper starch, the meticulous folding of shirts into packet-ready symmetrical perfection and even the pressing and folding of all underwear had been a matter of OCD pride. He had happily done her ironing and then, again their ironing had been a pleasant chore. When they were away, stuck behind that volcanic cloud there had always been the boy's laundry to press. Maybe it was the European irony mountain that he had to face.
To pack in a satisfactory way meant pressing on with the task and reviving the noble art of shirt folding. The cat had always been suspicious of the ironing board and now departed through the cat- flap pausing only to gaze hopefully at the disappointingly empty bowl.
The ship, if he were to board, would have laundry and dry-cleaning facilities so it would have been possible to pack the minimum and rely on the swift turnaround of this service. Eight ironed shirts later, added to the careful re-folding of a further ten, including three dress shirts was a good start.
An hour later two packed cases sat on the living room floor with a rather smug cat sitting on top. That had been easy, really, but not as rewarding as the occasion two years ago when they had filled the back of the Doblo with everything from ball gowns to newly acquired shorts!
The third case was a tougher prospect. There was no restriction on the quantity of baggage allowed aboard but the transport firm demanded a premium for every bag over three cases and one piece of hand luggage. The problem was the hand luggage. The large camera bag, a Lowepro that would take the laptop, iPad, cameras, lenses, chargers et al would be the hand luggage but was too unwieldy for
Exhausted, it was time to sit and consult the list of things to pack. The iPad was booted and "Notes" opened. There in the list of notes was the title "Cruise - Boudicca - things to remember". A gentle touch opened the note and revealed that the first thing that should have been remembered was to make a list. The note consisted of the one phrase beneath the title - "Dust off cases".
In past times Nick had been known to pack in minutes - it couldn't be difficult so why did it seem to be an almost insurmountable problem. Intellectually it was a simple problem to solve - if you are going to be away for five weeks you need to take pretty much every shirt your possess, all trousers that are not moleskin (probably a little warm for the jungle), at least five ties and matching silks, DJ and evening trousers . . . It was easy, just tip the wardrobe into the first case, fill a second case with socks, pants, appropriate shoes, polish and toiletries and then wander around the house picking up things that look useful and chuck them into a third case. So why was it so difficult to engage with the action?
From the armchair one part of the answer was visible: the European ironing mountain. Once upon a time ironing had been a bit of an obsession. The thorough application of proper starch, the meticulous folding of shirts into packet-ready symmetrical perfection and even the pressing and folding of all underwear had been a matter of OCD pride. He had happily done her ironing and then, again their ironing had been a pleasant chore. When they were away, stuck behind that volcanic cloud there had always been the boy's laundry to press. Maybe it was the European irony mountain that he had to face.
To pack in a satisfactory way meant pressing on with the task and reviving the noble art of shirt folding. The cat had always been suspicious of the ironing board and now departed through the cat- flap pausing only to gaze hopefully at the disappointingly empty bowl.
The ship, if he were to board, would have laundry and dry-cleaning facilities so it would have been possible to pack the minimum and rely on the swift turnaround of this service. Eight ironed shirts later, added to the careful re-folding of a further ten, including three dress shirts was a good start.
An hour later two packed cases sat on the living room floor with a rather smug cat sitting on top. That had been easy, really, but not as rewarding as the occasion two years ago when they had filled the back of the Doblo with everything from ball gowns to newly acquired shorts!
The third case was a tougher prospect. There was no restriction on the quantity of baggage allowed aboard but the transport firm demanded a premium for every bag over three cases and one piece of hand luggage. The problem was the hand luggage. The large camera bag, a Lowepro that would take the laptop, iPad, cameras, lenses, chargers et al would be the hand luggage but was too unwieldy for
the adventures to come and so a second, still quite large, bag had to be carried within the third case.
This required a Matryoshka approach which, at that time defeated him.
The cat, sensing that the dreaded ironing board was away, returned to his defiant perch on the two, packed cases defying the whole notion of change. Perhaps he could pack the big camera bag and see what was left that still needed a passage. The cat stared imperiously and bushed his tail. Reaching for the 27-300mm lens and Canon body (a birthday gift three happy years ago) and placing it in the prepared area of the bag his hand lingered on the camera back and the cat leapt. One bound and the front paws locked through the fleece and shirt bracing the shoulders for the jawed assault. Fourteen years he had fed that cat, fourteen years he had paid its vets bills and all it could do was puncture his arm in fourteen places! At least the victim appreciated the irony. Eight years ago Felix non-domesticus had done the same thing to the same arm. This was not a first offence. He had regularly bitten his mistress who greeted the assaults with unconditional love.
As an aside V had been devoted to the cat who treated her as an aperitif each morning! When the time came for V to move to a nursing home she was concerned about the cat. Finally, reconciled to the inevitable she set about a plan. Walking into the sitting room (odd name - there were no chairs, they had been smashed by the electric wheelchair) she was found with yellow pages open at "Taxi Companies".
"Why do you want a taxi? We have two 'wheelchair cars' outside." "Not taxi."
"Sorry, I don't understand."
"Taxidermist."
"Taxidermist?"
"Yes."
The awful truth dawned - she had found a way of taking the cat!
"Vet. Take him."
At least this extreme plan was resulting in more than single word commands.
"You won't look after him."
The longest sentence for five or six years.
The lateral thought was to go ahead and then carry out the taxidermy at home as then an articulated cat could be produced to replicate (is that a Blade Runner reference?) his favoured actions. The surreal plan, as opposed to the real plan, was to articulate the jaw and connect it, through a series of levers to the erect tail. It would then be possible for V to insert her right, and uncontrolled arm into the open jaws and then, using the inevitable spasm in the left arm, thump the tail and facilitate the regular bite from a dead cat!
Back to the cat's ungrateful attack. His original act of savagery all those years ago had resulted in the removal of the left cufflink due to major swelling (and the watch). This was at a time when the victim had ceased to update the yet jab (no more horses and no more forestry work made this redundant). The rather special and speedy rate of infection resulted in a hasty visit to the surgery to see one of the few nurses that had had no dealings with V.
The time in the eating room was passed watching the scrolling display: "63 PATIENTS FAILED TO ATTEND NURSE APPOINTMENTS IN MAY . . . 63 PATIENTS . . . . "
"Come in," the nurse commanded, "you don't come here often do you?"
"No, I try to avoid the surgery on my behalf."
"Would you mind if we updated our records as you're here?"
He could a see the computer screen and the agenda from the patient's chair.
"Of course."
She made the obvious enquiries about name, address and date of birth and then the real agenda.
"Do you smoke?"
On the screen the answers were "Non-smoker", "Ex-smoker", "5/day", "10/day" 20/day". In those days he was known to smoke - now, of course, having briefly had a reason to live forever he no longer smoked.
The cat, sensing that the dreaded ironing board was away, returned to his defiant perch on the two, packed cases defying the whole notion of change. Perhaps he could pack the big camera bag and see what was left that still needed a passage. The cat stared imperiously and bushed his tail. Reaching for the 27-300mm lens and Canon body (a birthday gift three happy years ago) and placing it in the prepared area of the bag his hand lingered on the camera back and the cat leapt. One bound and the front paws locked through the fleece and shirt bracing the shoulders for the jawed assault. Fourteen years he had fed that cat, fourteen years he had paid its vets bills and all it could do was puncture his arm in fourteen places! At least the victim appreciated the irony. Eight years ago Felix non-domesticus had done the same thing to the same arm. This was not a first offence. He had regularly bitten his mistress who greeted the assaults with unconditional love.
As an aside V had been devoted to the cat who treated her as an aperitif each morning! When the time came for V to move to a nursing home she was concerned about the cat. Finally, reconciled to the inevitable she set about a plan. Walking into the sitting room (odd name - there were no chairs, they had been smashed by the electric wheelchair) she was found with yellow pages open at "Taxi Companies".
"Why do you want a taxi? We have two 'wheelchair cars' outside." "Not taxi."
"Sorry, I don't understand."
"Taxidermist."
"Taxidermist?"
"Yes."
The awful truth dawned - she had found a way of taking the cat!
"Vet. Take him."
At least this extreme plan was resulting in more than single word commands.
"You won't look after him."
The longest sentence for five or six years.
The lateral thought was to go ahead and then carry out the taxidermy at home as then an articulated cat could be produced to replicate (is that a Blade Runner reference?) his favoured actions. The surreal plan, as opposed to the real plan, was to articulate the jaw and connect it, through a series of levers to the erect tail. It would then be possible for V to insert her right, and uncontrolled arm into the open jaws and then, using the inevitable spasm in the left arm, thump the tail and facilitate the regular bite from a dead cat!
Back to the cat's ungrateful attack. His original act of savagery all those years ago had resulted in the removal of the left cufflink due to major swelling (and the watch). This was at a time when the victim had ceased to update the yet jab (no more horses and no more forestry work made this redundant). The rather special and speedy rate of infection resulted in a hasty visit to the surgery to see one of the few nurses that had had no dealings with V.
The time in the eating room was passed watching the scrolling display: "63 PATIENTS FAILED TO ATTEND NURSE APPOINTMENTS IN MAY . . . 63 PATIENTS . . . . "
"Come in," the nurse commanded, "you don't come here often do you?"
"No, I try to avoid the surgery on my behalf."
"Would you mind if we updated our records as you're here?"
He could a see the computer screen and the agenda from the patient's chair.
"Of course."
She made the obvious enquiries about name, address and date of birth and then the real agenda.
"Do you smoke?"
On the screen the answers were "Non-smoker", "Ex-smoker", "5/day", "10/day" 20/day". In those days he was known to smoke - now, of course, having briefly had a reason to live forever he no longer smoked.
"Madam, if you think that I am going to stare awkwardly at my feet and confess you have picked the
wrong man."
"What do you mean?" she asked with an edge of affront in her voice.
"You do not have a box to tick for my smoking. I smoke 80 a day and have down for ten years, before that I smoked 40 a day and I have smoked for 40 years. So far!"
She forgot to turn the screen away and he could read the next question and the available answers. "Before you ask."
"I'm sorry?"
"Before you ask, yes I drink."
"Do you understand what is meant by a unit of alcohol?" "Absolutely," with no pun as vodka was never his drink. "How many united do you drink each day?"
"28."
"No, a unit is explained as a single measure of spirits or between 6 and 10 units for a bottle of wine depending on its strength. . . . and ..."
"Yes."
". . . I asked how many units each DAY."
"Yes."
"No, you don't understand . . . "
The rudeness of interrupting upset him but needs must.
"Do you understand why Scotch is sold in 75cl bottles?
"What do you mean?"
"Do you ever eat MacDonalds?"
Embarrassed she looked away, "Well, yes, sometimes."
"Well a bottle of 'Grouse' is a take-away in Nick's world."
"But I return to my explanation, how many units do you drink each WEEK?"
"You'll have to wait a moment, I don't know my 28 times table off by heart...... hmm, seven twenty- eightsare.....justshortof200... 196."
She looked furious and turned the screen away and began to type with fury that the cat would have understood.
He imagined the words - DON'T . . . TREAT . . . SELF-DESTRUCTIVE . . . UNDESERVING.
Every now and then she looked across with ice-picks in her eyes.
"When did you last have your blood pressure taken?" she asked with air of triumph.
"When I was six."
"Ah - then we'll see." Her advance with the apparatus was almost gloating.
The expectation was a basic sphygmomanometer and stethoscope but she had the 'machine that goes ping'.
The band was 'velcroed' to his arm and the nurse returned to her keyboard and the challenge of typing the politically correct death sentence. The machine went 'PING', she stood, walked across the room and stared at the display. Her face dropped and looked concerned.
"Oh shit, I really don't need a blood pressure problem," he thought.
The worried look did not leave her face: she chewed her lip.
"It's perfect," she announced, barely able to disguise her disappointment.
There was a sense of relief but an irresistible urge to parry the unspoken barb.
"Well. I'm no expert but I do know two things about blood pressure."
She looked irritated.
"The first is that high blood pressure is bad."
Defeat was beginning to take control of her face.
"The second is that even that is better than none at all."
"Yes but . . ."
"No, hear me out - smoking and drinking raise blood pressure so I can only conclude that by persisting with these 'vices' I'm ensuring that my blood pressure does not sink dangerously low!"
"We've run out of tetanus vaccine - my colleague has just used the last vial," she announced. "There will be more tomorrow - please go to reception and ask them to 'pencil you in' an appointment - you won't need a full appointment as the inoculation will only take a few seconds."
"What do you mean?" she asked with an edge of affront in her voice.
"You do not have a box to tick for my smoking. I smoke 80 a day and have down for ten years, before that I smoked 40 a day and I have smoked for 40 years. So far!"
She forgot to turn the screen away and he could read the next question and the available answers. "Before you ask."
"I'm sorry?"
"Before you ask, yes I drink."
"Do you understand what is meant by a unit of alcohol?" "Absolutely," with no pun as vodka was never his drink. "How many united do you drink each day?"
"28."
"No, a unit is explained as a single measure of spirits or between 6 and 10 units for a bottle of wine depending on its strength. . . . and ..."
"Yes."
". . . I asked how many units each DAY."
"Yes."
"No, you don't understand . . . "
The rudeness of interrupting upset him but needs must.
"Do you understand why Scotch is sold in 75cl bottles?
"What do you mean?"
"Do you ever eat MacDonalds?"
Embarrassed she looked away, "Well, yes, sometimes."
"Well a bottle of 'Grouse' is a take-away in Nick's world."
"But I return to my explanation, how many units do you drink each WEEK?"
"You'll have to wait a moment, I don't know my 28 times table off by heart...... hmm, seven twenty- eightsare.....justshortof200... 196."
She looked furious and turned the screen away and began to type with fury that the cat would have understood.
He imagined the words - DON'T . . . TREAT . . . SELF-DESTRUCTIVE . . . UNDESERVING.
Every now and then she looked across with ice-picks in her eyes.
"When did you last have your blood pressure taken?" she asked with air of triumph.
"When I was six."
"Ah - then we'll see." Her advance with the apparatus was almost gloating.
The expectation was a basic sphygmomanometer and stethoscope but she had the 'machine that goes ping'.
The band was 'velcroed' to his arm and the nurse returned to her keyboard and the challenge of typing the politically correct death sentence. The machine went 'PING', she stood, walked across the room and stared at the display. Her face dropped and looked concerned.
"Oh shit, I really don't need a blood pressure problem," he thought.
The worried look did not leave her face: she chewed her lip.
"It's perfect," she announced, barely able to disguise her disappointment.
There was a sense of relief but an irresistible urge to parry the unspoken barb.
"Well. I'm no expert but I do know two things about blood pressure."
She looked irritated.
"The first is that high blood pressure is bad."
Defeat was beginning to take control of her face.
"The second is that even that is better than none at all."
"Yes but . . ."
"No, hear me out - smoking and drinking raise blood pressure so I can only conclude that by persisting with these 'vices' I'm ensuring that my blood pressure does not sink dangerously low!"
"We've run out of tetanus vaccine - my colleague has just used the last vial," she announced. "There will be more tomorrow - please go to reception and ask them to 'pencil you in' an appointment - you won't need a full appointment as the inoculation will only take a few seconds."
"Quite how does one 'pencil in' on a computer system? Never mind. My only real request is that,
should I die of tetanus in the intervening hours, the display will not read "64 PEOPLE FAILED TO
ATTEND NURSE APPOINTMENTS IN MAY" but will, instead, read "63 PEOPLE FAILED TO ATTEND
NURSE APPOINTMENTS IN MAY AND ONE DIED BECAUSE OF THE INQUISITION"
She did not smile; he attended the next day and received an inoculation in silence.
The cat understood nothing of this and demanded his evening meal. His manservant did as requested and completed the first stage of packing. The third case contained all that he could imagine excepting those items that would be required on the morning that he might travel. Would he really need the beard trimmer?
She did not smile; he attended the next day and received an inoculation in silence.
The cat understood nothing of this and demanded his evening meal. His manservant did as requested and completed the first stage of packing. The third case contained all that he could imagine excepting those items that would be required on the morning that he might travel. Would he really need the beard trimmer?
The Amazon Blog 3 - Departure
Paul, the driver telephoned on Thursday evening.
"Good evening, this is your driver for tomorrow making a courtesy call."
"Good evening. You're due to pick me up at 10am: is that right?"
"Perfectly correct sir. May I just confirm your address?"
This was done with the sneaking suspicion that this was the nub of the courtesy call - facilitating the courtesy of arriving at the correct house in the morning.
"No problem sir - I will be there at 10am. Good ni......."
"Hold on, please, the house is a little difficult to find."
"No problem sir, I have a satnav."
"All well and good, I don't have a road."
"Ah."
"What vehicle will you be coming in?"
"A Mercedes E class. Why?"
"The size of the vehicle might affect your approach to the house but that won't be a problem in an E- class. If you follow your sat nav's instructions and then park by the post box I'll come out and find you."
"I'm sure I'll find you. I can always call you if I get stuck."
"Ah, what network are you on?"
"O2."
"You won't call me."
"Don't tell me - no signal. Where is this place Stelling Minnis? In the 18th century?"
"Very good, see you in the morning."
It was a long night and even longer morning, one of the pitfalls of waking at 4:30. Washed, brushed and dressed it was possible to pack the last remaining items and then wait.
At 9:45 a large silver Mercedes drove slowly but deliberately past the post box and disappeared along the road. Walking down to the road and its tail lights were just visible in the drizzle. Eventually it stopped and, after a further pause, reversed into a track where it remained for a few minutes. It came back along the road and pulled up.
"Paul?"
"No, Chris."
"Ah, are you looking for Nick Onslow?"
"Homeleigh."
"Yes."
Conversation was clearly not his strong suit, speaking of which he was dressed in a suit which would have been fashionable if worn by Edward Heath. It gave him the look of a rather down on his luck gangster. The hope was that his driving was better than his dress sense and his communication skills. The cases were loaded and one of the six leather seats selected and the adventure began.
For a large vehicle the Mercedes reached 90 with ease as Six Mile Garage flashed by in a blur.
"It will take us at least a couple of hours at this rate but we should be able to make up time on the motorway."
How right he was. Within the first five miles on the M20 we had caught up with a speeding ambulance, blue lights flashing as it headed towards Ashford. Leaving that in our wake we proceeded to terrorise white vans on the way to Maidstone. The presence of speed cameras was a huge relief until it became clear that they were but a minor deterrent, the car accelerating after each and then braking just before the next.
Quite how Chris managed to manoeuvre from the outside lane, across two busy lanes and then just squeeze onto the M26 is a mystery which several shocked motorists probably pondered once they had stopped shaking.
Some miles further on and the M25 brought a wonderful 50mph speed restriction: never had road cones looked so good. For the first time in nearly an hour a car overtook the Mercedes. Inevitably the cones disappeared and with them the sanctuary of the 50 mph limit.
"Good evening. You're due to pick me up at 10am: is that right?"
"Perfectly correct sir. May I just confirm your address?"
This was done with the sneaking suspicion that this was the nub of the courtesy call - facilitating the courtesy of arriving at the correct house in the morning.
"No problem sir - I will be there at 10am. Good ni......."
"Hold on, please, the house is a little difficult to find."
"No problem sir, I have a satnav."
"All well and good, I don't have a road."
"Ah."
"What vehicle will you be coming in?"
"A Mercedes E class. Why?"
"The size of the vehicle might affect your approach to the house but that won't be a problem in an E- class. If you follow your sat nav's instructions and then park by the post box I'll come out and find you."
"I'm sure I'll find you. I can always call you if I get stuck."
"Ah, what network are you on?"
"O2."
"You won't call me."
"Don't tell me - no signal. Where is this place Stelling Minnis? In the 18th century?"
"Very good, see you in the morning."
It was a long night and even longer morning, one of the pitfalls of waking at 4:30. Washed, brushed and dressed it was possible to pack the last remaining items and then wait.
At 9:45 a large silver Mercedes drove slowly but deliberately past the post box and disappeared along the road. Walking down to the road and its tail lights were just visible in the drizzle. Eventually it stopped and, after a further pause, reversed into a track where it remained for a few minutes. It came back along the road and pulled up.
"Paul?"
"No, Chris."
"Ah, are you looking for Nick Onslow?"
"Homeleigh."
"Yes."
Conversation was clearly not his strong suit, speaking of which he was dressed in a suit which would have been fashionable if worn by Edward Heath. It gave him the look of a rather down on his luck gangster. The hope was that his driving was better than his dress sense and his communication skills. The cases were loaded and one of the six leather seats selected and the adventure began.
For a large vehicle the Mercedes reached 90 with ease as Six Mile Garage flashed by in a blur.
"It will take us at least a couple of hours at this rate but we should be able to make up time on the motorway."
How right he was. Within the first five miles on the M20 we had caught up with a speeding ambulance, blue lights flashing as it headed towards Ashford. Leaving that in our wake we proceeded to terrorise white vans on the way to Maidstone. The presence of speed cameras was a huge relief until it became clear that they were but a minor deterrent, the car accelerating after each and then braking just before the next.
Quite how Chris managed to manoeuvre from the outside lane, across two busy lanes and then just squeeze onto the M26 is a mystery which several shocked motorists probably pondered once they had stopped shaking.
Some miles further on and the M25 brought a wonderful 50mph speed restriction: never had road cones looked so good. For the first time in nearly an hour a car overtook the Mercedes. Inevitably the cones disappeared and with them the sanctuary of the 50 mph limit.
The Google Maps route had estimated 2hours and 35 minutes and the first glimpse of the ship
Boudicca came after 1 hour and 55 minutes. It seemed that some time had been made up on the
motorway!
–
Check-in was straightforward and a first opportunity to view the other adventurers. In waiting areas time stands still or, at least passes at a different rate than elsewhere on the planet. Some sat staring at newspapers while others sipped coffee substitute from unhelpful cardboard Costa cups. A few drinkers sat at the bar sipping cold lagers with faces that did nothing to suggest pleasure. The Tannoy burst into life and an unintelligible announcement was made about a ferry for Caen. The voice as clear as a CD played on a gramophone.
The lady opposite sat, spilling across the seats to either side, consuming cup cakes from a box as if she needed to eat as regularly as others breathe. Her travelling companion was cadaverous by comparison, taking occasional mouse like bites from a sandwich that looked as appetising as a paperback edition of Mein Kampf.
After two hours it was time to move on, number called and the awful trip through the security cordon, shuffling through the scanner with one hand trying to hold up sagging trousers while the essential belt was examined by the harridan who searched the baskets. The elderly gentleman in front managed to drop all of his metal belongings onto the floor as he attempted to retrieve them from the plastic basket. Bending down to recover them, the contents of his jacket pocket joined his watch, belt and keys. This had the probability that the pattern would continue indefinitely. The uniformed security staff looked on clearly concerned that any sign of humanity would undermine their authority.
"May I help?"
"Oh thank you so, so much." He stood and lost his trousers and dignity at the same moment.
The proto-nazi in the uniform and savagely peaked cap sniggered meanly at the sight of a gentleman who, moments ago, had a certain gravitas until gravity revealed some rather dashing Calvin Klein underpants.
Thankfully he managed to recover his trousers without assistance and accepted the advice to sit while he re-threaded his belt. The queue moved on and eventually boarded a coach. The coach drew up alongside the ship, Boudicca and the driver advised, "there's a long queue for the gangplank so I'll keep the doors closed because it's freezing out there." Hmm - the gangplank! would Blackbeard be making us walk along it: gangway might have been more reassuring. In fact the thought of a dip in the water was rather pleasant as the coach was heating up to sauna temperatures and the lady (or was that ladies for indeed it was her with the cup cakes) was wearing an overpoweringly strong perfume or was that some poorly scented exudation?
Eventually we boarded and the sanctuary of the cabin was found - spacious and even more so as none of the cases were present.
Tomorrow you learn about the lifeboat drill (including the chap who spent 5 minutes trying to blow into the water activated light in the hope that it was the whistle) and dinner with 'Silent James", "Brittle Margaret" and "Defensive Lorna".
Well there's no getting off but it's a very solitary wake that forms behind this ship.
–
Check-in was straightforward and a first opportunity to view the other adventurers. In waiting areas time stands still or, at least passes at a different rate than elsewhere on the planet. Some sat staring at newspapers while others sipped coffee substitute from unhelpful cardboard Costa cups. A few drinkers sat at the bar sipping cold lagers with faces that did nothing to suggest pleasure. The Tannoy burst into life and an unintelligible announcement was made about a ferry for Caen. The voice as clear as a CD played on a gramophone.
The lady opposite sat, spilling across the seats to either side, consuming cup cakes from a box as if she needed to eat as regularly as others breathe. Her travelling companion was cadaverous by comparison, taking occasional mouse like bites from a sandwich that looked as appetising as a paperback edition of Mein Kampf.
After two hours it was time to move on, number called and the awful trip through the security cordon, shuffling through the scanner with one hand trying to hold up sagging trousers while the essential belt was examined by the harridan who searched the baskets. The elderly gentleman in front managed to drop all of his metal belongings onto the floor as he attempted to retrieve them from the plastic basket. Bending down to recover them, the contents of his jacket pocket joined his watch, belt and keys. This had the probability that the pattern would continue indefinitely. The uniformed security staff looked on clearly concerned that any sign of humanity would undermine their authority.
"May I help?"
"Oh thank you so, so much." He stood and lost his trousers and dignity at the same moment.
The proto-nazi in the uniform and savagely peaked cap sniggered meanly at the sight of a gentleman who, moments ago, had a certain gravitas until gravity revealed some rather dashing Calvin Klein underpants.
Thankfully he managed to recover his trousers without assistance and accepted the advice to sit while he re-threaded his belt. The queue moved on and eventually boarded a coach. The coach drew up alongside the ship, Boudicca and the driver advised, "there's a long queue for the gangplank so I'll keep the doors closed because it's freezing out there." Hmm - the gangplank! would Blackbeard be making us walk along it: gangway might have been more reassuring. In fact the thought of a dip in the water was rather pleasant as the coach was heating up to sauna temperatures and the lady (or was that ladies for indeed it was her with the cup cakes) was wearing an overpoweringly strong perfume or was that some poorly scented exudation?
Eventually we boarded and the sanctuary of the cabin was found - spacious and even more so as none of the cases were present.
Tomorrow you learn about the lifeboat drill (including the chap who spent 5 minutes trying to blow into the water activated light in the hope that it was the whistle) and dinner with 'Silent James", "Brittle Margaret" and "Defensive Lorna".
Well there's no getting off but it's a very solitary wake that forms behind this ship.
The Amazon Blog 4 - Setting Sail (who will be your companions in the lifeboat?)
There is a requirement that passengers on cruise liners attend a lifeboat drill before setting sail (or
twirling propellers). The alarm sounds - six short sounds followed by one long and all dutifully ascend
the stairs to the muster stations, carrying a lifejacket from their cabin.
The muster station was in the Neptune Lounge - there were others but this was the most
inappropriately named - perhaps The Davy Jones Bar would have been worse? The secret is to look
around and see who you might:
a) spend your last days on earth (or ocean) with before dying from de-hydration.
b) eat
c) be eaten by.
Frankly the woman in the seat to the left looked as if she could eat all 150 souls in the lifeboat and still feel peckish. She had the air (and the manners) of someone who would then be looking for a "customer satisfaction" slip upon which to record her disappointment with the portion size and the lack of brown sauce.
The frail couple on the other side were worrying about their lifejacket straps - were they twisted. Frankly the sea lane between Cape Verde and the Amazon is so remote (excepting cruise ships) that the sea water would not just have converted the average human corpse to a wrinkled prune before it was found but, frankly drowning would be the better option.
There was a muster roll call (no doubt the auditors required an exact body count in the case of disaster) and the cabin number 3016 was called. The fellow wasn't too sure how many people were in his cabin. The instruction was to call out the number of occupants when the cabin number was called. 3016 answered "6" - maybe echolalia. In honesty he didn't look capable of running a harem. He corrected himself "1" and then was hit by his wife and offered "2" which seemed to satisfy the stout lady at his side.
The very slight Philippino crew member came along to check that everybody had their lifejackets on correctly and then the drill was acted out.
"If it is necessary for you to jump into the sea, put your right hand over your nose and mouth and your left arm over your right arm to make sure that entry does not tear your hand away from your nose and mouth." Several passengers acted out the scenario - not quite understanding the consequence of jumping from a height that is not allowed at the Olympics! The two crew members who had been delegated to act out this charade placed their arms in the required position.
"When you are ready and the order to abandon ship has been issued take a large step forward and do not release your arms until you reach the surface."
It would have been discourteous to have asked 'the surface on the way down or when you bob back up?'
No instruction was issued about how to run the lottery to decide who should be eaten first nor was there a protocol for controlling the spirit supply. (Some readers will already be aware that the author had, by this stage, built a raft from the afternoon's empties).
Meanwhile several people had explored their lifejackets and disassembled the light. This is designed to come on in contact with water. Thankfully passengers were not required to act out the conga line that leads from the muster point to the lifeboat boarding station. You are supposed to walk holding onto the right shoulder of the person in front but this awful human contact was not required.
Despite advice and individual coaching the fellow on the next table was blowing so hard into the water activation device in the belief that it might be a whistle that his spittle set off the light!
The drill completed, it was time to see if the rest of the luggage had arrived. So far (and it was too late as the gangway had been removed) only case 3 had arrived at the cabin - all those things that looked useful in the final hours of packing, plus some shoes. Somehow 5 weeks in the same clothes was probably going to reduce any chance of appearing debonair, no forget that, human!
The second case had arrived so at least there were a number of shirts and a selection of hunt ties with matching silks for the top pockets of jackets that could have been anywhere. Not only was the lack of jackets and trousers a disaster but Case 1 contained the bones for the shirt collars and a selection of cufflinks. The possibility of 5 weeks with ragged edges loomed large and scarily.
a) spend your last days on earth (or ocean) with before dying from de-hydration.
b) eat
c) be eaten by.
Frankly the woman in the seat to the left looked as if she could eat all 150 souls in the lifeboat and still feel peckish. She had the air (and the manners) of someone who would then be looking for a "customer satisfaction" slip upon which to record her disappointment with the portion size and the lack of brown sauce.
The frail couple on the other side were worrying about their lifejacket straps - were they twisted. Frankly the sea lane between Cape Verde and the Amazon is so remote (excepting cruise ships) that the sea water would not just have converted the average human corpse to a wrinkled prune before it was found but, frankly drowning would be the better option.
There was a muster roll call (no doubt the auditors required an exact body count in the case of disaster) and the cabin number 3016 was called. The fellow wasn't too sure how many people were in his cabin. The instruction was to call out the number of occupants when the cabin number was called. 3016 answered "6" - maybe echolalia. In honesty he didn't look capable of running a harem. He corrected himself "1" and then was hit by his wife and offered "2" which seemed to satisfy the stout lady at his side.
The very slight Philippino crew member came along to check that everybody had their lifejackets on correctly and then the drill was acted out.
"If it is necessary for you to jump into the sea, put your right hand over your nose and mouth and your left arm over your right arm to make sure that entry does not tear your hand away from your nose and mouth." Several passengers acted out the scenario - not quite understanding the consequence of jumping from a height that is not allowed at the Olympics! The two crew members who had been delegated to act out this charade placed their arms in the required position.
"When you are ready and the order to abandon ship has been issued take a large step forward and do not release your arms until you reach the surface."
It would have been discourteous to have asked 'the surface on the way down or when you bob back up?'
No instruction was issued about how to run the lottery to decide who should be eaten first nor was there a protocol for controlling the spirit supply. (Some readers will already be aware that the author had, by this stage, built a raft from the afternoon's empties).
Meanwhile several people had explored their lifejackets and disassembled the light. This is designed to come on in contact with water. Thankfully passengers were not required to act out the conga line that leads from the muster point to the lifeboat boarding station. You are supposed to walk holding onto the right shoulder of the person in front but this awful human contact was not required.
Despite advice and individual coaching the fellow on the next table was blowing so hard into the water activation device in the belief that it might be a whistle that his spittle set off the light!
The drill completed, it was time to see if the rest of the luggage had arrived. So far (and it was too late as the gangway had been removed) only case 3 had arrived at the cabin - all those things that looked useful in the final hours of packing, plus some shoes. Somehow 5 weeks in the same clothes was probably going to reduce any chance of appearing debonair, no forget that, human!
The second case had arrived so at least there were a number of shirts and a selection of hunt ties with matching silks for the top pockets of jackets that could have been anywhere. Not only was the lack of jackets and trousers a disaster but Case 1 contained the bones for the shirt collars and a selection of cufflinks. The possibility of 5 weeks with ragged edges loomed large and scarily.
A trip onto the deck to remind that this was not the wonderful departure from Portsmouth of two
years ago and then a couple of stiff gin and tonics and the lack of jackets and trousers began to matter
less. In fact it mattered not at all as a trip to the cabin revealed that the final case had not been diverted
onto the Brittany Ferry to St Malo but was, indeed, in the cabin.
A quick shower and a change into, once more, accessible clothes and it was nearly time for dinner, well at least an aperitif. The Observatory is a fine bar above the navigation bridge where the Phillipino waitress has already clocked the old soak and, upon his entry says,
"Large gin and tonic, Sir Nicholas, sir?"
A couple, of stiffeners and it is time to go to dinner. Dress code was "smart casual" which, in the author's view meant formal shirt, shiny black shoes and a jacket. Clearly it was not interpreted the same way by all the travellers. Trainers are never smart although certainly casual but thankfully the second diner to arrive at table 70 was wearing a jacket and (sadly nondescript) tie. He introduced himself as James and a lone traveller. (The names are being changed just in case the people stumble upon this blog and one of its subscribers commented that the author should beware of being thrown overboard by a character who felt less than charitably portrayed). James spoke English but not ties. Some readers might not appreciate that for fellows of a certain generation (or before) ties are a language of their own, school, regiment, ship, hunt, company, firm - all these things might be defined by a tie. The cognoscenti might go beyond the basics and say which house, section or wing the wearer might be exhibiting. James was wearing a polyester tie that might have come from Tescos. In the great game of tie poker his Tesco special was seen and raised a Devon and Somerset Staghound silk tie. He folded.
Two ladies joined the table, James did not stand! Introductions were exchanged - Margaret and
Lorna and then the wait for the first person to ask "Have you cruised before?" This is most usually asked by the person who thinks that they have cruised the most. This is a conversational gambit based on the idea that the enquirer will receive a short reply which can then be trumped by a lengthy monologue listing the fleets of ships that the enquirer has been on and the ever more impressive list of ports.
Margaret opened up with, "Is this your first cruise?"
Lorna played an excellent hand, passing while James admitted that it was his second and the author added his meagre tally to the table.
"So relative new boys then," flashed Margaret but just as she took the deep breath in readiness to recite her catalogue Lorna played her hand.
"I go twice a year, and have done since I lost my husband sixteen years ago. Oh, except every third year when I just go once."
Margaret fell for the finesse, "Why is that?"
"Because every third year I do a round the world trip."
There followed a game of cruise ship bingo as the ladies vied for the longest list of ships while damning the opposition’s choices.
"Oh, I did this Amazon trip two years ago, but on the Marco Polo."
"Oh, my dear that must have been ghastly - she has such pokey little cabins."
Their battle was brought to a close by the waiter who arrived to take the orders. The ladies turned their attention to James who clearly struggled to hear.
"I'm stone deaf in this ear," he said pointing to his left ear: the ear that faced the ladies.
"You must sit the other side tomorrow evening so that you can hear us," insisted Lorna.
James looked unhappy at the prospect, "I usually sit at this end of the table when my family visit at home then they can just talk amongst themselves."
The meal was good but there were some disapproving looks from the others when the author's bottle of wine was followed by port.
The mouse like Margaret managed five courses but failed to finish three of them while Lorna was clearly a bit of a trencher girl, stashing away five courses without hesitation. The conversation moved on to "why are we alone" or "when did your loved one pass on". Lorna had, as was noted, been alone for sixteen years while James had lost his wife just two years ago. Somehow it was unsurprising to hear that Margaret had rather clumsily lost two husbands in quick succession. The latest just five years ago.
A quick shower and a change into, once more, accessible clothes and it was nearly time for dinner, well at least an aperitif. The Observatory is a fine bar above the navigation bridge where the Phillipino waitress has already clocked the old soak and, upon his entry says,
"Large gin and tonic, Sir Nicholas, sir?"
A couple, of stiffeners and it is time to go to dinner. Dress code was "smart casual" which, in the author's view meant formal shirt, shiny black shoes and a jacket. Clearly it was not interpreted the same way by all the travellers. Trainers are never smart although certainly casual but thankfully the second diner to arrive at table 70 was wearing a jacket and (sadly nondescript) tie. He introduced himself as James and a lone traveller. (The names are being changed just in case the people stumble upon this blog and one of its subscribers commented that the author should beware of being thrown overboard by a character who felt less than charitably portrayed). James spoke English but not ties. Some readers might not appreciate that for fellows of a certain generation (or before) ties are a language of their own, school, regiment, ship, hunt, company, firm - all these things might be defined by a tie. The cognoscenti might go beyond the basics and say which house, section or wing the wearer might be exhibiting. James was wearing a polyester tie that might have come from Tescos. In the great game of tie poker his Tesco special was seen and raised a Devon and Somerset Staghound silk tie. He folded.
Two ladies joined the table, James did not stand! Introductions were exchanged - Margaret and
Lorna and then the wait for the first person to ask "Have you cruised before?" This is most usually asked by the person who thinks that they have cruised the most. This is a conversational gambit based on the idea that the enquirer will receive a short reply which can then be trumped by a lengthy monologue listing the fleets of ships that the enquirer has been on and the ever more impressive list of ports.
Margaret opened up with, "Is this your first cruise?"
Lorna played an excellent hand, passing while James admitted that it was his second and the author added his meagre tally to the table.
"So relative new boys then," flashed Margaret but just as she took the deep breath in readiness to recite her catalogue Lorna played her hand.
"I go twice a year, and have done since I lost my husband sixteen years ago. Oh, except every third year when I just go once."
Margaret fell for the finesse, "Why is that?"
"Because every third year I do a round the world trip."
There followed a game of cruise ship bingo as the ladies vied for the longest list of ships while damning the opposition’s choices.
"Oh, I did this Amazon trip two years ago, but on the Marco Polo."
"Oh, my dear that must have been ghastly - she has such pokey little cabins."
Their battle was brought to a close by the waiter who arrived to take the orders. The ladies turned their attention to James who clearly struggled to hear.
"I'm stone deaf in this ear," he said pointing to his left ear: the ear that faced the ladies.
"You must sit the other side tomorrow evening so that you can hear us," insisted Lorna.
James looked unhappy at the prospect, "I usually sit at this end of the table when my family visit at home then they can just talk amongst themselves."
The meal was good but there were some disapproving looks from the others when the author's bottle of wine was followed by port.
The mouse like Margaret managed five courses but failed to finish three of them while Lorna was clearly a bit of a trencher girl, stashing away five courses without hesitation. The conversation moved on to "why are we alone" or "when did your loved one pass on". Lorna had, as was noted, been alone for sixteen years while James had lost his wife just two years ago. Somehow it was unsurprising to hear that Margaret had rather clumsily lost two husbands in quick succession. The latest just five years ago.
"We girls seem to outlast chaps, don't we," she concluded looking hard at the empty wine bottle.
A nightcap and an update to the blog and it was time to descend to the cabin in the hope of sleep.
The Amazon Blog 5 - food, food, food and some genitals in caustic potash..
The cruise industry is obsessed with norovirus. At every turn you are encouraged to sanitise your
hands: before eating, before touching a book in the library, as you enter any public area of the ship.
When the captain makes his daily address at midday he ends, in a Norwegian accent with the mantra
"And don't forget, vash, vash, vash."
Until the ship has managed 24 hours without a reported case of D and V additional precautions are in
place hence the fact that the breakfast buffet was attended by waiters who handled the utensils and
loaded the passengers plates. Loaded is the key word in that sentence. The waiting staff were almost
exclusively slightly built Philippinos.
"You like egg, sir?"
"Yes please."
"Scrambled, fried, poached or boiled, sir?"
"Scrambled, please." At this point a mountain of scrambled egg was loaded onto the plate.
"A rasher of bacon, one sausage, tomato and mushrooms please."
What seemed to be a flitch of bacon was balanced atop the egg which was then impaled with three sausages. These porky flying buttresses supported the three tomatoes which in turn created a pool into which mushrooms were tipped. The waiter then went for a unilateral decision and created a small cromlech of hash browns that teetered unwanted and unloved on the top of this mound of breakfast. "There you are sir, enjoy." The waiter passed the imbalanced and rather hot plate. A slight lurch of the ship together with the tremor due to the weight and temperature and the top portion of breakfast set off towards the table a little before the lower part. For the first five accelerating paces it looked as if the egg might just keep up with the hash browns. But the final lunge for the table might have saved the egg, bacon, tomato, sausage and some of the mushroom but the hash browns and other mushrooms scooted across the table and fell to the floor. A glance around the room suggested that no one had seen. Having gone to fetch a glass of orange juice (poured by a sanitised waiter) there was dismay awaiting on returning to the table. The cheery hot plate waiter was there with a plate.
"You drop breakfast, sir. I bring new mushrooms and hash browns."
"Ah, five hash browns and a bucket of mushrooms - just what I wanted."
The Lido Deck has a complete external circuit around which the fitness freaks and guilty eaters promenade. At the forward end the deck is narrow, so narrow that the lady with the cup cakes might struggle to make a passage along 5 metres of the path. Due to this there is an advisory notice suggesting which direction the walkers should take - clock wise or anti-clockwise. This alternates each day. There are, of course, those who deliberately flout the suggestion and others who appoint themselves to police the whole business. The potential for trouble is ever present. Sadly, the troubled seas of the Bay of Biscay were breaking over the bow of the ship so the forward section of the promenade was closed shortly after a first circuit thus removing the flashpoint. Now the walkers had to turn and retrace their steps down the starboard side to the stern, along the port side to a point short of the bows and then about face until meeting the equivalent barrier on the starboard side. Some enterprising folk worked out that there were doors near the closed section that enabled a cut to be made across the interior of the ship but most people chose the U shaped walk with its two reverses. This, however, did not stop one enthusiastic 'policeman' from standing under the arrow with its accompanying notice that said "This way today". He stood pointing to the sign every time anyone walked in the "wrong" direction and coughed. Many were waiting for the tell tale splash that would forever cure his pettiness (and his cough). Many were disappointed but thankfully a rain filled squall drove him inside. No doubt he spent the rest of his morning standing near one of the dispensers of hand sanitizer pointing and coughing until someone forced him to wear it!
"You like egg, sir?"
"Yes please."
"Scrambled, fried, poached or boiled, sir?"
"Scrambled, please." At this point a mountain of scrambled egg was loaded onto the plate.
"A rasher of bacon, one sausage, tomato and mushrooms please."
What seemed to be a flitch of bacon was balanced atop the egg which was then impaled with three sausages. These porky flying buttresses supported the three tomatoes which in turn created a pool into which mushrooms were tipped. The waiter then went for a unilateral decision and created a small cromlech of hash browns that teetered unwanted and unloved on the top of this mound of breakfast. "There you are sir, enjoy." The waiter passed the imbalanced and rather hot plate. A slight lurch of the ship together with the tremor due to the weight and temperature and the top portion of breakfast set off towards the table a little before the lower part. For the first five accelerating paces it looked as if the egg might just keep up with the hash browns. But the final lunge for the table might have saved the egg, bacon, tomato, sausage and some of the mushroom but the hash browns and other mushrooms scooted across the table and fell to the floor. A glance around the room suggested that no one had seen. Having gone to fetch a glass of orange juice (poured by a sanitised waiter) there was dismay awaiting on returning to the table. The cheery hot plate waiter was there with a plate.
"You drop breakfast, sir. I bring new mushrooms and hash browns."
"Ah, five hash browns and a bucket of mushrooms - just what I wanted."
------------000-------------
It had seemed churlish to leave the hash browns so a token one was eaten but it made the need for a
lengthy walk around the deck all the more pressing.The Lido Deck has a complete external circuit around which the fitness freaks and guilty eaters promenade. At the forward end the deck is narrow, so narrow that the lady with the cup cakes might struggle to make a passage along 5 metres of the path. Due to this there is an advisory notice suggesting which direction the walkers should take - clock wise or anti-clockwise. This alternates each day. There are, of course, those who deliberately flout the suggestion and others who appoint themselves to police the whole business. The potential for trouble is ever present. Sadly, the troubled seas of the Bay of Biscay were breaking over the bow of the ship so the forward section of the promenade was closed shortly after a first circuit thus removing the flashpoint. Now the walkers had to turn and retrace their steps down the starboard side to the stern, along the port side to a point short of the bows and then about face until meeting the equivalent barrier on the starboard side. Some enterprising folk worked out that there were doors near the closed section that enabled a cut to be made across the interior of the ship but most people chose the U shaped walk with its two reverses. This, however, did not stop one enthusiastic 'policeman' from standing under the arrow with its accompanying notice that said "This way today". He stood pointing to the sign every time anyone walked in the "wrong" direction and coughed. Many were waiting for the tell tale splash that would forever cure his pettiness (and his cough). Many were disappointed but thankfully a rain filled squall drove him inside. No doubt he spent the rest of his morning standing near one of the dispensers of hand sanitizer pointing and coughing until someone forced him to wear it!
------------000-------------
On the starboard side, sitting at the edge of the promenade deck were Mr and Mrs Twitcher. Dressed
in matching garb that consisted of thick combat style coats and trousers in green and drab NATO
woodland camouflage pattern, industrial walking boots and, topping dull green balaclavas, camouflage
baseball caps. Around their necks they had matching his and hers Nikon cameras with 500mm lenses,
two pairs of binoculars - one large one small and those notebooks on a lanyard with attached pencils
that have waterproof paper. Around his waist was a photographer’s belt with various pouches and
attachments and under each chair was a thermos mug. They were perfectly camouflaged, somewhere
else. Here, against the white hull of the ship their disguise made them as invisible as a giraffe at the
South Pole. Some laps of the deck revealed that they were making notes but there was nothing to be
seen but sea, more sea, clouds and the occasional shower or ray of sun. A slight bottle-neck of walkers
spurred one game chap to ask Mr Twitcher if he had seen much.
"Showers - see over there, that's a shower," Mr. Twitcher offered authoritatively before making a note in his book - an act that was copied by Mrs Twitcher with a two second delay. She looked at him and asked, "Did you get that?"
"Oh yes," he replied, "shower starboard side, 10:28 hours."
"Good. That's what I've got."
Mr Twitcher looked up at the enquiring walker and offered an unrequested explanation. "We note everything, ev-er-ry-th-ing." The repeated word was enunciated deliciously as he savoured every syllable.
On the next lap, at the moment the Twitchers were passed, a group of fulmars and half a dozen gannets flew by. The Twitchers didn't move a muscle. Maybe they noted "everything" that wasn't interesting.
At the beginning of his talk he offered an amusing take on his CV and invited guests to ask him questions if they saw him about the ship. He then went on.
"I am happy to talk about and answer questions in those fields that I have described but before I go on I would like to tell you what I am not."
"Are there any birders here?" About two dozen folk put up their hands. "Good, good, I am not a birder - I will be asking you for help with the bird questions. Now are there any anthropologists?" A couple put up their hands and the technician shone a spotlight to illuminate just how red their faces had become. "Good, good - tell us a little about your work."
"Wwwwwell, wwwwwe are bbbboth anthropologists," he stammered nervously, "that's how we met, on a study of tribesmen in Pppppapua New Gggguinea."
"Excellent - we know who to question about tribes in the Amazon then."
He went on to gardeners and many hands went up.
"Ah but how many of you are actually botanists?"
Two hands remained in the air and their owners were individually lit while being given responsibility for all plant questions.
"Lastly do we have any entomologists, especially lepidopterists or coleopterists?"
No hands went up but then, close by a voice that was vaguely recognisable announced, "yes, there is one of those, a colterist or whatever you called it."
"A coleopterist - someone who studies beetles?"
"Yes that's the one, I was talking to him in the bar last night - a beetle man and he was telling me about all the amazing chafers and jewel beetles that live in Amazonia."
"Maybe he hasn't come to this lecture. Shame because beetles are the most varied group of animals on the planet and especially in Amazonia. A famous vicar who collected insects once wrote that 'God had an inordinate fondness for beetles'. It's great shame he's not here - we could do with a coleopterist on the team."
"Showers - see over there, that's a shower," Mr. Twitcher offered authoritatively before making a note in his book - an act that was copied by Mrs Twitcher with a two second delay. She looked at him and asked, "Did you get that?"
"Oh yes," he replied, "shower starboard side, 10:28 hours."
"Good. That's what I've got."
Mr Twitcher looked up at the enquiring walker and offered an unrequested explanation. "We note everything, ev-er-ry-th-ing." The repeated word was enunciated deliciously as he savoured every syllable.
On the next lap, at the moment the Twitchers were passed, a group of fulmars and half a dozen gannets flew by. The Twitchers didn't move a muscle. Maybe they noted "everything" that wasn't interesting.
------------000-------------
Before lunch Professor Tony Dickens, noted oceanographer and professional cruise ship lecturer gave
a 45 minute talk that described what might be expected in each of his 15 lectures that he was giving on
this cruise. He was introduced by the cruise director, the ever smooth Alan Gallery who, sadly, was the
fellow who refused to allow the author to give his talks last time. We shall see. Dickens was excellent -
a skilled lecturer and gifted raconteur whose experience lecturing poorly motivated students in red
brick universities had given him a very engaging and amusing style while being informative. In fact he
was so good that it might be for the best if Alan Gallery chooses to snub once more!
At the beginning of his talk he offered an amusing take on his CV and invited guests to ask him questions if they saw him about the ship. He then went on.
"I am happy to talk about and answer questions in those fields that I have described but before I go on I would like to tell you what I am not."
"Are there any birders here?" About two dozen folk put up their hands. "Good, good, I am not a birder - I will be asking you for help with the bird questions. Now are there any anthropologists?" A couple put up their hands and the technician shone a spotlight to illuminate just how red their faces had become. "Good, good - tell us a little about your work."
"Wwwwwell, wwwwwe are bbbboth anthropologists," he stammered nervously, "that's how we met, on a study of tribesmen in Pppppapua New Gggguinea."
"Excellent - we know who to question about tribes in the Amazon then."
He went on to gardeners and many hands went up.
"Ah but how many of you are actually botanists?"
Two hands remained in the air and their owners were individually lit while being given responsibility for all plant questions.
"Lastly do we have any entomologists, especially lepidopterists or coleopterists?"
No hands went up but then, close by a voice that was vaguely recognisable announced, "yes, there is one of those, a colterist or whatever you called it."
"A coleopterist - someone who studies beetles?"
"Yes that's the one, I was talking to him in the bar last night - a beetle man and he was telling me about all the amazing chafers and jewel beetles that live in Amazonia."
"Maybe he hasn't come to this lecture. Shame because beetles are the most varied group of animals on the planet and especially in Amazonia. A famous vicar who collected insects once wrote that 'God had an inordinate fondness for beetles'. It's great shame he's not here - we could do with a coleopterist on the team."
A palpable sense of relief was washing over as it seemed the spotlight had been avoided.
"No look he's there, just in front of me."
The brilliant spotlight evaporated any relief.
"You were hiding your light under a bushel - welcome to the team beetle man. Tell us something about your field of knowledge - it is going to be pretty amazing to have someone to identify the thousands of types of beetle we might come across."
"Well some of the larger beetles are easy enough to identify to family and my expertise lies predominantly with Scarabaeidae - chafers and dung beetles of which there are hundreds of species in the Amazon basin. But folks must bear in mind that very many beetles can only be properly identified by examining their genitalia. You dissect them out, boil them in caustic potash to remove the fats and then clear them in alcohol before popping them under the microscope. After that we stick them to cards with the body of the beetle. If we could get some caustic potash I could demonstrate the technique." The thought of that often reduces the number of questions that a coleopterist is asked.
"No look he's there, just in front of me."
The brilliant spotlight evaporated any relief.
"You were hiding your light under a bushel - welcome to the team beetle man. Tell us something about your field of knowledge - it is going to be pretty amazing to have someone to identify the thousands of types of beetle we might come across."
"Well some of the larger beetles are easy enough to identify to family and my expertise lies predominantly with Scarabaeidae - chafers and dung beetles of which there are hundreds of species in the Amazon basin. But folks must bear in mind that very many beetles can only be properly identified by examining their genitalia. You dissect them out, boil them in caustic potash to remove the fats and then clear them in alcohol before popping them under the microscope. After that we stick them to cards with the body of the beetle. If we could get some caustic potash I could demonstrate the technique." The thought of that often reduces the number of questions that a coleopterist is asked.
------------000-------------
Lunch. If God had an inordinate fondness for beetles then cruisers have an equally obsessive interest
in food. It is everywhere. It seems that there is another meal every few minutes. Thankfully the ship
has now been declared norovirus free so passengers may actually help themselves at the lunch buffets
which include a good range of salads. With portion control in place it was possible to have a light
snack. Lunches are "Open Table" so you might find yourself sharing a table with absolutely anyone.
Sadly the couple on today's lunch table were notable only for the fact that there was nothing notable
about them. They stood out as being less notable than anyone else until they went up for their second
course. They had eaten large platefuls of crab salad and returned from the buffet, not with sweets but
two large plates of pork chops, chips and the pasta dish as a vegetable. They were not unduly large but
had appetites like an American who has been fed lettuce for three days. They consumed these plates of
food before the light salad was half gone. Next they had sweets - several types heaped in each of their
bowls. They were just heading for a cheese board when a post-prandial walk called before there could
be any collateral weight gain from just watching these two. The Amazon Blog 6 - Vignettes of life aboard
Sorry just a number of brief sketches today - not the easiest day.
The ship has now cleared the continental shelf and the sea is very, very deep but still the nearest land is below the keel.
In the library, which might also be called the snoozing room a couple sat doing a crossword. More correctly he sat doing the crossword, celebrating each success while his wife was allowed to sit and look on, offering limp compliments at each of his triumphs. They did this for two hours - he really wasn't very good at crosswords.
A number of people left the library for afternoon tea and the fellow in the next chair began to snore like a tired old bloodhound, jowls reverberating with each exhalation. When traces of spittle became visible on his shirt front it was time to move.
The late afternoon passed like water under the keel and soon it was time to change for dinner. Each day the shipboard newspaper advised the dress code for the evening meal: formal, informal, smart casual or casual. The latter was defined as comfortable with a certain elegance. The code for the evening was smart casual and most people seemed to comply. James was already there, carefully seated in the place that would ensure that his deafest ear was pointed towards the company. Lorna was next to arrive. James did not stand.
"Sorry I'm late, we have been dancing and they are short of women."
"Isn't that unusual. As Margaret said last night the women outlive us chaps."
"It is most unusual. In fact it's the first cruise I've been on where this has been the case but it's lovely we get to dance every dance. I wonder where Margaret is, she was just behind me?"
It was some minutes before Margaret arrived apologising for her tardiness.
The conversation limped and staggered through two courses (three in Margaret's case) when the ladies made their apologies, "We need to get back to the dance floor, they need us." This left just the gentlemen, each with a cheeseboard. James became a little more forthcoming about his life with boats which allowed some reminiscences about shared waters and watering places, most especially The Butt and Oyster - À la recherche du temps perdu.
Monday
The morning brought breakfast and a bloom of that particular class of Englishman who, being on holiday, feels absolutely obliged to wear shorts no matter what the temperature. They were scattered amongst the morning walkers, counting off their 5 laps of the deck to each mile. Many of the walkers were dressed in fleeces and coats. The Twitchers were in combat black today and while she retained the balaclava and baseball cap, he was daringly sporting just the cap above the technical coat and trousers. The first of the shorts brigade appeared at about 8am. a stunning example who, despite his clear addiction to shorts, had legs as brown as snow which, no doubt, he felt showed off his mid-calf pink socks to perfection. He was followed by Mr Orb dressed in a pair of elasticated tartan shorts that thankfully nearly reached his socks. This character was almost perfectly globular although the pedants might claim that he was an oblate spheroid. Disregarding his head and the direction that his feet pointed it was hard to tell which way round he was from any angle. He rolled along the deck with one hand on the rail and the other permanently tugging at the waistband of his shorts which, being wrapped around a point south of his equator had no purchase. There were others disporting their knobbly knees both inboard and on the promenade deck but the morning belonged to the competitive walkers.
These aggressive characters fall into two camps - the lone male and the grim wife. The former are simply examples of people who are missing the adrenaline and testosterone fuelled trip along the motorways of Britain. Walking speedily up behind other walkers, attempting to click the heels of their expensive trainers in a threatening manner they pull out at the last moment and then cut directly back in in front of the person that they have overtaken. It would be no surprise to learn that they longed to have indicators fitted to their fleeces so that they could be seen not to use them. The Grim Wives are
The ship has now cleared the continental shelf and the sea is very, very deep but still the nearest land is below the keel.
In the library, which might also be called the snoozing room a couple sat doing a crossword. More correctly he sat doing the crossword, celebrating each success while his wife was allowed to sit and look on, offering limp compliments at each of his triumphs. They did this for two hours - he really wasn't very good at crosswords.
A number of people left the library for afternoon tea and the fellow in the next chair began to snore like a tired old bloodhound, jowls reverberating with each exhalation. When traces of spittle became visible on his shirt front it was time to move.
The late afternoon passed like water under the keel and soon it was time to change for dinner. Each day the shipboard newspaper advised the dress code for the evening meal: formal, informal, smart casual or casual. The latter was defined as comfortable with a certain elegance. The code for the evening was smart casual and most people seemed to comply. James was already there, carefully seated in the place that would ensure that his deafest ear was pointed towards the company. Lorna was next to arrive. James did not stand.
"Sorry I'm late, we have been dancing and they are short of women."
"Isn't that unusual. As Margaret said last night the women outlive us chaps."
"It is most unusual. In fact it's the first cruise I've been on where this has been the case but it's lovely we get to dance every dance. I wonder where Margaret is, she was just behind me?"
It was some minutes before Margaret arrived apologising for her tardiness.
The conversation limped and staggered through two courses (three in Margaret's case) when the ladies made their apologies, "We need to get back to the dance floor, they need us." This left just the gentlemen, each with a cheeseboard. James became a little more forthcoming about his life with boats which allowed some reminiscences about shared waters and watering places, most especially The Butt and Oyster - À la recherche du temps perdu.
Monday
The morning brought breakfast and a bloom of that particular class of Englishman who, being on holiday, feels absolutely obliged to wear shorts no matter what the temperature. They were scattered amongst the morning walkers, counting off their 5 laps of the deck to each mile. Many of the walkers were dressed in fleeces and coats. The Twitchers were in combat black today and while she retained the balaclava and baseball cap, he was daringly sporting just the cap above the technical coat and trousers. The first of the shorts brigade appeared at about 8am. a stunning example who, despite his clear addiction to shorts, had legs as brown as snow which, no doubt, he felt showed off his mid-calf pink socks to perfection. He was followed by Mr Orb dressed in a pair of elasticated tartan shorts that thankfully nearly reached his socks. This character was almost perfectly globular although the pedants might claim that he was an oblate spheroid. Disregarding his head and the direction that his feet pointed it was hard to tell which way round he was from any angle. He rolled along the deck with one hand on the rail and the other permanently tugging at the waistband of his shorts which, being wrapped around a point south of his equator had no purchase. There were others disporting their knobbly knees both inboard and on the promenade deck but the morning belonged to the competitive walkers.
These aggressive characters fall into two camps - the lone male and the grim wife. The former are simply examples of people who are missing the adrenaline and testosterone fuelled trip along the motorways of Britain. Walking speedily up behind other walkers, attempting to click the heels of their expensive trainers in a threatening manner they pull out at the last moment and then cut directly back in in front of the person that they have overtaken. It would be no surprise to learn that they longed to have indicators fitted to their fleeces so that they could be seen not to use them. The Grim Wives are
altogether a different matter. They walk with their husbands in tow and slightly to one side so that it is
not possible for another walker to overtake them excepting for one or two wider stretches of deck.
However their own approach to slower walkers is reminiscent of a jumble sale - they take no prisoners
and in some cases actually elbow people to one side. A glance over the shoulder and a menacing smile
through which comes the hissed word, "Sorry."
Exercise complete it was back to the library and a good book. In fact, on the Kindle there was a download of The Good Book but the mood would have to be very bleak to deal with all that violence.
Scrabble caused a bit of a stir in the library during the morning. Tiles were being placed upon the board more and more loudly and scores hissed with increasing venom as Mr and Mrs Scaly brought 40 years of unspoken bile to the game. It was not possible to see the board but it was clear that the words LOVE and ADORE would not be present. Eventually she stood up and very carefully placed four tiles on the board and walked away. He sat there and played his word before settling down to wait. She returned ten minutes later, took her seat and played three tiles.
"21,"she spat. It was impossible not to calculate that HATE (4,1,1,1) would score twenty-one on a triple word score. They played on to a conclusion, packed the game away and then left the library to be spotted a few minutes later walking along the promenade deck hand in hand. Maybe Scrabble brings out the worst (4,1,1,1,1) in people..
The Puzzling Ladies are another group of library denizens with a very particular set of values. Amongst the games and pastimes available in the library is an eclectic selection of jigsaw puzzles. These are effectively the property of a small group of mutually exclusive ladies. One will claim puzzle and set about it on the large table. It is forbidden for others to touch a puzzle that has been started. This is clearly a sin.
"I came back and she was sitting there doing my puzzle."
"That's outrageous." The two ladies, engaged on different puzzles were able to share their disgust at the behaviour of a third even if they were unable to share a puzzle.
"Yes, I'd completed the edges last night, before dinner and when I came back this morning she was sitting here, shamelessly putting in parts of the tree in this corner."
"What did you do?"
"I said, 'excuse me, that's my puzzle' and do you know what she replied?"
"I can't imagine."
"She said, 'I think you'll find these puzzles belong to the ship and they are for anyone to do'."
"What did you do?"
"I waited until she went and then took out all the pieces that she'd done and carried on."
"Well done. Almost as bad, I completed the Haywain on Sunday evening and someone put it away this morning. Don't they understand that we only do these so that others can enjoy the finished picture. They should be left for at least two days."
Lunch was taken alone, followed by five more laps of the deck. The Twitchers were there eating their lunch. He had clearly been to the buffet, wrapped a selection of delights in paper napkins and brought the parcels out in his pockets. She had done the same and they sat, staring out to sea ready to record everything, nibbling their lunch as if they were picnicking at a bird reserve. Clearly the need to record everything out-trumps even the need to eat at a table.
Later there was to be the Captain's cocktail party and the first formal dinner evening - now how do you tie a bow tie and were the studs packed?
Images may be enlarged with a click
Exercise complete it was back to the library and a good book. In fact, on the Kindle there was a download of The Good Book but the mood would have to be very bleak to deal with all that violence.
Scrabble caused a bit of a stir in the library during the morning. Tiles were being placed upon the board more and more loudly and scores hissed with increasing venom as Mr and Mrs Scaly brought 40 years of unspoken bile to the game. It was not possible to see the board but it was clear that the words LOVE and ADORE would not be present. Eventually she stood up and very carefully placed four tiles on the board and walked away. He sat there and played his word before settling down to wait. She returned ten minutes later, took her seat and played three tiles.
"21,"she spat. It was impossible not to calculate that HATE (4,1,1,1) would score twenty-one on a triple word score. They played on to a conclusion, packed the game away and then left the library to be spotted a few minutes later walking along the promenade deck hand in hand. Maybe Scrabble brings out the worst (4,1,1,1,1) in people..
The Puzzling Ladies are another group of library denizens with a very particular set of values. Amongst the games and pastimes available in the library is an eclectic selection of jigsaw puzzles. These are effectively the property of a small group of mutually exclusive ladies. One will claim puzzle and set about it on the large table. It is forbidden for others to touch a puzzle that has been started. This is clearly a sin.
"I came back and she was sitting there doing my puzzle."
"That's outrageous." The two ladies, engaged on different puzzles were able to share their disgust at the behaviour of a third even if they were unable to share a puzzle.
"Yes, I'd completed the edges last night, before dinner and when I came back this morning she was sitting here, shamelessly putting in parts of the tree in this corner."
"What did you do?"
"I said, 'excuse me, that's my puzzle' and do you know what she replied?"
"I can't imagine."
"She said, 'I think you'll find these puzzles belong to the ship and they are for anyone to do'."
"What did you do?"
"I waited until she went and then took out all the pieces that she'd done and carried on."
"Well done. Almost as bad, I completed the Haywain on Sunday evening and someone put it away this morning. Don't they understand that we only do these so that others can enjoy the finished picture. They should be left for at least two days."
Lunch was taken alone, followed by five more laps of the deck. The Twitchers were there eating their lunch. He had clearly been to the buffet, wrapped a selection of delights in paper napkins and brought the parcels out in his pockets. She had done the same and they sat, staring out to sea ready to record everything, nibbling their lunch as if they were picnicking at a bird reserve. Clearly the need to record everything out-trumps even the need to eat at a table.
Later there was to be the Captain's cocktail party and the first formal dinner evening - now how do you tie a bow tie and were the studs packed?
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