Paul:
I had an amusing dream in which the thickly carpeted, cavernous QM2 atrium on deck 2 is home to Big Issue sellers and beggars sprawled on the carpet with an outstretched hand saying, "Big Ishooo; Gawd bless you luvly people", and, "got any spare change?" to QM2 guests, who ignore them in the dream. I cannot think what brought that on.
I wake at 0700 to discover that rascal of a Commodore has turned the ship's clock back another hour without telling us and it's actually 0600. No QM2 rock and roll today but there is a very long queue snaking into breakfast. This causes American women in large floral trousers to speak loudly and incessantly asking no one in particular what the problem is. Once seated my attempts to order devilled kidneys induces waiters into a startled angst as if they'd been asked how they would like to die. One of them finally speaks providing different excuses: 'chef he cook kidney for other meals only' and, 'we must not have kidney bean for breakfast because we give baked bean', were my favourites. My breakfast was still delicious: cornedbeef hash again. Amanda had bread pudding draped in honey offered as French toast.
Blue skies appear and Amanda and I enjoy a brisk stroll once around the breezy deck after breakfast. In the Commodore bar Amanda reads her second batch of big books. She is a speed reader of fiction devouring a different author each day. About 30' away the unmistakable drawl of a theatrically camp American man can be heard, "Jeeze, why should I be quiet, it's not a library it's a bar for Christ's sakes". It seems someone had asked him to talk less loudly and he has over reacted; quite thin skinned some of these American gay men. I will steer clear of this bar at 1700 today when it hosts the Lesbian and Gay groups: it's sure to be very loud and not a book in sight.
Disaster in the Queen's ballroom with the Quickstep. I thought that the third day would see fewer people attending these group lessons but I reckon there's actually more. Around 60 couples learning the Quickstep, 'slow quick quick slow', each needing their own large space to slide the feet forward, to the side and back. It is not a surprise that couples career into one another. I cannot master this dance at all and when it come to dancing with Amanda it gets worse! I decide to sit it out and watch. Amanda doesn't mind. We both agree less people or more room is the answer. I am not destined for ballroom dancing I think.
Lunch is simply soup for me. The waiter takes a while to realise I just want soup. Amanda and I plan to have high tea at 1530. The dining room is noisy and our conversation is confined to her latest book about a Google Earth murder mystery; unthinkable 10 years ago. I also spot a dead ringer for Terry Pratchett, an author Amanda doesn't like. He's in a wheel chair but all smiles. After lunch Amanda and I discuss whether we should continue together with the ball room dancing. I think I am not cut out for it! To be fair I have forgotten each of the dances' steps within 30 minutes after the lesson ends. The weather is just so nice that we take a 2nd stroll around the deck. It is very sunny and breezy. The sea is teal blue/green. The stroll is just the job to prepare us for the high tea of scones, cream, jam and cake: as many as you can eat.
In the photo gallery there are some lovely pictures of Amanda and me. She isn't so sure. Amanda says we'll wait until the end of the week before picking one or two although matters aren't helped after Amanda gets quite testy with the photoshop manager. He may throw the photos of us in the bin! Tonight is informal night: no black tie. The plan is to take on a cocktail or two, eat dinner, NOT go to a Jane Austen play but hopefully watch some live swing music. The dinner and swing music are both fabulous. We are both taken by the line dancing too. Bed late: 01.40!
Amanda:
Ballroom dancing has been laid to rest for us today. I do think we could do it but would need better teachers and more space. It was just not fun any more and the barely concealed derision of the teachers (at all of us) was quelling. I can't quite take them seriously since we saw them do a display dance last night where Natasha was dressed as a scarlet Big Bird who had moulted strangely in some places. Vladimir always seems to wear the same thing: I think he is very hen pecked (or Big Bird pecked). The music was good but a bit cheesy - I am holding out for tomorrow's Big Band.
We were late for tea and so out of the way that we missed most of it. I did however have an intriguing Parkin: a Yorkshire speciality translated by a German chef is an uncomfortable fusion. I picture the kitchens stormed by angry Yorkshire men determined to defend their heritage from foreign interpretations.
Many of our fellow guests are very odd looking. Never have I seen so many men in their 60s+ with long grey/white pony tails. Some even have cowboy hats and/or lurid Hawaiian shirts. One man braids his waist length hair in the most intricate fashion. My fingers itch and I am glad there are no scissors to tempt me although I eye my steak knife speculatively. The women are either very elegant or dressed in Littlewoods catalogue attire: mostly the former. Cocktail hour(s) is kind of a fashion show with the seated keenly eyeing newcomers to the bar for sartorial entertainment. A lady compliments me on my "very pretty dress" ( a satin teal 50s style) which I decide is proof positive that I am not in the Littlewoods camp.
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