3. Entering the fish bowl

Chapter 3

The cruise company sent me an itinerary of my travel and hotel plans for the next two days. I would be flying from Heathrow to Seattle and the next morning a connecting flight would take me to join the ship in Vancouver. I was told by head office that there would be four other new people joining the ship with me today.

I search around the airport for a while for the other new people but find no one who was looking as lost as I was. I don’t know what I was looking around for or how I thought I would actually recognize them anyway. Oh well, perhaps we will all meet up in Seattle, I think to myself.

I reach in my bag for my purse when I feel the envelopes with my fingers. Only then did I remember that the night before, I had sat up until the early hours in my drunken state and scrawled out letters for my Mum, Nana and sisters. I wrote to each of them explaining that if I didn’t make it, I wanted them all to know that I love them very much and that if it were possible, after my death, I would miss them all terribly. If there is a body, not to bury it, as I couldn’t bear the bugs and everything and to please scatter my ashes or any remains over Lake Garda, as it looked so nice is a brochure I one saw. I will try to communicate with you all from the other side without scaring the shit out of you. Love you loads. If I make it, I will phone home as soon as I can. Signed, all my love, Ginny xo.

In each envelope there is a list of port addresses to where they can send letters, and a copy of the ship’s itinerary so they will always know where I am. I search around for a post box. I can hear my name being called over the airport announcement system. Last call for Ginny McLeod travelling with American Airlines, flight number 1665 to Seattle. I drop the letters into the post box and stare at it. This is it. I’m really going. Where the time went I don’t know. One minute I’m getting a frosty hug from Iona and the next minute I am scanning the screens for my departure gate and rushing to catch the plane.

The stewardess looks at my passport and checks my visa before ripping at the boarding pass. The plane is fairly full but not entirely. Everyone is in their seats watching me as I make my way along the aisle counting the seat numbers until I find mine. A few of the people glare at me for holding the plane up. I just want to find my seat and get out of the parade of the aisle. My seat is right bang in the middle between a man and a woman who is by the window. The woman looks elegant and smiles at me as I stop and again check the number on my boarding pass. The man looks like a homeless person, his teeth need a good clean and his hair is all matted together, he also smiles up at me before getting up to let me in the seat next to him.

The last time I was in an aeroplane Giles was beside me. It was nice to have his big hand to grip tightly onto during take off. This is my first flight without him. This is my first of many things without him. As I had predicted to myself during the drive to the Airport, we were no sooner in our seats than the lights were turned off, curtains were drawn, and loud snoring noises gradually hummed in time with the engine. The man next to me decided that his most comfortable position was over the socket for my headphones. He hid himself under his blanket (I’m sure he’s used to that), and that was the last I saw of him until the next meal was served.

Having read everything from the safety instructions to the in-flight magazine and my cruise ship information pack, I was truly annoyed with myself for not bringing anything to read. Bored, I just sit and people watch but with everyone facing in the same direction it was difficult to see anyone’s face. I wonder to myself if everyone on this plane has thought the words ‘mile high club’. It can’t be just me? I don’t have a dirty mind or anything, well maybe a little, but I bet nearly everyone has thought about it. Come to think about it... the toilet light has been illuminated for quite a while now.

I hate being stuck in the middle seat. The lady next to me is rather boring looking, one of these perfectly attractive middle-aged ladies who somehow manage to make themselves look older and uninteresting. She is busying herself looking through her gold-rimmed glasses at some official looking papers and doesn't look remotely interested in chatting. It’s not very considerate of me to disturb all these sleeping bodies that shouldn’t be sleeping at this time of day anyway, but I’m getting fidgety. What was it, five in the afternoon? It makes life difficult for the normal people like me who need to investigate the toilet situation.

What I expected to find after clambering over man under blanket, I don’t know. I rise up and hold on to the back of the seat to steady myself. Pulling myself up, I lift my legs and pivot over the sleeping man and into the aisle. What a relief to be out of there. I am just about to make my way quietly up the aisle when I realize that my foot is trapped. My other foot, however, is unaware of this and steps forward regardless and that is when I stumble forward and on the floor. I want to lie there and die. I don’t move, I just freeze as I imagine the faces of the same hostile people looming down to me from their seats smiling and shaking their heads from side to side. Seconds later I see a pair of blue comfortable-looking court shoes, not unlike the ones I have just bought, but these have the price tag still stuck to the bottom. They rush towards me and someone bends down and helps me to my feet.
‘Thanks,’ I say, brushing myself down and looking around self-consciously. ‘I was just going to the toilet.’
‘Sorry, Madam, that one is out of order, you will have to use the one down at the back.’

So much for the mile high club. With no one to share my moment of embarrassment, I sidle down the aisle to the toilet and close the door behind me.
In the safety of the toilet I burst out laughing, feeling rediculous. Silly idiot, I tell myself. If Iona were here she would have pissed herself laughing. A wave of sadness flushes over me as I remember Iona at the airport.

Before I start to cry, I turn the tap and splash my face with cold water and look at myself in the mirror. My spirally hair has come loose from its clasp and my make-up has melted since this morning. With a paper towel I wipe away the smudges from under my eyes. Inspecting the creases beside my nostrils for blackheads, I notice how green my eyes are today. One of the telltale signs of tiredness and pending tears, the last few days catching up with me no doubt. While I’m here, I decide I may as well practice on some facial expressions for when I meet the others. Holding on to the sides of the sink, I stand and contemplate the impression I want to create. Okay, so I want to be intelligent, but not boring, warm, but not too friendly, and a little mysterious.

I pull my hair free from the clasp and throw my head over to get the body back in it. There really isn’t much space to manoeuvre in the toilet, making rehearsals difficult. Perhaps this look is too wild, I think, as I study the large mane of hair in front of me. I decide to leave this look for a special occasion. Clasped up again with hair now pulled back with little wispy bits around my forehead, it looks much better. This looks more serious and attractive. Imagining myself in my stewardess’s uniform I look into the mirror and say,
‘Good morning, Madam, how can I serve you today?’
No, no, too corny I decide. Widening my eyes insanely and pressing my best smile into the mirror I drawl, ‘Good morning, Sir, how can I be of service?’
Oh dear, that was a bit sluttish. I remind myself that I am a cocktail steward and not a lap dancer. There is a knock at the door, which interrupts rehearsals.
‘Everything okay?’ comes the voice from the other side of the door.
‘Yes, thanks, everything’s fine,’ I reply. ‘Out in a minute.’ I haven’t even gone to the toilet yet. A quick pee later I open the door to find that nearly everyone is awake and waiting for the toilet. I smile to the hostess and squeeze my way past the queue of people and back to my chair. I took in the hostess’s little tilt of the head and friendly but not toothy smile. Perhaps I could use that one, I think to myself, before lifting one leg over the sleeping blanket man.

One hand on the back of his chair and one on the chair in front to steady me. I am just about to pull my other leg out of the aisle when he whips his blanket back as I am in full-blown straddle. He is smiling and leering at my groin which, in all fairness is practically in his face. One quick hoist and I’m back in my chair.

Only another thousand hours to go, or at least that’s how it feels. I glare at my neighbour and show him my headphone piece and signal to him that he is sitting over my socket and he finally moves so I can plug it in. Even though the lights are on now and I was probably okay to speak, I didn’t want to strike up a conversation with him. I didn’t need to worry about that. He grins and taps his fingers in thin air bidding me farewell as he shakes his blanket around and disappears again, not before leaving a waft of something vile in the air. Dirty sod.

Lying back listening to the sounds of Radio Airways I get to wondering what my old friends from school are doing right now. I haven't seen them in years but I'll bet they are all either married, engaged or sitting in some boring job wishing they could be doing what I’m doing. Perhaps I could get my Mum to sell my story to the local newspaper. I can see it now, headline – Local Girl Sails the Seven Seas. I wonder what kind of people I will meet on the ship. The brochure was so exotic. I pulled it out of my bag yet again for another look.

The lady on my left has finally put her papers away, so, perhaps she might be ready for a chat soon. Looking through the brochures, I wait for her to strike up conversation and then she does.
‘Going on a cruise?’ she asks, smiling at me.
‘Yes, yes I am,’ I reply. Having not actually heard my voice now for about four hours (rehearsals are not counted), it felt strange to hear it again. ‘Well actually, to work on one,’ I add, ‘but you can’t really call it work can you, on a luxury liner like this? I’m sure it’ll be like an extended holiday. In the interview they talked about long hours. Of course they always exaggerate to prepare you for the worst scenario. I can’t wait to get started,’ I finish, kicking myself for always giving too much information.
‘Mmmm,’ the lady replied. She really didn’t look very interested at all in my new adventure. She was obviously jealous. Who was she anyway? Boring old fart. Dressed in a business suit, who was she trying to kid? Who wouldn’t be envious of a life on the ocean wave? All the romance you could imagine, candlelit dinners and soft music not to mention the exciting people I was about to meet. Some people are just too self-absorbed to enjoy other people’s good luck. She glanced over and gave me a pitying kind of look. She looked like she didn’t believe me, cow. Why would I make it up? I am going to join a luxury cruise line.

Suddenly I need to persuade this woman that I am going on a cruise. I start rummaging again. I rest my hand with the brochure in it on the headrest in front of me and search for my itinerary with the other. I find the evidence and wrench them out of my bag. This will show her. How dare she presume I am fantasizing? I can feel myself getting a bit hysterical so I order a large gin and tonic and continue to flaunt my papers on my lap to the lady who is now watching the film with her headphones on. As I pretend to be reading the important pages in front of me with the cruise ship logo in bold print at the top of the page, I take a moment to lie back with one eye closed and rest my hand on the arm between us. I keep my hand held tightly on the pages so she can absorb every detail of my new life. I’ll bet she is scrutinizing every word.

Some time later I am jolting about all over the place and wake to find myself in severe turbulence. First thought, where the hell am I? Second thought, what is that awful smell? Third thought, where did my gin and tonic end up, and where did my papers go? I know I had them here in my hand. I examine the floor and find them scattered all over the place. Did she even read them? Oh shit, I fell asleep. The plane continues to jigger all over the place and I congratulate myself for writing and actually getting around to posting those letters to my family.

I'm not afraid to die but seeing as I got this job it would be nice to be able to at least get on the ship. Okay, not afraid to die might be a little bit strong. Just as quickly as the turbulence came, it stopped. I knew there was a reason I believed in God. The film is over and the lady is fast asleep. Who cares what she thought anyway?
Another question. Why do people who want to sleep through the entire flight always have an aisle seat?

As we begin to descend, I am grateful that I don’t have even more time to think about this bloody job. I swear I have given myself chronic diarrhoea worrying about it. Ten hours of time on your hands is not the welcome ‘time to think’ that we would all appreciate a little bit of now and again. What if I haven’t brought the right clothes? What if I don't have enough? Will my cabin have a porthole or balcony? I hope I have satellite so I can keep up with Corrie. When will I meet my Latin lover? Hopefully this will happen sooner rather than later. The job will be fine, I’m sure. There is just so much to think about.

Through the hundreds of people collecting their luggage I finally find mine and follow everyone else through the exit. As a member of the cruise ship’s company you are allowed up to 40 kilos on international flights. What a bonus to have a bit of clout with this job. If I had known earlier I would have asked for an upgrade. Perhaps I’ll do this on tomorrow’s flight to Vancouver. Obviously cruise ship people are respected and important to the airlines.

Right outside the sliding doors standing in a blue blazer holding up a company sign is our cruise ship representative.
‘Hello.’ He introduces himself as Randy.
If I hadn't spent that last hour including the descent in the loo with severe stomach cramps I wouldn’t have forgotten to take my makeup bag with me, and I could have been looking much more presentable than I do right now. My skin feels like a piece of sandpaper. My future was starting right here and right now and what with the first impression and everything. ‘Hi Randy,’ I say and extend my hand. ‘I'm Ginny.’
I look him right in the eyes and smile. Randy looks at my hand then takes it. Laughing he says “Hi Ginny, I’m Randy, in this very formal and almost patronizing voice. I don’t have time to ask what’s so funny as the others join us. How they managed to find each other I don’t know. ‘Hi there,’ beams a very attractive girl with blond trusses. The others come over and introductions are made. The blonde is Vanessa from Liverpool, then Trevor from London, Greg from Cambridge and Allison from Edinburgh.

It was kind of strange meeting these people. Why are they so, so normal, and why am I slightly disappointed? I don’t know what I was expecting, certainly not the cast out of Beautiful, but I suppose in my mind I have imagined a really impressionable bunch. Vanessa was attractive and is dressed casually but well. And Allison, well, looks like her mother wanted a boy but was stuck with a girl at birth and rather than give her a sex change she decided to take the easier option of dressing her in men'’s clothing. She had a cheery-looking face that smiled constantly under a short blonde crop of hair. Her naturally red cheeks gave the impression that she was an outdoorsy type of girl. Trevor just looked like shit. His clothes were crumpled as was his face and hair and he obviously hadn’t made any effort. Greg on the other hand was a bit of a dish, dashing and well worth the job.

Although I am Scottish and am very proud of my heritage, I have lived in England for a few years now. I was a different kind of Scot from Allison. The first thing that came out of her mouth was my pet hate subject: England versus Scotland.
‘It’s good to have another Scot to talk to,’ she said, indicating the others with her head. I never know how to respond to this kind of talk. Why should talking to another Scot be any better than talking to anyone else? Does it mean that we share a secret understanding of things that English people don’t? I really didn’t want to be rude because I knew in my heart that she was one of these people brought up and conditioned to dislike and even hate the English. I watched Braveheart and it was a good film, end of story. She seemed really sweet, but she wasn’t the kind of girl that I would usually be friends with. After all, I am re-inventing myself.
‘Yes, nice to meet you too,’ I reply.

The only voice that can be heard on the drive to the hotel is Vanessa’s. She talked constantly, her excitement spilling into my ear. The others were quite happy to look out the window. Randy gives us instructions for our transfer from the hotel in the morning to the airport, he hands us some dinner vouchers to use in the hotel tonight and waves us goodbye. He shouts back over his shoulder to remind us to get wake-up calls for 5.30 am. ‘You don’t want to be late for work on your first day, right?’ he says, his eyebrows arched enquiringly. Naturally he is joking. I can recognize a jester when I see one. We wouldn’t be expected to work tomorrow with jet lag and everything.

It was only afternoon here in Seattle and everyone knows that you must always go to bed at your regular time after an international flight to avoid jet lag. As we made our way to our rooms we agreed to meet up later for dinner.
Finally in my hotel room I settle down on the huge sized bed and watch some American television. The hotel was more like a motel. The mustard coloured curtains match the bedspread and the well-worn rug on the floor. The view from the window is of the garbage area down below and a derelict building across the street that is towering way above the hotel blocking any chance of a view. It was probably last decorated in the eighties, but it was clean and comfortable.

I read the itinerary for tomorrow, the big day before taking a quick look at all my beautiful clothes lying crushed and unloved in my suitcase and decide what to wear for this evening. I don’t want to appear too dressed up tonight, I’d rather leave the really special outfits to surprise them all at a later date, and so I settle for a pair of Levi’s and a white shirt. After showering, I always leave my hair clipped up on the top of my head to dry naturally, it’s never dry by the morning because it’s so damn thick, but when I let it down it’s worth the uncomfortable night’s sleep to see it cascade in big thick locks down my back. It really is my best asset and us redheads need all the help we can get.

Going through the torture of school and being called names like ‘Carrot Head’ and ‘Ginger Nut’ wasn’t my idea of fun and has left me scarred for life. I couldn’t wait to leave school where the children’s honesty was brutal. Just as I wiped the beads of sweat off my forehead from high school I started college where the jokes went from the hair on my head to the hair in my pants. I finally grew to like my hair, not the attention that surrounded it, but the fact that I stood out a little.

Dinner was served in the hotel bar next to the billiard table. It was fattening and tasty. The portions were huge and my stomach was still on breakfast time or was it dinnertime? I still couldn’t work it out. Trevor had fallen asleep and could not be woken. Vanessa controlled the conversation and I took the opportunity to take a look at the others.
‘I decided to take a year out after completing my degree to give the brain a little rest,’ laughed Vanessa.
The little red devil on my shoulder is telling me that a year really wasn’t necessary, but instead I tell her that I know what she means, and that after studying so hard for so long it’s good to take a year out and away from it all. (Just to point out that I also have a degree, well a Diploma.)
‘So, are you all excited about tomorrow?’ I ask, hoping someone is willing to be the first to admit that they are as nervous as I am.
Greg was the first to respond. ‘I wouldn’t say excited exactly, more apprehensive I think. A friend of mine worked on a cruise line last year and said it was a bit of a nightmare.’
‘So why are you here Greg if that’s what you think?’ I ask, surprised that he could even think that. Allison and Vanessa make noises urging him to answer the question. I mean, what a silly thing to say, how could working on a luxury liner be anything but fantastic?
‘Actually, I’m a photographer,’ he replies, changing position in his chair. His trousers are drawn in closer to his crotch to reveal a fairly large package. ‘And this seemed like a good opportunity to add some travel shots to my portfolio, so even if the job sucks it serves my needs.’
Good on him I think, snapping myself away from his crotch. Big of him to own up to how he’s feeling. I’m sure that we’re all nervous about tomorrow. I can imagine myself liking Greg or at least being attracted to him. It’s a shame he’s from England though, nothing to do with England of course. If I were to meet someone special on the ship, and hopefully I will or Iona will kill me after the effort we have put in to planning this whole trip, it seems a bit dumb to meet Mr British who I could meet down at the local pub.

Allison tells us she wants to become a fitness instructor on ships and that she took this job to get some on-board experience to add to her CV. She left her boyfriend Alex at home and was already missing him terribly. They had been together for almost a year when he had suddenly proposed just before she left. The obvious translation of this little scenario is that Alex is either terribly insecure or jealous.
‘I nearly didn’t come you know,’ she sighed. And that is exactly what he would have planned on, Allison, I think to myself. These things are better left unsaid, especially as we are just getting to know each other.

I need to shake of this negativity. Gosh, I think to myself, I am turning into a bitter twisted cow. Come to think of it, I am feeling a bit odd. The flight over has knackered me a bit but other than that I’m feeling strange and even out of character. We are all definitely testing the water and pigeonholing each other. I have basically figured Allison out but Vanessa was a bit more difficult. Her looks were deceiving, very attractive but talks far too much and has a really strong Liverpudlian accent and sounds like she has a lump of phlegm at the back of her throat when she speaks. Greg is a tad arrogant but probably feels a little uncomfortable surrounded by all the girls.
‘If and when you become a fitness instructor, how are you going to manage a long distance relationship, Allison?’ Vanessa asks, sensibly.
‘Oh I don't know, perhaps Alex can sail with me, I’m sure there would be enough space in my room for the two of us.’
‘I heard that you have to share a room,’ says Vanessa, smiling and looking round the table at us, waiting for our reactions.
‘Don’t be silly Vanessa,’ I say, ‘where did you hear that?’
‘A mate of mine told me, I think he read it somewhere, I can’t imagine it can you?’
‘Well, even if we do, I’m sure it will be fun,’ I say, more to convince myself than anyone else. Of course I don’t believe it for a second. They would have mentioned it at the interview for a start. Come to think of it, they didn’t talk too much about anything at the interview. And I was so busy trying to be the right candidate so when they asked me if I had any questions, it didn’t occur to me to ask if I would be sharing a room.
‘What about you?’ enquires Vanessa, ‘why did you decide to come away from home?’
‘Well to be truthful [half] I decided it was time to spread my wings a bit. I left university [college] qualified to work in the travel sector but ended up in an entirely different job so I decided to get back on track and this was the most drastic measure I could take, not to mention the most exciting.’ I congratulate myself on not mentioning being dumped by Giles and stuff. The more you tell people about yourself the more opportunity it gives them to build a mental picture of you and no one likes a victim.
‘Well I hope you won’t be disappointed, any of you,’ says Greg while clicking his fingers at the waiter.
‘What do you mean?’ we chorus. And what’s with the clicking of the fingers thing he just did?
‘Well,’ he begins, ‘I have a lot of experience as a bartender and have actually managed TGIs in London so I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you all end up working under me in a couple of months’ time.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean, you’re not the only one here who has pulled pints before,’ says Allison. ‘It was my first job after University,’ she adds, defensively.
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he says evenly. I am expecting serious back-pedalling and major sucking-up any second now.
‘What I actually meant was that I am naturally the obvious person within the group to advance further. Not only am I Cambridge-educated, but I also have extensive experience, not to mention my natural ability to get along with people and switch on the charm when the opportunity arises.’
For the first time since we met I am warming to Vanessa and Allison. We exchange eye signals across the room that only another female could interpret. ‘Fuck you’ is shooting across the room in his direction but he comes back not even remotely wounded.

‘Rugby is my game you see, team spirited and pretty good even though I say so myself.’ Off he goes on some macho chauvinistic crap, and to think that I had briefly imagined a future together and bearing his children. You have to consider all options, right?
‘Excuse me,’ bursts in Allison, spitting potatoes. ‘I realize that you may feel more qualified to be here than the rest of us, but we all got the job. So, perhaps we can just get to know each other and who knows, sometime in the future we might all get promotions.’
Well done Allison, I think to myself as the conversation slips into silence.

Shortly afterwards Greg gets up and bows slightly bidding us all farewell and goodnight while promptly forgetting his share of the drinks bill.
The girls and I watch him leave and as soon as he rounds the corner we all huddle in and shred him to pieces. Allison didn’t say too much but Vanessa was foaming at the mouth.

It was the best thing that could have happened, he gave us an opportunity to unite on something and blend together, nothing like a good old-fashioned bitching session. We order another round of drinks and settle in for a good old gossip. When we had finished with Greg he was reduced to some squirming worm being trodden on by a six-inch stiletto heel, then we set about planning the next six months on the cruise.
‘I hope I took enough clothes,’ giggles Vanessa.
‘I am so glad you said that, the same thought has crossed my mind a hundred times,’ I say, relieved not to be the only one.
‘I know we are here to work, but I hope that we will have some fun,’ she says.
‘Me too,’ joins in Allison. ‘I know that I have Alex and I'm already missing him, but I like a good laugh and I can’t wait to get started.’
Allison goes on to tell us that she comes from a small town outside Edinburgh where there are little in the way of job prospects. Her Mum was over the moon about her getting this opportunity to get away, but her Dad was furious. ‘He thinks women on ships are all whores,’ says Allison. ‘Bit old-fashioned my Dad. I studied in Edinburgh for three years and had just got used to my independence when I met Alex. He works in his dad’s company as a plumber in our hometown. It was love at first sight with us, but there was no way I wasn’t going to come when I got the phone call from the cruise ship people to say I’d been accepted. I had dreamed of it long before I met Alex and he understands.’
‘Don’t you think that six months is a long time to be apart Allison?’ I asked her, not really understanding how she could do it. I could see that she was desperately in love with this guy, but on the other how could she leave him?
‘Yes, you’re right, but we’ll be fine. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that,’ she says, looking away. I look at Allison and feel really sorry for her, this must be very hard for her. This Alex guy should think himself really lucky. Allison obviously believes in their relationship a hundred per cent.

Having just been thrown over for Pam and her five sisters myself, I admire Allison for her gutsy way of doing what she wants, even if it means leaving the love of her life thousands of miles away. Perhaps if I had been more like Allison, Giles and I might still have been together now.
‘Hey,’ says Vanessa, in a conspiring tone, ‘what about Trevor then, silent moody type eh?’
‘Yeh, difficult to work him out really,’ I add.
‘I overheard Greg telling Trevor on the plane that he takes nude photographs,’ chirps in Allison.
‘No,’ breathe Vanessa and I in unison. I can see myself now on the front cover of some fantastic magazine being ‘tastefully‘ photographed on some distant shore by the wonderful Greg who turned out to be a terribly nice guy after all. The photographs will sell worldwide and I will live in a penthouse in Paris. My family will jet over to see me whenever they like and Iona and I will spend half the year in health spas. In reality, with every hang-up I have about my body the last thing I would ever do is to show it to the world.
‘I'm going to give him a chance to prove that he isn’t just the self righteous git that he’s been so far,’ I say, turning the conversation back to Greg. He has served a purpose and we have bonded together but I’m sure it must be his nervousness about the job that is making him act like that. ‘No one can be that stuck up surely?’
‘I don’t think he cares either way,’ says Vanessa. ‘No offence Ginny, but the guy is so fucking full of himself.’
Vanessa’s accent is getting stronger with each glass of wine and I can’t help thinking that she needs to swallow whatever’s in the back of her throat as I subconsciously swallow for her. Her ‘fucking’ is pronounced ‘fuching,’ not nearly giving the word justice.
‘I certainly won’t be going out of my way to be friends with him. He wouldn’t last a minute in Liverpool,’ she goes on.
‘What about Trevor then, Allison?’ I ask. She seems to know more about everyone than I do.
‘Nice chap,’ she says, ‘just a bit of dark horse that’s all I can see. He said he went to college but dropped out when his father died. I think he’s here to get away from things more than anything.’
Well I know one thing; he’ll not be feeling so great tomorrow if he’s sleeping now. His body clock will be up the spout. We propose a toast, to the next six months of sea, sand, Officers (foreign) and having a lot of fun. We raise our glasses and clink them together and fall about laughing.

For the next hour we speak about the interview, job and the salary. Vanessa had been told that the crew has a separate swimming pool to the passengers and that you have no day off. Allison didn’t even have an interview. She just sent her curriculum to the office in Scotland and they sent her a letter offering her the job and some paperwork to fill out. She said that she had phoned up and asked about the salary and hours and stuff and was basically given the same information as us. As long as we were there on the ship little else mattered, that was the general consensus between us.

As I lay in bed later that night, sleepless in Seattle, I drifted off to sleep congratulating
myself on doing something with my life. This is the bravest thing I have ever done on my own.