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!