Anyone who thinks that this job is always glamorous didn’t see me frantically hair drying my knickers in the cabin this evening.
Yesterdays three flight (standard) journey to Vigo in Northern Spain from Manchester resulted in me arriving case-less at my hotel at approaching 1am in the morning, tired, grumpy and more than a little dishevelled. Aware that my connection times were already tight to say the least I had opted for comfort over content when choosing my outfit that day. I had anticipated needing to run.. saddled with my backpack.. to catch each of the three flights. Of late, I have been packing my stage dress in my hand luggage and at least one extra pair of contact lenses in case of such eventualities. Yesterday however, being momentarily distracted by the fortuitous last minute offer of a lift to the airport from a good friend had meant I was a little out of my usual routine. So here I sit in the theatre of the ship, waiting to watch my good friends Gareth and Alice Oliver perform their spectacular ventriloquism act tonight not only grateful of the fact they are here and i can meet them later for a catch up, but that they are indeed the act performing tonight and not me and I have the possibility of another day during which my luggage could catch me up. If not, I will be rushing ashore in Lisbon tomorrow to try to find something suitable to wear on stage tomorrow night and appearing, as I look at the moment I write this, not dissimilar to the American TV sitcom character, Ugly Betty with my slightly less than flattering glasses on in lieu of my usual lenses. Should I opt to forgo said spectacles, I may possibly tumble off the end of the stage to my doom or worse still, head off into the audience to find the ‘handsome and eligible men’ i frequently jest at seeking out during my show and instead may find myself on the lap of some poor unsuspecting old woman or possibly asking someone who’s had a tracheotomy to sing with me. Yes, the reason I choose these examples is because it is honestly exactly how I discovered I needed contact lenses in the first place.
I did go into town today to buy a few bits and pieces to tide me over until my luggage chooses to show its face. I felt secretly smug at buying said accoutrements so expediently and even more so at finding a couple of jump-suits (all in one kind of affairs, tops and trousers in one) so as to avert the need for finding two items when one will suffice. The smile has just this minute been surreptitiously wiped from my bespectacled face as I popped to the ladies for a quick call of nature before the show and had to almost completely strip off to my hair dried undies to relieve myself… trauma.
Yes, I know I should have packed more things in my hand luggage and I most certainly this time will learn my lesson. However, I think I have a pretty reasonable excuse for not wanting to overpack my rucksack. My musical arrangements alone weigh over 10kg and as I previously mentioned, I knew I would be traveling all day. My back is already reeling from the experience of last weekend when I headed up to Kendal in the beautiful ‘Lake District’ region of Northern England to caddy for Steve. His tournament was over three days and the morning after a girlie night out with two good friends I had headed North the hour or so’s drive to meet Steve after his first round.
The next day I carried the clubs around an usually slow round of golf, taking well over five hours and with an out of the ordinary amount of weight in the bag as Steve had packed waterproofs and an umbrella as there was a warning of rain.. oh and a two litre bottle of water!
Unfortunately for Steve it was not to be his day and we had a decision to make as to whether we would still stay in the hotel we had booked or head home after the round.
“I’m not bothered either way” I told him. Whatever’s best for you. If you want to go home we will.”
“No” he answered “I want to just forget about golf for a couple of hours and spend some quality time with my wife”
“ahhhhhh” I thought to myself. “thats nice” so we headed back to the hotel.
Tired and a little deflated, we’d agreed on an hour or so’s rest in front of the FA Cup football final on the TV before heading out to dinner. As we dragged our weary selves into the room and I stuck the key into slot to activate the electricity, Steve threw himself on the bed and flicked through the channels looking for the match. Thinking I might run a bath to soak my achy back I reached for the bathroom light switch and there was an almighty crack. My arm shook involuntarily almost as if I was about to commence a solo Mexican wave and I let out a shriek, more out of the shock of the sensation than any pain.
“What was THAT??” Steve shouted and lept off the bed.
“Its me” I whimpered “The light switch gave me an electric shock.
Steve, not usually the one in our marriage known for a flair for the dramatic, immediately grabbed the phone and called reception.. I could hear only his side of the call as I checked to make sure I wasn’t burned or smouldering.
“Excuse me” he boomed. His the authoritative and almost twice the depth of his usual voice
“My wife has just had an ENORMOUS electric shock from the light switch in our roooooom….
…… No, she doesn’t need an ambulance
……No she doesn’t need medical attention. Do you think I’d be this calm if she needed medical attention???”
I couldn’t help but laugh the whole situation was a little preposterous. Moments later the lady from reception came to the room.
“The whole corridor should technically trip if theres any issue with the electrics on this floor so I’m going to move you immediately.”
Packing our things into our bags for the imminent relocation I noticed that both mine and Steve’s phone chargers were still in the plug sockets.
“I’m not touching it!” he said.
I smirked at him as it now seemed his chivalrous defence of his wife only extended to telephone calls to reception and not to risking his own bacon to protect me. After a few minutes of “you do it .. no you do it..” eventually I wrapped a towel around my hand and pulled them out. Goodness knows how a towel was going to protect me.
Minutes later we were settled in our new room watching the TV as planned and there was a knock at the door.
“Compliments of the hotel” the young gentleman said as he handed me an ice bucket containing a bottle of pink fizz and two glasses. “For your inconvenience” He added.
“Thats awfully kind of you, thank you” I replied and turned to a grinning Steve who lay strewn on the bed, ready to be served a glass of our recent acquisition.
As I poured, he leaned over to the bedside table and picked up the phone
“Yes hello this is Mr Parry in room 217 formally of room 114….yes thats me…. you just electrocuted my wife. I just wanted to say thank you for the wine its a lovely gesture but theres no need to worry I’m not going to sue you”
I roared laughing at him. And flopped on the bed to enjoy our wares.
As I finish this current chapter, I am currently heading into the beautify city of Cork on the train from the cruise ship terminal in Cobh, a neighbouring city. Though I have been fortunate enough to travel the length and breadth of the planet as a result of this job, this particular itinerary onboard the beautiful Celebrity Silhouette is certainly one of my favourites.The ship traverses the British Isles having made stops in Guernsey, Dover and Cork so far before heading off to several other amazing ports including fabulous Liverpool where I will disembark. Spending as much time in the air and at sea as I am want to do, it is easy to become a little detached from ones own nation and indeed how beautiful and diverse it is. Seeing the marvel and wonderment of the first time experiences of our fair land through the eyes of those making their inaugural visit here causes me to swell with the utmost pride. Already the passengers have been telling me the tales of how the locals have approached them when they are wandering with a map bewildered, offering to point them in the direction of their destination and how friendly the staff in shops and restaurants have been to them. Today I am meeting friends for lunch at my favourite spot in Cork, “Market Lane” restaurant on the hight street before a little jaunt to look around the world famous ‘English Market’ where the stall holders display a veritable cornucopia of fresh goods and products from all over the emerald isle… an experience that this self confessed foodie will never tire of. Later, I will head to the fabulous vintage stores on the outskirts of the market to rummage through the fashion treasures of yesteryear, trying not to spend my wages before I have earned them!
Yesterday I had a jaw droppingly good seafood linguine at a favourite spot of mine on the sea front in St Peter Port in Guernsey, ‘Mora’. After having a similarly awesome culinary experience of the same dish in Fiumicino near Rome a few weeks ago, and again in Koper, Slovenia the week after, I returned to my hem town and a night out with the girls as previously mentioned. The same dish here was absolutely nowhere near as fabulous as my previous experiences and all the delicate elegant seafood flavours were drowned out by the cream the dish was awash with. In my opinion, good seafood in good linguine does not need cream…. (I’m sure I’ll ruffle a few gills there!!) but as a result I have now decided to try and find “Jayne’s top Five Seafood Linguine’s” so any recommendations will be greatly received. I’ll keep you posted mmmmmmmmmm…….
