This whole writing to a deadline thing I’m not sure I’m awfully good at, but given that I am governed by internet availability I don’t have many alternatives, although I failed miserably with the last opportunity to upload anything, two days in Spanish waters, and the words were flowing like tar.. (unlike the wine!!).
Docking days present their own set of challenges. Like what to do with two elderly parents who have no clue where they are and absolutely no desire to explore the wherever it is they are. I spent the whole of Wednesday explaining that we weren’t in Dubrovnik (or Guildford for that matter), but, in fact, Gibraltar. The Dubrovnik slip is understandable, it’s a syllable thing.. but Guildford??, search me!!.
They seem quite happy to sit in a bar and watch the world go by, which is fine by me, but not for eight hours! Unlike on board where I can leave them for a while as the possibilities of losing them are actually fairly limited, once ashore it’s a bit like herding cats, and anyway I have discovered that if I disappear for more than five minutes Dad is on the phone.
Throw into the mix the fact that Dad seems to think that Great British Pounds are fine anywhere, the following conversation is fairly typical.
‘no Dad, you need Euros’
‘oh well I’ll get them on the ship’
‘no Dad, you need to go to a bank and get Euros now if you want to spend any money here, or in Italy, or in France’
‘oh OK, where’s the bank’
arrive at cashpoint..
‘what are we doing here?’
‘what for??.. we can get them on the ship’
‘yes but you need them now’
‘no.. they’ll take pounds here I’m sure, stop trying to bloody organise me I’ll get the bloody Euros on the ship!!’
I backed off, knowing full well that I will have the same conversation (but in reverse) once we are back on board.
The ‘fuckoffometer’ is hitting new records on a daily basis… wears a bit thin after a while!!