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05 APRIL 2012
Our last day at sea.
I had a message from Ginny waiting for me in my cabin last night to say that she'd been looking for me and hadn’t seen me for our usual 7pm gathering at the Passport Bar. She said she hoped to meet up by the pool tomorrow.
Well as you all now know yesterday evening, I was busy hobnobbing with all the flashy folk in the Captain’s Club cocktail party. It’s not really me but I couldn’t resist another chance to sit quietly and people watch. It was a bit of a poseur’s delight. All the sycophantic guests cavorting in their best frocks around the ships officers who had more stripes on their arms than a Bengal tiger.
I chose to quaff a small (but free!) glass of champagne from a heavily laden tray of assorted drinks. My motto is – if it’s free, drink something you don’t get at home. Unfortunately everyone else seemed to have the same motto, so the next was a glass of cabernet. I had plonked myself down at a table and was watching the Strictly Ballroom competitors on the dance floor when I noticed two black ladies had sat down just a chair away from me. They looked far more interesting than the dancers so I hopped across to the chair next to them and introduced myself.
They were unbelievable, one was in her 80’s and looked about 65, the other lady was mid 70’s and looked younger than me. They were neighbours from Washington DC and on their 12th cruise. What lovely people and so interesting to talk to. Unfortunately, they had already wined and dined and I had to dash off for yet another large meal.
As it was the last day at sea and the last chance for a bit of a lie in, I rose from my boudoir half way through the morning and just managed to grab a spot of breakfast before the lunch was laid out. I grabbed what I thought was my Marathon bread, some butter and jam and got stuck in.
Hmmm, interesting .... I have never had butter and jam on slices of gingerbread before. Probably never will again either! I was always taught to eat what was on my plate so I did get through it, eventually.
Then I strolled around the jogging track looking for Ginny, clutching a couple of pool towels so I didn’t look like one of the power walkers. As it is I overtook the two old shell-less tortoises and an old lady in a bikini who really needed a good iron. No Ginny, so as it was a bit overcast I decided to start my packing .
I have a new method of packing. I have used it now on the last four or five holidays. I put all my t-shirts together folded in a bag, then put that bag sideways into another bag and write what the contents are on a label on the outside of the bag. This is repeated for all different items of clothing. The theory is – and so far it has proved to be the case – that you can unpack faster and get on the sunbeds before the Germans, also, your clothes do not move around as much inside the case in transit, so they come out more or less uncreased. The other bonus is that if you need an item of clothing fast during one of your manic "God! Did I put in my Bridget Jones pants" moments, they are very easy to find in their own little labelled bag.
Going home is even easier – dirties in one case – in bags again to save embarrassment at customs, should you be stopped, and cleans in the other one, all in bags, so when you get home – dirties fly of their own accord into the washer and cleans are hung up ready for the next overpacking mistake.
So I packed nearly everything and decided on a final spot of tanning before the sun disappeared from my life forever (bit dramatic but it all adds to the story). I took the lift to the 14th and came face to face with Ginny.
Funny old world!
We spent an hour chatting in the sun and then she toddled off to start her packing and we agreed to meet up for tea and buns at 3.30 in the tea room.
Another chance to finish my book out on my veranda – didn’t get much read as I kept seeing what looked like big silver dragon flies skimming the waves away from the boat. I suddenly realised that they were small flying fish. The more you look, the more you see, fascinating. Some haven’t quite got their pilot’s licence yet while others fly like WW2 air aces.
I called Ginny:
'Hi Gin. You ever seen a flying fish?’
‘Is this one of your Pommie jokes?’
‘No I promise’
‘OK so what’s a flying fish?’
‘It’s a fish that comes out of the water and flies.’
‘Yeah roite – I’ll be down in a mo then.’
After that I hardly saw a single one of the little blighters. But, as luck would have it one put in a guest appearance for Ginny and she has now gone back to Oz an enriched woman.
Afternoon tea was a formal occasion, shorts, vests and flip flops – or thongs as our Gin called them. I did explain that flip flops go between your toes and thongs go between your bum cheeks but she looked a little incredulous. A pot of Darjeeling and two cookies later we parted to complete our final packing and get ready for drinkies and dinner.
7pm at the Passport Bar was a bit sad really. Ginny and I had got on very well, we both like our own space but also like to have a bit of a giggle as well. We hugged each other and promised to meet up again on another cruise some day. Cue, tears and sniffs.
Dinner was a bit of a sober affair, I think maybe we had all exhausted anything that we had in common so I bid them all a fond farewell and disappeared to put my cases outside for collection. Retired to bed having packed my PJs in my case and was worried that the little spyhole in the door to see who was outside might be two-way?
Got undressed in the dark just in case.
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