Cruisin’ for a Bruisin’

‘You’ll love it, Ian’, Ali said to me with a big reassuring smile. ‘Just trust me.’

The same smile that has won me over more times than I care to remember. I really should have known better.

‘Oh Ian, please tell me that you’re looking forward to it,’ she continued, eyelids fluttering like the Red Admirals’ wings on my Buddleja garden plants.

I gave her my best glower and followed it up with a dodgy line from Hamlet.
‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’

Unfortunately, Ali knows that I’m much more William McGonagall than William Shakespeare, so my quotation fell on deaf ears.

The bottom line is that we’re off on a cruise in only a few days’ time. My very first cruise, at that … and only her fifteenth. I love starting a new venture on an equal footing, don’t you?

As I hope my family and friends would tell you, I’m normally a ‘glass-half-full’ kind of guy. Well, when I say ‘normally’, I mean when arrangements are under my own control. This time around though, nothing remains under my control, absolutely hee-haw. And so, the aforementioned glass is already in urgent need of replenishment.

But in answer to Ali’s question, yes, I am indeed really looking forward to it. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

Well, one or two little niggly things, I suppose. So, I’m thinking that perhaps if I get them off my chest now in this blog, they’ll all disappear. There again, if Ali happens to read this, so might I. Here goes, then.

For starters, you will be glad to hear that our outbound flight holds no fears for me, none at all. Isn’t that good? It’s the bit immediately afterwards that’s doing my head in.
No, not passport control and not security … but this new-fangled nonsense called ‘biometric testing’, which apparently entails UK citizens (and UK citizens alone) queueing for about half-a-day while some bloody robotic AI contraption analyses our eyeballs and fingerprints. I hear it’s easier escaping from Barlinnie.

I mean, what is all that about? Brexit, that’s what. Many Europeans hate us for Brexit and hardly any of us this side of Hadrian’s Wall even voted for the bloody thing in the first place.

So, eyeballs and fingerprints duly approved many hours later, all we will then have to do is make a frantic dash for the port, lungs bursting and hearts pounding, no doubt just in time to wave goodbye to my first ever cruise ship as she sets sail towards the glorious horizon … without us on board, but replete with our luggage.

Anyway, I’ve just realized that my glass has suddenly become half-empty, so please bear with me while I go and top it up again. When I sit back down, I promise to be much more agreeable.

Ah … that’s better.

So, let’s say that we actually manage to catch the cruise ship on time. And let’s also say that our luggage does too. A very desirable combination, I’m sure you will agree.

And so, to my next little concern, which is my suitcase itself, the top seven layers of which will contain a ridiculous array of Ali’s best dresses, in addition to those which will be crammed into her own case. I get the bottom three layers all to myself. Isn’t that generous of her? And there, squashed to a pulp like an asphyxiated cheese & onion toastie, I will find the crumpled remains of my own meagre selection of clothes … and a jacket. A white jacket, ffs!

And it will be impossible for me to refuse to wear the bloody thing because she has bought it as a present for the special onboard meal she has reserved for us on my birthday.

The conversation went something like this.

‘A jacket on holiday? And a white jacket into the bargain? Ali, have you been on the wacky-baccy again?’
(Incidentally, her last time was in Brodick’s Ormidale Hotel away back in the 1970s.)

‘Oh Ian, I know you prefer wearing denims and T-shirts, but this lovely jacket will look great with them. You’ll really suit it.’

‘So, I’ve to walk into the restaurant wearing a white jacket and sweating like a pig, before taking it straight back off again, right?’

‘Well yes … and no. And anyway, Ian, it’s not white, it’s … it’s stone.’

‘Stone? Stone? Well, gee whiz honey, that will make me feel a whole lot better when I march in for dinner looking like a prize prat.’

And now for the next thing … dinner itself.

Now, I don’t know about you, but my idea of a good night out is having a relaxing meal with Ali (I say ‘relaxing’, because she doesn’t think I could even spell ‘romantic’), and possibly with a few chosen dear friends as well. But certainly not at a communal table with a dozen complete strangers, at least three or four of whom (statistically speaking) will either be crashing bores or absolute rockets.

Anyway, you’ll be glad to know that I’m now almost at the end of my little pre-cruise rant, because I’ve just learned something most reassuring, and that is this.

Apparently, Celebrity Cruises allow you to pick your own virus. I mean, how classy is that?

Bring it on!

Post-cruise rant to follow.