Day 90
Palm Sunday, 9 April. At Port Kelang, starboard side to. Clear skies, 37ºC. Light airs.
After a good night’s sleep we were woken by a long blast of the ship’s siren. I looked at my watch: 0700 and a pale dawn was filtering past the curtains. Tottering onto the balcony, I saw that a local fishing boat was in the main channel and was being encouraged to shove over, or be run down. We were entering Port Kelang (previously called Port Swettenham), the leading port in Malaysia, and official port for the capital, Kuala Lumpur, 25 miles inland. It certainly lived up to its reputation, for there were ships everywhere: container ships, tankers, general cargo – all were represented. To my mild surprise, we were not to berth on a container jetty, but instead we would lie alongside the Boustead Cruise Centre on a T-shaped jetty projecting out into the stream. The cruise terminal building looked very nice, but it soon became clear that we were fairly far from civilisation, as these ports often are. There would be no strolling ashore here: there was Port Kelang (just that), the town of Klang (pop 275,000 and 5 miles inland), and Kuala Lumpur (capital of Malaysia and 25 miles away). A shuttle service would run from the ship to a shopping mall in Klang, and that would take 25 minutes.
Already alongside was a very small cruise ship (or possibly a private yacht) called THE TAIPAN, and a most peculiar square, utilitarian looking, vessel that looked like it was made of used Coke tins and had just come off the set of Mad Max. This vessel appeared to be a US warship, as she was a dirty metallic grey in colour, flew the Stars and Stripes, and appeared to be manned by marines. She was a catamaran or SWATH, completely oblong in plan, had a large flight deck, and a vehicle deck with ramp accessed from the stern. She appeared to be made from unpainted galvanised corrugated steel – hence my reference to the Coke tin – and had stains and patches hither and thither as if someone had been treating her with Kurust without bothering to add any primer later. Despite her warship-appearance, her name was the US Naval Ship (USNS) FALL RIVER. USNS was not a title that I was familiar with and so I looked her up. She is an Expeditionary Fast Transport capable of 43 knots and is operated by the US Military Sealift Command, not the US Navy. As I had inferred, her role was rapidly to transport soldiers or marines of battalion strength, with their vehicles, to parts of the world requiring military intervention. Why she was built with corrugated iron and was unpainted was beyond me.
We were alongside by 0800, and the gangway opened at 0915. Not having booked any trips to Kuala Lumpur (known as KL by seasoned travellers) our options were somewhat limited. I was sorely tempted not to go ashore at all, but that would have been an opportunity lost, so Jane and I took the shuttle to Klang to look at the shopping mall. The roads were pretty awful, and we drove for miles across building plots and scrub, bouncing up and down as if on safari. For some bizarre reason, the dual carriageways had speed bumps and this added to the excitement of the journey. One thing in Malaysia’s favour, they drive on the proper side of the road, so we had left them with a little bit of civilisation, at least.
Eventually, we reached the mall. You know, if you’ve seen one shopping mall you’ve seen them all. This mall was fine: not a patch on Singapore or Cape Town, but not as bad as some others. There was nothing special about the shops; they were neither up-market nor down. We whipped round in 45 minutes and bought nothing but two packets of ground coffee, both more expensive than UK. Back we went on the shuttle bus, this time in a vehicle with no air conditioning, no speedometer and no seat belts. Another couple got on after us and said,
“Well, what a waste of time that was!”.
Not just us then.
After lunch onboard (only people in the restaurant) we relaxed on our balcony, wallowing in the heat and listening to the generators of USNS FALL RIVER. Soundproofing was clearly not a priority when they designed her.
An interesting and regular occurrence whenever we sail is that there is always an announcement saying, “Would the following passengers please contact the Purser’s Office urgently: Mr Anthony Snodgrass of Deck 9, Miss Freda Cunningham of Deck 2… etc etc” (it isn’t always the same people). I haven’t worked out if these people are adrift, or whether the ship’s electronic checking system is not working properly and has not logged them onboard. On this, the final bit of our cruise the list has seemed to run to half a dozen people. If the log-in system is defective then maybe it should be fixed for safety reasons if not for anything else; if it is because the passengers are adrift, then tough – just sail without them. Apparently that very thing did happen when the ship was in Korea: some passengers, who had cut it fine anyway, were taken to the wrong place by a taxi and the ship sailed without them. Their passports were landed and they had to catch the ship up in Shanghai. That’ll teach them. Somehow, I don’t think I’d make a good cruise ship captain.
We sailed at 1910 after the last stragglers had casually made their way across from the terminal building. No rush, they were just supposed to be back onboard by 1830, but that’s OK; we can all wait.
Dinner that evening was enhanced by being able to watch the port go by as we sailed away at 20 knots: something we couldn’t do before from Princess Grill (where we could only look at the joggers and fitness fanatics). Afterwards, we went to listen to a Paraguayan harpist play his Paraguayan harp in the evening. He was very talented and the music, at times, was a bit like that of a Spanish guitar. It wasn’t quite my cup of tea, as I prefer classical music, but I could appreciate the talent involved (the Paraguayan harp, by the way, is different from the normal harp in that it is played while standing up, with the player holding it like a double bass).
Day 91
Monday 10 April. Sunshine and heavy showers. 35ºC. At Georgetown, Penang.
Penang is an island and port off the west coast of the Malaysian peninsula and is an independent state in the federation of Malaysia. It has a strong colonial past, having been acquired for the East India Company by one Captain Francis Light in 1786 by the usual mix of diplomacy and trickery. It grew in prosperity and stature and became the capital of the Straits Settlements in 1832, though its stature took a bit of a hit with the ascendancy of Singapore to the south. Although an island, Penang is linked to the mainland by the third largest suspension bridge in the world, which is eight miles long. Georgetown is the capital, and it was there that we secured at 0700, port side to against the Sweetenham Cruise Terminal. Already alongside was a fine four-masted barquentine which was also in the cruise business, though on a somewhat smaller scale. I do not know how many passengers she carried, nor did I get her name, but she managed to incorporate two small swimming pools into a sailing ship configuration, which I thought was clever. Presumably the pools empty rapidly whenever she heels over under sail.
From the ship, Georgetown looked like a much better prospect than Port Kelang. For a start, we could walk ashore straight into the city, which looked inviting and bustling. Secondly, the town’s strong colonial past meant that there was plenty to see over and above the ethnic aspects of a foreign port. We were soon ashore in the blistering heat, dodging taxi drivers and rickshaw drivers and setting a fine marching pace for Fort Cornwallis, our first destination. The fort had been built by Light initially as a stockade, but that was not fated to last and so it was replaced by a stone edifice in the early part of the 19th century. The fort was in sound condition but, sadly, it was a bit of a disappointment and an opportunity lost by the Malaysian Tourist Board (if there is one). There was a series of laminated, but faded, photographs dotted around the fort that provided some information, but otherwise there was little else in the way of facts. Wooden cut-outs of redcoats, with holes for people to pose with, provided a somewhat tacky diversion. The chapel was intact, and said to be the oldest Anglican church in south-east Asia, but it retained no internal religious features or pews and was currently being used as storage for a few muskets and scaffolding poles. There appeared to be a barracks, but there was nothing to confirm the fact; there was a magazine, which was clean inside but, again, was devoid of any information. Hoardings outside proclaimed a huge refurbishment programme for the whole area, including the fort, and I am sure it will make a big difference. Unfortunately, it will be too late for us.
The sky darkened and rain looked imminent and, of course, rain out here means a deluge. So our next visit was directed towards the State Museum, a few streets away. We took in several fine colonial buildings on the way, including the Town Hall and Court House. The pavements of the city appeared to be…quaint, and dotted with hazards such as very deep storm drains and very deep holes in the ground (by ‘very deep’, I mean like 18”). I think the holes might have been part of the drainage system, but I cannot be sure. I know they smelled in a rather noisome way. The museum was very good, and it explained the history of the island and its very multi-cultural population very well. While we were in there, the heavens opened and the predicted rain fell in torrents.
After the rain had stopped we set off for the Protestant Cemetery, which contained the European graves of most of the island’s forefathers and was said to be older than Highgate Cemetery in London. We set off through a very vibrant part of the city, passing colourful buildings and many and varied small shops, over pavement that came and went at random. Some buildings were modern, others were worse for wear, sometimes next to each other: it was quite a mix. The cemetery took some finding, mainly because we misread the map, but we found it eventually and went in. The site was rather run-down and not as well looked after as one might wish, but it still yielded some famous names from Penang’s past, including that of Captain Light himself. I was particularly moved by some of the graves, such as those of naval and army officers who had died quite young, perhaps of some tropical disease. The grave of one Charles Theophilus Hogan, Chief Engineer of the colonial steamer PEI HO, who died on 1 January 1869, seemed close to home to me, and I found it very poignant. I wonder how he died and what his history was.
A drink and some WiFi seemed a good idea, so we called in to the very grand Eastern & Orient Hotel just across the road. Unfortunately, the WiFi was down because of a loss of electrical supply, so one of the aims of the visit was not achieved. Never mind, it was good to get in from the heat and sit in some colonial splendour.
So we had a good tour of Georgetown and thought it worthwhile: interesting, varied, quite ‘third world’ and (with some exceptions) very informative. We were, however, glad to get back onboard as our shirts were sticking to our backs. The ship was due to sail at 1630, but for the same reasons as given above (Day 90), we did not get away until 1715. With the usual three blasts of the siren we pushed off from the jetty and headed northwards, weaving our way through the anchored shipping. A brief visit, but well worthwhile. Next stop, Colombo (which might just be about to enter the monsoon season – watch this space)..
Day 92
Tuesday 11 April. Andaman Sea, Position at noon: 6deg 17N 93deg 51.7E. Wind Force 5 from W. 29ºC. Rain in afternoon and evening. Course W, Speed 19.7 knots. On passage to Colombo.
We put back our clocks another hour last night, making us just six hours ahead of you.
Imagine, if you will, this. You wake up in the morning to total darkness with just a faint hum from the air conditioning, and you throw open the blackout curtains to a bright sunlit dawn as you make the tea. Leaving your cabin, you open the upper deck door immediately outside and are hit with a wall of heat, as if from a blast furnace, and you are blinded by the intense sunlight. You walk aft along the spotless teak deck to the superstructure that houses the aftermost lift and descend ten decks before entering a beautiful oak-lined restaurant, where you are greeted, by name, by the maitre d’hotel and your personal waitress. Finally, you take your breakfast, with the sea rolling past the adjacent window and soft classical music playing in the background. That was us, this morning. Oh, life is sweet.
We are just getting to know our fellow diners in our new restaurant, and they seem a very friendly lot: more friendly, perhaps, than the ones in Princess Grill. It is early days, but I think we will get on well. The staff are friendly and efficient enough, but not a patch on the ones we had on the outward trip with the exception of the maitre d’hotel, who is lovely. I suppose you can’t have everything. The food, as I have said earlier, is almost as good as Princess Grill, but we think that, possibly, the portions are smaller. This is no bad thing, as we are desperately trying to lose weight after the previous ninety days.
This was a very quiet day, for the ship’s programme offered little in the way of excitement. Unlike the journey out, the lecture programme does not – so far – sound promising. Today’s offering comprised ‘How a Heat Pump Works’ and ‘The Life of Irving Berlin’, and neither of these appealed. I think someone might have been playing the banjo in the theatre at some point but, if he was, then we didn’t attend. However we did enjoy a classical concert by a Swedish guitarist in the afternoon, and he was superb.
There was a ‘special offer’ on Duty Free and Jane, in her naivety, thought we could buy a bottle of gin for a little snifter in our cabin before dinner. However, the gin was $40 and there was nowhere that you could buy the tonic, other than the bar. As I pointed out, at that price you might as well buy the whole G+T at the bar and get someone to make it for you. To help overcome her disappointment, we treated ourselves to a Pimms (Jane) and a Bellini (me) in the Commodore Club – so much for the alcohol-free day.
One piece of bad news that we received late last night was that we will have to pay $60 to get a visa for Colombo, whether we go ashore or not. It is irritating because I looked up Sri Lankan visas before we left UK, and it said that if you applied in advance (ie from 30 days before arrival), the visa was cheaper. I duly set a reminder to apply while in Australia, and went online, at that time, to apply. However, when I looked at the web page the second time it said that the visa was free on arrival if you were up to two days in transit. “That’s us”, I thought, “we will be in transit”, so I didn’t apply. Big mistake. To make matters worse, it appears that we are arriving in Colombo at the time of a Tamil festival, when not only will the tensions be high, but most of the shops and all of the museums will be shut. Already it is beginning to look like Colombo will be a run ashore to look at the draft marks, though I dare say Mrs Shacklepin will drag be further into the city to look at some market or garden or both.
The weather took a bit of a turn for the worst in the afternoon, with heavy rain and squalls, though the temperature remained high at about 28ºC. We actually sat out on the balcony, where we were reasonably sheltered, for a while but it was so humid that we felt our clothes were becoming damp, so we came in. Looking out of the window, it looked like a dull autumn day out there, with the instinct to light a fire; however Jane’s new thermometer told us that it would not be necessary.
It being just after the beginning of a new segment of the cruise, namely Singapore to Dubai, there was the usual Captain’s Cocktail Party in the evening, which was Black Tie, and we were duly invited. Naturally, with free champagne on offer, we attended. Also needless to say, we did not go down to the venue by crossing the upper deck. As before, we really enjoyed it and this time we chatted to a couple of the ship’s officers, which made a nice change. One little snippet that came out of the conversation was that, although there is a single officers’ mess (I think Cunard calls it the Wardroom, like the Royal Navy), the officers tend to cling to their specialisations (eg engineers, seamen etc) when it comes to seating. It is like my father, the Master Mariner, always said: oil and water don’t mix.
Dinner that followed the cocktail party, in our usual place in the restaurant, took on a somewhat Rabelaisian air and we had a very jolly time with the people at the next table. Jane was in fits of giggles most of the time (it might just possibly have been the champagne) and her eyes were streaming so much that she had to borrow my handkerchief. She was even laughing at my jokes: something that hasn’t happened since 1982. As the saying goes, a good time was had by all.
Day 93
Wednesday 12 April. Indian Ocean on passage to Colombo. Overcast with heavy showers. 25ºC. Wind Force 6 from WSW. Sea Moderate. Position at 1300: 5deg 55N 84deg 23E. Course 268, speed 22 knots. We further retarded our clocks last night, so we are now 5 hours ahead of UK.
I was woken this morning at 0500 by a roaring sound that I could not, at first, identify. When I opened the curtains it was still dark, but you could see a mass of spray sweeping past the balcony like the water wall of a fire hose, soaking everything. It was torrential rain. Bearing in mind that the deckhead of our cabin is a false ceiling, with the upper deck above some ten inches above that, there must have been some force there that we could hear the rain. Our balcony also has a deckhead, and is reasonably sheltered, but the rain was still lashing at the french windows with some force. I do hope this does not auger badly for Colombo tomorrow.
We took breakfast in our cabin, just for a change. The original intention was that we would eat outside on our sunlit balcony, but that idea was quite out of the question. Jane did have hers in bed, however, and looked suitably smug in the process.
There was not a great deal programmed today that was of interest, but we did attend a lecture by a political journalist, on the subject of ‘Britain After Brexit’. It is an interesting facet of human nature that some people can talk on a boring subject, yet make it interesting, whereas others can take a God-sent opportunity of a good subject and make it boring. This man was in the latter category. His delivery was poor, his jokes weak, and his points obscure. Some people walked out in the middle, which I thought rather rude though he would not have been able to see them. He was not controversial, rather he was very matter-of-fact, and this was to his credit. Nevertheless, it was hard to pick up a lot of his points, given his clunky and disjointed style, and this was very surprising given his reputation. What we did manage to understand was some of the detail of the alleged debt that the UK would have to pay off in order to leave (projects already committed to, and the pensions of UK EU civil servants were the items I remember). He also explained the difficulties of transferring existing EU laws into UK laws (problem being that the laws contain references to EU regulations). Another piece of information was that exit could be delayed if, say, EU attention was diverted elsewhere because of some international crisis and that, theoretically, the whole process could be stopped. This last was a surprise, as I was of the understanding that our boats had been burnt when the letter was sent. However, to reverse the process would require a strong opposition, a change of government, and another referendum, so in practical terms highly unlikely.
With a dearth of worthwhile lectures or entertainment, and a sullen sky, we spent most of the afternoon on our balcony just reading and this was a treat in itself. Mummy did let me buy that illusive watch that I fancied on the outward journey, but which I failed to buy because of our unplanned early departure in Adelaide. It can tell the time in 27 different countries you know, as well as the date and day of the week, and whether it is morning or afternoon. Perfect for the forgetful mature gentleman such as I. We also popped down to see our old steward and waitresses in Princess Grill during a quiet moment, and it was lovely that they remembered us by name, with much hugging and kissing (with the waitresses, not the steward). We were also tipped the wink that we could come in for Princess Grill tea in the exclusive lounge: a treat, as they serve clotted cream, not whipped cream (one does have one’s standards).
We cracked our second complimentary bottle of Blanc de Blanc before dinner: the moment seemed right
Day 94
Thursday 13 April. At Colombo. Sunny intervals. Light airs. 35ºC. Very humid and clammy.
We arrived in Colombo at 0630, a straightforward entry for once, and secured port side to at one of the container jetties.
It had been a disturbed night because, when Jane got up to use the lavatory at 0200, she accidentally switched off the cabin master switch as she groped for the bathroom light. Suitably ensconced on the throne, she was then disconcerted by the bathroom light going off under the time delay caused by the master switch being off. She then groped in the dark to restore the master switch and, in so doing, switched on the main light and activated the television. My awakening was triggered by a bright light, a loud television, and a sleepy figure padding around the cabin switching lights on and off and saying, “How do I turn the light off?”. Fortunately, we had gained half and hour’s sleep because the clocks were retarded yet again during the night, making us 4.5 hours ahead of the UK. Odd amount, but there you go.
Colombo was once the capital of Sri Lanka (Ceylon, until the name changed in 1972); the capital is now Sri Jayawardenapura Kotte, demonstrating that nine syllables beats three in any game of Happy Capitals. Sri Lanka is very roughly the size of Ireland in terms of land mass, and its occupation dates from 3,000 BC, when a people known as the Veddas lived there. The Veddas were conquered by the Sinhalese from northern India in the 6th century BC and they remained in occupation for 1700 years until, in the 11th century AD, Tamils from southern India invaded the north of the island and drove the Sinhalese south This sowed the seeds of the civil war in Sri Lanka that took place in the 1980s and 90s, and which was only settled in 2009. Colonially, the Portuguese landed in Ceylon in the 15th century, to be displaced by the Dutch in the 17th century who, in turn, were driven out by the good old British in 1815. Ceylon gained its independence in 1948 and is famous for, among other things, being the country with the first female Prime Minister, Sirimavo Bandaranaike. The main religion is Buddhism.
Colombo harbour proved to be a huge and very busy one, with a very rapid turnover of container ships (we saw seven sail and arrive in the course of the day). It was fascinating to watch these giants being loaded with containers by the tall, gangly cranes that looked like enormous stick insects. Extensive land reclamation was taking place to extend the port further and we were rewarded by the sight of a dredger, very close inshore to the beach beyond the enclosed harbour, sucking up the seabed and firing it in a long muddy stream onto the adjacent beach.
Jane and I were actually in two minds whether to go ashore. The visit brief for Colombo was not encouraging as it stated,
“…Colombo is a loud, noisy and busy city, which can be hot and steamy at times. Much of it is of little real interest to visitors with only a few hours to see the sights”.
This hearty recommendation was complemented by the visit lecture, in which we were told that we would be arriving during a Tamil festival in which tensions might be high, and all shops and museums would be shut, and no trains would be running. We were also advised to remove all jewellery and not to take too much cash. The icing on the cake came when we discovered that we were not permitted to walk into town, and must take the shuttle bus (40 minutes) to a shopping mall or handicraft market. We did not fancy either of these destinations; we really just wanted to see the city at leisure. Anyway, there must much humming and hawing, but – in the end – we decided it would be ridiculous to take a cruise that included a major city in the world yet not go ashore. So we took the shuttle.
It was absolutely scorching on the jetty, with the heat radiating from the tarmac like a furnace. We hung around looking for the shuttle bus, drifting hither and thither with everyone else, until it duly appeared and we galloped towards it.
Well, getting onboard that shuttle did not involve a lot of Christian charity or an ethos of ‘women and children first’. It was like a rugby scrum, and the people with the best elbows won. As I have said before, your Johnny Foreigner doesn’t do queuing. Then we were off, leaving a disgruntled mob of the halt and the lame and those with no elbows to take bus number two. When we had passed the main dock gates I was glad that we had not tried to walk. It was utter chaos out there. An alternative to the taxi was little three-wheeler cabs called tuk-tuks – you will have seen them in films of India, if not in real life. These tuk-tuks were everywhere: in front of the bus, both sides of the bus, occasionally dangerously close to under the bus. There was much tooting and swerving as we made progress, and it seemed to be a game of bluff, with the biggest vehicle winning. More than once we saw a tuk-tuk being squeezed between two converging parallel buses, narrowly avoiding being crushed. As well as the tuk-tuks there were people everywhere, all trying to mob the bus and sell whatever they could. We finally got through this mêlée and made the main highway, taking in some sights on the way and, from what we could see, the city seemed quite clean and with a reasonable mix of architecture, but there seemed to be armed soldiers everywhere and there was a strong contrast between the very poor and the affluent. One pleasing thing we did notice was that they drive on the left here too, and on every spare bit of disused land two or three impromptu cricket matches were taking place. Damned civilised, I thought, glad we’ve taught these fellows something during our colonial occupation.
Arrival at the shopping mall was horrendous. The bus was besieged by a mass of humanity, with men peering in and trying to sell goods, trips, and possibly their sisters. It was a bit like like when you arrive at a car boot sale to set up a stall, and people try to take your goods before the car has even stopped. When the bus door opened they would have burst in if they could: it was very unnerving, bordering on being thoroughly unpleasant and there was no way we were getting off there and pushing through that lot, so we stayed on. We disembarked at the final stop, the handicraft market, and that wasn’t too bad – but outside the gates the harassing mob was still lurking, being controlled by a few policemen using strong-arm tactics. Venturing further than the market was not attractive. So we bought some Sinhalese tea because I am quite fond of Orange Peko from the Dimbula region (very expensive in UK) and some Sinhalese coffee, passed over buying a wooden elephant or a brass Aladdin’s lamp, and got back on the next shuttle bus for the ship. Time from disembarkation to re-embarkation: 61 minutes; the shortest run-ashore ever.
Were we philistines for not trying to see more of this colourful city? Possibly. Were we unadventurous? Perhaps. But the truth is, it offered no appeal to us whatsoever, felt very threatening and, as an old friend once said to us, “Life is too short to do things that you don’t want to do”. Other people on the returning bus had exactly the same opinion as us, and one went so far as to say, “What a dump”. Well, it was certainly a colourful experience. Verdict on Colombo? Insufficient data, but we wouldn’t come again.
We sailed at 2000, spinning round in the usual manner, then taking the buoyed channel for the sea. Next stop, Dubai.
Day 95
Friday 14 April. Good Friday. Sunny intervals. 30ºC. Humid. Wind Force 4 from W. Sea: Slight. Position at noon: 9deg 41N 75deg 10.5E, 66nm SW of the bottom left of India, course NW. Clocks were retarded the remaining 30 minutes last night, making us 4 hours ahead of UK. We are hugging the Indian coast on the way up the Arabian Sea to Dubai in order to minimise the risk of attack by pirates, of which more later.
We awoke early, partly because of the retarded time, which made us think it was later than it actually was, and partly to attend the 0830 church service for Good Friday, advertised in the programme. The service was conducted by an American priest from Tucson, so we had a proper sin bosun rather than the Captain, and he seemed a jolly and engaging enough fellow. We weren’t entirely familiar with the service because the priest was an Episcopalian minister, but we plunged in nevertheless. My goodness, that service went on. After half an hour, with our tummies rumbling, we were still on Page 1 of the service sheet. There were three lessons, each of which covered many verses, if not entire chapters; then the Gospel, which also was extensive. There were two hymns, which we only vaguely knew, but we gave them a good shot until we realised that we appeared to be the only ones singing (everyone else was struggling or just mouthing the words). To crown it all, Jane and I got a fit of the giggles in the middle of one of the hymns as the tune rose and fell with an, “oo – oooo – ooooooo” refrain at a particularly tricky part, and we only just managed to control ourselves. It doesn’t do to giggle in the House of the Lord, even if it is the Royal Court Theatre. The sermon wasn’t too bad, but the prayers seemed to go on forever and we were seriously worried that we might not make breakfast at all. Finally, after 45 minutes, the service ended and we shot out like a rocket to the other end of the ship to the restaurant before breakfast ceased. We both concluded that it was very nice, but next time – on Easter Sunday – we would go to the Captain’s service where there would be no nonsense, there would be hearty hymns that we knew, and all would be finished in half an hour.
After breakfast we decided we needed some exercise to wear off all that food and wine, but we didn’t fancy doing the prison exercise yard that is the promenade deck. So we decided to do a circuit of every internal deck, starting with our own on Deck 13. In the process, we could view the cabins in the lower recesses of the ship where the poor people live and, indeed, view the poor people themselves – rather like visitors to a zoo. So we set off: down the starboard side, round the for’d end, down the port side, down the stairs; next deck; and so on. Well, from Deck 13 to Deck 2 it took us 1.5 hours do do those circuits: let us say four miles. We were amazed that it took so long, but we felt all the better for it. We also, in passing, discovered the ship’s night club which looked very nice. Who knows, we may return later in the dark to do a little smooching and boogying, or whatever one does in a nightclub these days, though as the club opens after our Ovaltine time this may just be a pipe dream.
The afternoon brought another classical concert with our young Swedish guitarist who, again, was superb. He played a range of pieces ranging from Spanish, through Portuguese to Paraguayan – thankfully without the backing of the Cunard resident band.
Another cocktail party with the Captain this evening, this time for Gold Badge holders and above. Of course I have raved about this Gold Badge for some time (well, ever since we got it), but it was quite apparent that we were not the only people so qualified. In fact, judging by the crowd in the Queen’s Room ballroom just about everyone onboard had one (650 people, to be precise). Oh dear. We really must push and try to get the next grade up, the Platinum. Just one night onboard a Cunard vessel: that’s all it will take. You will recall that I joked in an earlier blog about receiving the Gold Badge for loyalty (it actually exists somewhere – probably in a suitcase under the bed). Well, believe it or not, some people were wearing their badges in their lapels or on their dresses tonight. I knew I should have worn mine. I could have worn it along with my Blood Donor Badge (‘he gave so that others may live…’), National Trust Life Membership Badge, River Thames Volunteer Lock-keeper Badge, Prefect’s Badge and RNLI Bronze Lifesaving Badge. Damn: an opportunity lost.
"A Very Vintage Chap..." 