Heard in Deal

Have I mentioned the Americans on board?

There are only one or two on board this cruise, mostly aged couples whose Zimmer frames have go faster stripes.

Mary is an American who looks like a cross between Granny Clampett from the old tv series the Beverly Hillbillys and Ma Baker, once the most wanted woman in America.

As far as I‘m concerned I would not have wanted either of them and still don’t!

Well, Granny Baker as I call her has taken a shine to me too.

When I see her, the primal instinct is to run.

Unfortunately you can’t exactly run away on a ship. You have limited room before either ending in the ol’ noggin or back where you started.

However there are fantastic hiding places. Lifeboats, steel lockers, behind huge winches and so on. My favourite hiding place is in the cabin of the wife of the North Carolina insurance broker I met on the first day on board. No one will find me there including the North Carolina insurance broker who had to leave the boat on the first port of call to fly home to his suddenly sick mama. He magnanimously left Wilma, his wife, behind because “it shaw would be a goddamn shame to ruin both our vacations eh?”

“Goddamn right is what I say” whenever I duck in to hide from Barbosa or Granny Baker.

Wilma is very good at giving sanctuary.

The one I call Joan Collins turned up at breakfast this morning with a parrot on her left shoulder pad. It turned out to be her husband Rico.

Ship board fact:

Did you know that the figureheads on the front of the olden day sailing boats were to ward off evil spirits and help create a safe passage?

Bearing the above fact in mind, a few of us are getting together to duct tape Clara from Carlisle to the prow. That way we reckon we can ward off Somali pirates, VAT, herpes, and the Russian Navy all at once.

Clara is the fourth of the quartet of women I met on the first day. She would be Davy Jones in the Pirates of the Caribbean film, or any of the sea monsters come to think of it.

Well, our little group looked for her but she was not about. Her friends hadn’t seen her and were worried.

Eventually the crew searched the boat from top to bottom and found no sign of her. It would appear that Clara from Carlisle has gone missing and presumed overboard.

The Captain was of a mind to turn the ship and search. A small delegation of the men folk persuaded him to think that idea through for a couple of weeks.

Fearing some form of mutiny, he finally abandoned the idea.

He has, however, insisted that we hold a memorial service for her in the aft deck lifeboat area at midnight.

It is proposed that a few plastic flowers from the dining tables and a bottle of gin  be ceremonially dropped over the side at the spot where it is believed she may have fallen or, more likely, been pushed overboard.

I will not be attending as I really didn’t know her.

I have not mentioned Ray and Christine, a nice couple who I share the same dining table with each evening.

I thought they were American Oil millionaires, at least that’s what they originally told me. I thought it strange as they couldn’t really tell me a lot about the oil industry. Plus they have Derbyshire accents.

But tonight they came clean, or at least Christine did. She told me they are really CIA operatives taking a short break from the spy world.

I didn’t believe her ‘cos when I asked her if they ever got involved in covert operations together she told me they weren’t that type of couple!

I think one of us has the wrong CIA.

The memorial service for Clara from Carlisle has been hastily rearranged from the aft deck lifeboat area to the buffet station on deck 11 as pizzas are being served.

Perhaps I should attend.

More things I have learnt:

You really shouldn’t mention the war to Germans.

You really shouldn’t mention Concordia to the Italians.

Gala night in the restaurant means every male should wear a dinner jacket and has nothing to do with the pie you expected.

Onboard dance instructors have an uncanny likeness to Halle Berry.

Stalking is not allowed anywhere on the ship.

They do have a brig.

Today Lanzarote, tomorrow Tenerife, Saturday Gatwick – Bollocks!

A day at sea today. Nothing to do but eat, sleep and eat, then people watch then eat some more.

I think I’ve said before about the food on the boat, but it really is very good and abundant.

I am not in the poshest restaurant for the evening meal, but even so it is impressive and the waiter service is really, really good. In fact the service throughout is fantastic.

There is just so much food available it encourages you to overeat….. so I am.

I’ve said before that as it is an Italian cruise line there are many Italians on board.

They do have style I must give it to them. They are naturally chic and cool.

And the language is, well, plain sensuous. Well I think so anyway. I just eavesdrop on the women talking and dribble. They could be talking about the cost of Fairy Liquid as far as I’m concerned.

The Italian women are, on the whole so elegant and so well dressed whatever the occasion. But, when they get it wrong – boy do they get it wrong. One of the Italian women wears shoulder pads that would have done Joan Collins in her Dynasty days proud.

If ever this ship sinks I’m going to bob around the sea with Joan, ‘cos when the Sea King rescue helicopter arrives it can land on one of her f***ing shoulder pads. I shall be waiting on the other one with Jobelson, half the ship’s company…and, hopefully, one of the Italian chefs.

Gays are fairly abundant on the boat – in both crew and passengers – although of little bother to me.

I am from Deal after all.

And, of course, I am fortunate enough to have my very own stationed outside my cabin 24 hours a day. Some men would complain at this but I look at the positive considering that whilst he is there the rest aren’t.

I was talking to a gay guy called Rex who’s from Paris – that’s Paris Texas (you’d never get a homosexual from Paris, France now would you?)

Rex maintains he doesn’t have a hard time from the Texan cowboys at all these days although he did say that in pre liberated times he had to have some Spurs surgically removed from his bum after answering back to a cowboy who called him “a faggot worse than a cattle fly.”

I told him that some girls in North London have the same problem Saturday nights after the big game.

Talking of gays….

I have my concerns about one of the barmen in my favourite little bar on the boat.

He is gay and I think prefers older men. I say he’s gay but I have no proof.

It’s just the mannerisms. The tight black pants, the even tighter white waistcoat, bronzed features, glistening capped teeth and enough gel on his dyed black hair to plaster a wall. These could be signs of a ships “gigolo” I know. But the nail varnish, constant humming of “the hills are alive” and the Judy Garland tattoo on his limp wrist just tip it for me.

Another clue is the way he reaches across the bar, flashes his pearlies (Jesus he must have spent a fortune on those teeth) pushes my non alki beer towards me and asks if there’s anything else I would like – with the emphasis on anyyyyytttttthhhhinnnnggggg!

I sort of get the picture of mild gayness.

He manages to say all this while stroking the back of my hand and running his tongue over those teeth. He must use a gallon of saliva doing so. It would be quicker to use a squeegee.

I have told him, repeatedly, that I am straight. But I think he has a mind of a missionary and senses a conversion before we finish the cruise.

Reluctantly, l may have to convert him to my way of thinking with a gentle knee in the gonads.

As far as he’s concerned the ship is the only thing docking on this trip!

Thinking about it though he may be the one to end up in the briney with, if the ship sinks.

Let’s face it. With that amount of gel he’ll create one of the worst oil slicks ever and the outcry must get an immediate response from governments.

Newly created shipboard fact

It takes just seven portions of chocolate mousse and three of Cinnamon creamed rice pudding to make a grown man sick at the lunchtime buffet.

We have docked in Casablanca.

Exactly as we did in Agadir, we had a pilot come aboard to steer the boat into berth. A small crowd gathered to see him climb aboard from his small tug and all gave him a big cheer for which he gave them a small, modest wave in return.

Now is it me or am I the only one worried?

We are on an Italian cruise liner. There is an Italian captain, and we are sailing very close to the Canary Islands which make a very rocky coastline indeed. Bearing in mind the fairly recent track record of Italian captains and liners I am a little concerned.

It is all very well walking around the ship in pristine white uniform, scrambled egg on the cap and dyed black hair but it means shit to me if you have to get someone to park the boat for you! Then when we leave he has to get the same guy to reverse it out.

It could just be up market valet parking I suppose.

Things I have learnt so far –

Casablanca smells and so do some Germans.

It is quite possible to sleep for eighteen hours at a go and not lose your appetite.

An asshole is an asshole in any nationality.

The Brits are by far the worst dressed even when done up to the nines.

Italian women over the age of forty are mutton dressed as mutton.

All nationalities speak better English than the English.

If you make the effort and walk around all day, with a smile on your face and nodding good day to everyone you pass – you will get reported to a member of the crew.

The Germans would win at team gurning.

Watching aerobics on deck 12 before breakfast each morning makes you dizzy.

I have a natural gift for sunbathing.

I have worked out why there are no competitive races of any sort on board, like running races and things like that –

1) There are too many obstacles for the Zimmer frames and wheelchairs.

2) By the time the competitors got to the starting line they would have forgotten what the race was.

3) Every one of them would fail some sort of drugs test.

Jobelson, the gay steward, has come to have his uses. Every morning as I leave my cabin, he is there. (you know, I actually thinks he sleeps outside my door), I get a full run down of all the gossip from the weather to who I must avoid at breakfast because they will now have Clamydia after last night.

Ship board fact

The crew have a saying that you do not notice the movement of a good liner….until you hit an iceberg then it’s the lack of movement you notice.

Bye for now

Well I have walked down to the port. Unmolested and unharmed. My virginity intact.

And there is the boat. Pretty impressive from the outside certainly. Not as big as the huge Aida Stella liner moored next to it but a lot bigger than the Saga cruiser between them. In fact that looks more like a North Sea trawler for old folk.

I had to wait in an embarkation lounge with other passengers as they are still preparing. I must say that my fellow passengers are a gloomy lot. Not a smile amongst them.

It’s a little ominous really.

Too late to change my mind perhaps? We’re sailing around the Canaries for Christ sake. I felt like jumping on the table and shouting “Cheer up … ! It’s not HMS Dignitas – it’s a return trip!”. Mind you, by the looks of one or two of them …..!

I shall share some of my happy pills with them.

The only people smiling are the ships company lined up offering a mouthful of champagne and a finger sandwich of something with lettuce. Obviously called a finger sandwich as they are just as big as my pinky.

I hope that this is not a sign of the food on board!

The crew mainly stand behind gaily decked tables selling God knows what, but by far the biggest promotion is for the daily excursions when we dock in the various ports. Strange that I am being sold time off the boat when I haven’t even got on the bloody thing.

I decided I must chill, it’s just the atmosphere in the waiting area. Perhaps the cheerful ones arrive later.

Well I am up the gangplank and wandering around my home for the next seven days.

My first cruise. Whatever happens over the next seven days will decide if it is my last.

My first impressions are good. The ship is big but not huge, fairly modern, all facilities and apparently decorated with wall to wall widows. A hopeful sign although so far most appear to be extras for the Living Dead series on Sky.

There are not only widows on board there are lots of couples comprising husbands and their soon to be widows.

Italians predominate. A shame but at least the weather will be good.

I had forgotten that Italians never talk. They shout, yell or scream their way through a conversation, always at mega decibel.

They may take some getting used to.

There are also lots of Spanish, Germans and not so many English at all really.

I have actually met a few of the English women already. A group of four struck up a conversation as we were queuing to embark. They come from some unpronounceable place  “soomwear oop Noorth”

Rose, one of the women, has the features of an older version of Johnny Depp – striking features but unfortunately she looks like him when he’s made up for the role of  Jack Sparrow in the Pirates of the  Caribbean. She needs no wig.

In fact most of the four could grab a part in that film

Irene, could easily stand in for Captain Barbossa any day of the week. No need for stick on facial warts for our Irene. Betty is a ringer for Bootlace Bill and the fourth whose name I haven’t got yet is a dead ringer for Davy Jones with a Noddy Holder hairstyle’.

Mind you there are some very attractive women on board.

I just haven’t met them yet.

I am assured they are here by Jobelson the steward on my deck looking after the group of cabins I am in. He has already taken a shine to me or, more probably, I must look likely to give him a decent tip.

I am Mr Andrew.

He always greets me as Mr Andrew.

He has a permanent, huge, smile on his face. It’s quite refreshing, and he could easily screen test for a Colgate advert.

I gave him a ten euro note on our first meeting to obtain the cabin numbers of all the singles in my section. He did this, but then I had to slip him another twenty ‘cos I actually wanted a list of the single women.

Anyway having Red Rums teeth greet you daily as you open the cabin door will always remind me not to forget my sunglasses.

First night and I didn’t expect this.

But first things first. The food is excellent. Any doubts I had in the embarkation lounge have been blown away. My first meal in the restaurant was truly lovely. And the permanent buffet on the top deck looks amazing.

Due to embarkation, 1^st sitting at meal times, which I am allocated, was shorter than is usual. I missed it. But was told to come back for the 2^nd sitting around 9pm. I did exactly that and they put me onto an empty table for four. I ordered and was  waiting, people watching as usual, when another couple turned up. Elderly, smart, small, miserable. It was their allocated table number I was sat on. They didn’t like it and before sitting down asked the maitre d if there was a table for two. No there wasn’t. They sat down after wandering off to make sure the maitre d wasn’t a lying foreign bugger.

He wasn’t and they came back, sat down and sulked.

I explained about the first short sitting and how I was being “squeezed in” just for the first night as indeed were many others in the same position. “Och, no bother” hubby said whilst not meaning it and not even looking at me. “we just wanted a table fer too!” in strong Scots.

“Well, I pointed out, there are no tables set for two anywhere in the restaurant”

“Och, nooo” as he looked around.

“And even less than that set for one “I said innocently.

“Aye”

His mousey little wife said nothing and made no eye contact with me at all. As you know I tend to give people private names and she was “Diamond ‘Lil” she had a ring on every finger, one finger had three. Some had those small chains that come from the ring and wrap around the wrist. She wore two necklaces, one gold, one silver and four bracelets on one arm and five on the other.

They were all a mixture of bright gold, silver, diamante, Indian beads and God knows what. I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if she wore a leaded window bra.

You can tell why Diamond ‘Lil.

He, I just christened Misery Guts.

I tried really hard to strike up a conversation. Apart from the fact they came from Glasgow and had been on cruises before, I learnt nothing. She never said a word to me and when she spoke to him did so by whispering.

Dour Scots does not do the word dour justice.

I took my meal at a most deliberate leisurely pace and even though they ordered later they finished first and left. If it was possible I would say they left more miserable than when they came in.

Now the contrast. Later that night in the main dance bar a group of Spanish, about twelve of them, were having a ball. All middle aged couples obviously friends, away together and intent on enjoying themselves. A few too many drinks to make them rowdy but no trouble. Nobody could hear what they were saying that caused total uproar amongst them each time they spoke but the mood was infectious and everyone around them had a smile on their face.

Sitting next to them in this lounge was another, separate couple who were obviously enjoying watching others enjoy themselves. I could see the Spanish group lean over at one point and apologise for the noise they were making. I could see from the shrugs and the body language that the couple did not speak Spanish but had no objection to the fun. Carry on carry on were the hand signals.

I know it’s a long story but, what the heck! I’m on holiday and just chilling out writing so either bear with me or go make a cup of tea.

An hour later the Spanish were doing Flamenco. Encouraged by the band they were stomping around their corner of the lounge. Apart from three or four of them, It was atrocious but hilarious. Due to the middle aged bulk they had no choice but to parody the dancing. The inevitable then happened and they dragged up the couple sitting next to them. They were even worse. It was pure entertainment gold and in the end the whole lounge was cheering the two non Spanish on as they imitated bulls and matadors. Then all of a sudden they switched dance mode and turned into a Scottish dance as if to bagpipes, up on their toes, one hand above the heads and the other on the hip. It turns out they were from Aberdeen and they were the stars of the evening. Doing a very passable fling to Spanish flamenco.

So I spent my first night on board with dour, miserable Scots,  proper Scots, drunk Spanish and the cast of Pirates of the Caribbean.

What a start eh! More soon

Cruising fact no 1

It is possible for the ship to dock in Morocco, passengers leave ship, visit the old town of Agabar for a few hours, return, board and have the ship sail off and have one passenger sleep through the whole thing.

Well it’s Saturday and I leave El Fawlty Towers for the cruise.

I was woken early, which was a good thing, by Don Basil and his sidekick – El Sidekick – knocking  on the door. There had been a slight commotion in the night as drunk revellers outside on the street had been water bombed from an overlooking window of El Fawlty Towers.

It happened at around 4 o’clock in the morning after the drunks had been shouting at the top of their voices and waking the neighbourhood generally.

It has become a craze of the local teenagers to water bomb each other ever since the Chinese owned souvenir shop near the hotel started to sell packets of water bombs. These are basically just small balloons with large self sealing spouts that stretch over a tap for filling. Easy … fill and fling.

Well, someone had the idea to teach this group of drunks a lesson. It is the same group who have been rowdy the past few nights when the club opposite has turned out at 4 in the morning.

Well, it appears this crowd of drink sodden guys ended up both drunk and sodden. Tempers flared, police were called, all calmed down, wet drunks went home, people slept .

Now it was Don Basil and El Sidekick, early the next morning, trying to find the culprits after promising the police he would attempt to do so. He had come up with a pretty good plan as well actually. Bearing in mind he couldn’t really get an anglepoise lamp out to question anyone as in this hotel none would have any bulbs in, he devised another way. He had El Sidekick empty the small rubbish bins in each room to look for the packaging the water bombs came in. Clever eh? He was pleased with the idea until it resulted in no packaging at all. His face showed his disappointment. After all it was pretty clever to think that anyone in a small hotel room would just, naturally, slip the packaging in the bin and think no more of it.

It was a shame to see him down.

If he had only had El Sidekick check the back, left hand zippered pocket of a black Nike carry on holdall he would probably have  had a result!

Off to join the ship!

Well it is now Friday and I had a restless night at El Fawlty Towers.

It was a hot and sticky night. So first thing, I went to see Don Basil to complain that my room had no air conditioning. I didn’t expect him to put some in but I really wanted to point out that the blurb on the hotel web site led readers to believe that air conditioning was throughout the hotel and it is obviously not.

“I am sorry senor, but the room with air conditioning is occupied already” said Don Basil “but you have an electric fan on the sideboard”

“Well that’s hardly the same as Air Conditioning is it? “ I responded.

He looked hurt, “But Senor, it is a three speed fan”.

I gave up.

I went back to the dock area this afternoon. I only wanted to find out where to go on Saturday to catch the cruise liner. I made sure it was during daylight hours so I would not be accosted. Huh!

A man stopped me at some crossroads. He was very slightly built and totally bald. He reminded me very much of Yul Bryner, or is it Deborah Kerr? I get them confused. Anyway, he held out a card to me and said something in what sounded like German, then in some other languages. He then asked “English?” I nodded yes. By now I had automatically taken the card and looked at it just as he said in pretty good English, “you want sex with woman?”

The card had little on it that I understood but did have in large letters -10% so presumably I was being offered an introductory 10% off jiggery jiggery etc etc.

In exasperation and to get rid of him I said “No thanks I’m gay”. He just turned and walked away!

I was so upset that the bastard believed me! I wanted him to argue. At the very least, I surely warrant a doubtful look with a statement like that. I shall never watch the King and I again. Always thought it was a crap film.

Las Palmas has a very long and wide promenade following the shore line. It seems crowded now, in November, so God knows what it is like in the height of the season. There are many runners and joggers. All shapes, sizes and nationalities. There are runners all day going up and down.

Either that or power walking. Striding out as fast as some can run. That sort of thing makes me very thirsty in weather like this so I can only watch for a short while before going for a drink. And the whole promenade is lined with excellent bars and restaurants to sit and watch these lunatics kill themselves.

Throughout the day on the prom there are buskers as well. Mainly musicians but some doing other acts.

Tonight there was a musician. Very typically Spanish looking, but wearing a kilt and playing the bagpipes. Sounds ridiculous but he was good, very good. He even jazzed up Scotland the Brave and it was great. Up until now I’ve never liked the bagpipes. For no other reason than they are Scottish.

A white faced clown set up and, using two large sticks with a couple of strings suspended between them, managed to make huge bubbles from a bucket of bubble mixture. You know the little round things that kids blow after dipping to make a stream of bubbles? Well this was the same but on an industrial scale, as the bubbles were, when successful, at least three to six feet big. I watched until one blew across the promenade and burst on some guy’s pizza as he was eating it. In very vociferous Spanish he told the clown where to put his bubble sticks. Well worth two Euros in the clown’s hat.

Last night I watched as a living statue prepared for his evenings work.. He was fastidious in so far as the silver make up was applied, his coat and hat touched in with spray paint. He really was professional about the way he set himself up. It took two beers for him to get ready (as I am on holiday I measure time now in beer time) and he was already half in costume when he arrived.

Tonight I saw another living statue. He was bending down on one knee enacting doing some task on the promenade and didn’t move at all. I had seen him ahead of me as I was walking from one watering hole to the next. So I stopped about fifty feet away and just watched. Well watched nothing happening really. I wanted to see someone throw a coin to see him spring up or something. Or for someone to inadvertently get too near, so he could leap up and surprise them as they do. He was so still. After ten minutes I got bored and thought I’d throw a coin and went up to him, only to find it was a real bronze statue of a fisherman descaling a fish. At times I feel such a f***** idiot.

Well tomorrow I get on the boat. I wonder what adventures await.

Well I’ve got three days in Las Palmas, Gran Canaria before I pick up the ship for the seven day cruise. Of course my sons are teasing that I have chosen to “come out” on a gay cruise which they say is very brave of a man of my age. I have been getting texts and messages from them for the past week along those lines. I have sent both a message saying they are out of my will and I should have put them up for adoption on first sight. I got a reply saying that I was nothing but a temperamental old poof with no sense of humour.

Anyway, this means I have three days in El Fawlty Towers before embarkation. I just thought I would throw in that posh embarkation word.

The hotel is quite basic. And small. If I could swing a cat then I’d break my wrist before the cat got hurt.

It purportedly has three stars. I am not so sure this is true, as when I touched them one was made of shiny plastic and the other two were were painted on the wall.
This manager makes Basil Fawlty look like Rocco Forte. More about him when I get the chance.

This is the view from my window…not exactly a sea view but I pass the time of day counting the feral cats as they come and go. These are tough cats these Spanish ones. You make the typical click click noise to attract their attention and they, in total unison, give you the finger. Tough cats I tell you.

Every time I leave the hotel I get lost. Every single time I can’t find my way back. It is in a weird position really. About 100 yards one way and you are on the beach. Very nice with all the restaurants and bars. About four hundred yards the other way you are in the docks where all the boats and ships are. A little less salubrious especially at night.

I wandered around last night, just having a look, and when I realised I was lost I started to show people the card I had taken from the hotel reception. Because it’s not a big hotel no one knows it and the first couple didn’t recognise either hotel or street. I felt a little like the beggars who pester you on the tube in London passing you a hand scrawled note saying they have “six children two dogs and a Ferrari to keep and could you help them out with a little loose five pound note” .

I tried a single man out walking his dog ( or rather a man taking his dog out to poo in the middle of the pavement). He couldn’t help me either. It is at times like this you just wish you could speak another language. In this case Spanish ‘cos German wouldn’t be any good would it? Anyway, the next person I showed the card to was an average looking housewife type.

How wrong I was.

Now I like to think I am fairly worldly wise and, up to now, most of my encounters with hookers have been with the four inch heels, hot pants and low cut top type of working girl. NOT an average looking housewife type hooker who, I saw immediately – but still too late, was standing in a street full of stationary, average type housewife look a likes peering into every passing car.

The moral of the story here is, when working the docks – every night is dress down night!
Of course my problem was …..I had approached her offering a card with my hotel name and address on it.

Not a good thing to do.

She took a full two seconds to just nod, and start machine gunning me in Spanish about jiggery jiggery and bonkerty bonkerty. It took me a full two minutes,and a half nelson, to get my card back and run like stink. The only words that I could pick out from her screaming abuse at my back was that I am apparently a hiho deputy, or something similar.
I finally made it back to the hotel, hot, sweaty and hookerless for a good nights sleep.
I’m sailing on an Italian cruise line MSC. Apparently nothing to do with the Concordia.

Wandering through the port this morning I see an MSC ship. It appears that I’ve gone from “coming out on a gay cruise” to a week on a container ship. Oh I do hope this isn’t the boat! but knowing my luck………………………

On the way back to the hotel for a lunch of Salmonella and chips I noticed our company pension scheme is looking after my old colleagues….

More from Andys gay cruise adventures later .