Juggling Jesse

Every entry, enclave, opening and orifice in the living room is blocked by a cushion of some description. Because Steve and I have been beaten to a pulp by the effervescence of our non stop nine month old ninja. Steve has taken to attempting to pad every potential pitfall in the vicinity to give our arms a moments respite therefore enabling Jesse to career from wall to wall without hurting himself or us.

In these increasingly stranger times we live in, I have just returned from a socially-distanced walk through the housing estate behind our home to settle the baby. He fights sleep. He has serious FOMO (‘Fear Of Missing Out’ to us non-millenials) But finally he gave in about ten minutes into the stroll and so whilst Steve has retreated to bed to nap, I find myself in a blissful, all be it temporary moment of silence. And I have a FEW minutes to do what I like, an utter rarity these days. So I thought I would write a little. 

The life I now live, of which Jesse is obviously the focal point, has changed markedly since my prior existence as a Guest Entertainer onboard cruise lines. I am still a performer, but now also an Entertainment Agent with two businesses, one in the UK and one in the US and for the foreseeable we intend to split our time between countries.

I wrote a blog when I worked at sea and I do miss the opportunity to challenge the creative element of my grey matter a little. The series of anecdotes detailed my international travels and the calamities that befell me commuting from ship to ship. I wondered if I had anything to offer now? Anything anyone would take an interest in reading. I guess we will see.

I wont bore you with a backstory as many readers will know me I’m sure, and I have decided not to write chronologically either as this isn’t my life story and I have absolutely zero intention or opportunity to commit to this on a regular basis. But even though the advent of  my unplanned geriatric pregnancy may have chartered a new course for my little family, it’s still a pretty radical way to the live all the same.

My baby has a visa already and has travelled to the United States and back five times, Scotland and Southampton twice and Ireland. He is nine months old. He is destined for a transient life and I am not apologetic for that. I haven’t ‘given up’ anything to become a Mum, I have just picked the teeny terror up and carried him with me the whole way.

Jesse is a dream baby by all accounts. He has slept through the night pretty much since he was about three or four months old, although at the minute somewhat fitfully. He moves about his bed like a salted slug as he drags his baby sleeping bag behind him. He never sits still. Ever. The exception to this is ‘Peppa Pig’. A delightful children’s TV show he has enjoyed the colours of since he was a tiny tot. But there are only five seasons of the show and I have now seen every episode so many times I feel like I’m related to her. But he likes it, so I’m fine with it. 

He eats well and has done since we tried him on real food. He never really had baby food per say, All of the pre natal workshops I attended recommended you to give him real food with no sugar and salt added. So we have done really and I’m glad as the thought of having to test baby food for the temperature made me baulk. He knows what he likes but has just taken to trying to yank the spoon from me. He is freakishly strong. The other day whilst unloading the shopping into our fridge I had popped him in his baby walker as I am want to do when I have to actually achieve something. I was aware he was below me as I loaded the top shelf. The fridge is, what we would call in the UK an ‘American Style’ fridge. In the States they call it a fridge. Blissfuly unaware of my youngsters guile and ever increasing ability to select only the things in life he is forbidden from having (TV remote, the fire, Mummy’s wine) he clattered my ankles with his ‘Uber’ as we have affectionately termed it. As I yelped I looked down to discover this little lunatic was holding a half full litre bottle of Absolut vodka in ONE HAND and attempting to swig it. Before you freak, the LID WAS ON... and we had no limes anyway.The boy has taste. He’s his Mothers son ;-)

His other single handed feats of unbelievable strength have included him pulling a bottle of sparkling wine from the rack, picking up my laptop, and his piece de resistance which is gouging chunks of my flesh with his fingers at night to foil my attempts at soothing him to slumber. I suspect his theory on this is that if I am not relaxed (or rather, am in abject pain) I can no longer relax him and therefore he will not miss out on anything. MY theory however is that because I had a caesarian section and therefore did not actually witness the baby physically being born, he is actually from Krypton and shall grow into a sibling to rival Superman for strength, agility and other worldly powers. Therefore: 

1. Explaining his already burgeoning super-skills at evading sleep, having his nose wiped and at how far he managed to lob a toy from his pram today. 
2. Ensuring Steve and I a comfortable retirement as we profit from his inevitably numerous endorsements 
3. Quantifying why we both got so darn lucky with such an amazing kid who clearly cannot be genetically ours. 

We have a great family support network here in the UK and after the Covid 19 situation began to ramp up a little in mid March, and the US president made mention that he may close the borders to international flights, we thought it best to hot foot it home to the UK where we had planned to spend summer seeing family and running the UK branch of our operations. The pandemic has obviously ransacked those ideas and so now its just the three of us here in our home about ten miles out of Manchester in the North West of the UK. 

At the beginning of the year when we were first in Florida, we had no help with child care and we managed albeit incredibly tired at times, to juggle the businesses, my performances and Steve’s professional golf career. We carefully regimented our days, took it in turns to take the wriggler out for a walk when the other of us had something important to achieve and when all that failed, going to bed at 8pm to try and catch up on rest. It was HARD. Imagine trying to take your baby to the office and expecting to get anything done. But we coped and having the early morning option of a ten minute stroll to the beautiful Boynton Beach with the baby, followed by a bagel or pancakes at a friendly local eaterie, all before the start of the working day made rising at the crack of dawn just that little bit more paletable. And before this is misconstrued as any sort of a moan, which it most certainly is not, now Jesse is a couple of months older and a whole lot more physically capable, not having any assistance with him or indeed, any of the above (other than our regimented hour a day of exercise the government in the UK has currently allowed us) has really made us both appreciate the times we have had help in the past. 

I don’t want to pass him off, and we have a line of people offering to help us whenever we need it.. under usual circumstances. But for all of us, a hug from a loved one not resident in our household, not even a night on the tiles, seems like a distant possibility at present.

I have decided to treat this time as the maternity leave I never really gave myself. Four weeks after Jesse was born we made the decision to take over a business in the US. Two weeks later the three of us and my mum were on a plane to Miami to see a lawyer. Even though we are limited, I am less stressed than I have felt in a year.

Some mornings after his wake up bottle of milk, he might doze between Steve and I in bed  for an hour. And its lovely. Hearing his little shallow breaths and feeling him kick me repeatedly in the ribs as he 360’s till he is comfortable. But his newest trick and by far my favourite to date is how he chooses to wake me from my doze if he rises before I do. Its his precision technique of inserting his right index finger into my left nostril. Wake up Mummy. I’m ready to play.

The Angel Gabriel

I was winning at life today.

Totally.

 I woke BEFORE my alarm and I felt like May the 27th was going to be a good day for me.  

It was all part of a plan you see… to escape and evade the perpetual feeling of doom I have been experiencing, all too frequently of late, at the thought of my impending 40th birthday in July, 

Not dealing with… not coping with it…even trying to rationalise it...hadn’t been working for me. Every time I thought about it I was close to tears. With no real legitimate reason why. I have hated my birthday for as long as I can remember but this years' came with its own extra fortified feeling of lament. And I knew full well I was driving everyone around me crazy with my moping, especially Steve. So in the last couple of days I had made the decision to focus my attention on what I was going to achieve during my 40th year on earth. 

 It was going to be BIG and it all started today.

I was leaving the Celebrity Reflection in Naples, Italy today to join the Celebrity Constellation in Venice. It would include a quick stop in Rome. Quick being the operative word, just an hour from wheels down to wheels up on my connecting flight but I was PREPARED! On my outbound journey from the UK to the Reflection I had been booked on an airline that had only allowed a measly 5kg hand luggage allowance so I hadn’t been able to bring my ‘Trusty Goes Everywhere With Me’ backpack (which has actually recently been replaced with a new one… see appendices) or a wheelie trolley bag as my musical arrangements alone weigh more than that. I had packed them in an oversized handbag kind of affair and hoped my smiley disposition and witty reparté may distract the staff at check in adequately enough to let me by… it had indeed worked. However, Rome Fiumicino airport is huge and I have lost many a bag here. So in Piraeus this week, along with having an AMAZING lunch at Bardolini’s (see pics) I had bought a cheap wheelie trolley bag so I could pack some things for the upcoming cruise should my luggage go AWOL as on occasion, as you well know, it is want to do.

So today I was super hyper prepared. I checked out of my cabin early so the incoming entertainer who I knew was performing that night, could get into her room as soon as she arrived. I had packed a small side bag of things I needed so I could shower in the onboard spa after a leisurely hour or so in the sun on deck… I had washed and blow-dried my hair and applied a full face of slap. This whole new super organised me had planned to try and grab dinner with a friend tonight so my advance preparation was all part and parcel of my plan to maximise my time with him in Venice. 

I had even done laundry. 

I paid my bill at reception and after a rather lengthy conversation with someone at Guest Relations, regaling all his travel misdemeanours to me, I was off. 

I had left plenty of time and I made my way with my bags to the taxi rank in the port.

“The airport please” I asked the closest taxi driver who was desperately trying to sell a tour to Pompeii to the passers by

He looked at me blankly.

“The airport please. I need a taxi. How much to the airport?”

“Fifty Euros” he barked 

“No No” I replied. I know its only thirty euro’s tops to the airport and expected him to counter with a better offer.

“There. Get the bus. Five Euro” and he pointed towards the red and white rumbling engine to my right. 

Fair enough I thought. I am not paying Fifty Euros for a ten minute cab ride. Though the company reimburse us for the transfer costs, it was a matter of principle to me. As a woman travelling on my own I am frequently ripped off by taxi drivers but for my own safety I often have to renage and go with it. But this is Italy and I know where the airport is. The driver even dismounted the bus, smiled at me warmly and loaded my luggage for me onto the waiting vehicle.

Winning

At

Life

I sat there smugly, and as the bus departed at half capacity I looked out of the window and smiled. I like this new ‘Super Organised Me', I thought. I’ve never been disorganised per say, you can’t really be in my line of work. I have flights to catch, connections to make, and I have started another business in this past year, finding and developing acts for cruise lines. With all of that and all that comes with it… starting a Limited Company, filing taxes, and just generally needing to run my life alongside what have effectively now become two full time jobs, I feel a little like Clark Kent at times… running into a compact space to change into my alter ego… but in my instance its most likely an aeroplane bathroom. 

My luggage shot across the bus as I quickly began to realise that it matters not what size of vehicle you are the purveyor of in Naples, the drivers are all as crazy as each other. 

I lunged for my bag and stumbled off the seat… the whole bus looked at me as if to say “silly tourist”

I looked back with my very best “actually… I am a professional traveller” demeanour. No one was looking. No one was bothered. After taking corners like a rally driver and desperately trying to cling on to my two cases and my dignity we stopped in ‘Piazza Garibaldi” in the Centre of Naples itself where a line of 35,000 passengers were waiting to board the fun bus. 

A quick glance to my left and I saw that this was indeed a part of Naples i had yet to see. I made a mental note I must not just eat my own body weight in pizza the next time I’m in town but instead make an effort to return here. A glance to my right informed me I should not really attempt to do it by bus. As the passengers eased and squeezed themselves and their luggage aboard i felt a little uneasy. Not because of the heat, or the crowd or even the perilous half-lunge pose I was having to perpetuate to keep a hold on my belongings…something just didn’t feel right.

As the bus hurtled its way through the streets of the city, paying little to no heed to oncoming traffic, the right of way or the need for its passengers to remain vertical, I started to feel anxious.

Something isn’t right.

Something feels off.

I ran through the events of the day, trying to reassure myself that new, ‘Super Organised Me’ had if anything, over achieved today and the there was nothing to worry about.

And as the movie in my mind ran through the chronological happenings of the day and paused unexpectedly at the guest relations desk where I had paid my bill and listened to the eon’s of travel stories, it struck me.

My Passport.

I don’t have my passport.

I HAVE FORGOTTEN MY PASSPORT!!!

Like most people, the initial instinct was to panic.

The second thought was, well I have two passports, I’ll be OK. I am indeed allowed to hold two UK passports as regularly I need to submit one for visas.

Then I realised that because of the lack of hand luggage allowance on my outbound flight I had left my other travel wallet at home and thus the passport. For the first time ever.

I felt hot.

I knew however, that time was on my side. New ‘Super Organised Me’ had left for the airport 4 hours before the domestic flight, and pending me being able to contact someone onboard for help, I would be ok.

I alighted the bus and deliberately held my cool as I assertively pushed my face through the window of a taxi that still had a passenger in the back seat.

“Help me, help me... emergency” I blurted.

Ok, so not so cool then. 

“Lady! Lady!” the driver gesticulated…fingers to thumbs, pinching motion… shaking his hands.. just SO italian… like… we were in movie about to embark on a high speed chase. 

“I have left my passport on the Cruise Ship….” etc etc. And I regaled my torrid turn of events.

“You do NOT need to worry lady.” he retorted. “I have got this”

And off we smoked into the distance… the bus journey seeming like a stroll in a perambulator by relative comparison.

I swung around the back seat, trying to charge my waining phone battery with my laptop and desperately attempting to contact anyone on the ship I had a means of communicating with.

No Luck

To be fair, if i was in Naples today I would also not be on the ship awaiting my communications… I would be where they were. 

Eating a whole lotta pizza

I had to make a decision. The likelihood is I would now have to hurtle myself up the stairs, through the terminal building, grovel my way past two sets of security and bag checks before flinging myself down the stairs to Guest Relations to beg for my passport back. Could I legitimately do that with two suitcases and an oversized ten tonne handbag?? NO.

I asked the driver if he would wait for me.

“I will pay you. I will pay you!!!” I gasped. “Please can you wait for me??”

“Lady!” he retorted. “Why are you worrying? I said I got this. You go. Don’t worry. And I will drive you like the fast and the furious”

If THAT was not the fast and the furious, what the heck WAS the fast and the furious? I had no time to contemplate and I did something I have ever done before. I left my suitcases in the back of a waiting taxi and legged it for the ship.

I did however take my ten tonne handbag with me, my thinking being that if my driver had a penchant for ladies fashion and skidaddled with my belongings, at least I could still make a living with my sheet music.

Security were great. They did everything they could to help me, though understandably, procedures have to be adhered to and i came careering down the gangway and towards security as fast as my minisicule legs could carry me.

Earlier this week I pulled a muscle in my calf walking into Piraeus. the day before I had walked down the 580 steps in Santorini from the town of Fira to the tender boat port and it’d been a little testing on me as I am not particularly used to wearing flats. Those of you who have seen my show will know, I’m used to running down the stairs, not really walking. I was feeling a little stiff on my walk in Greece but all I did was turn sharply and something went ‘ow’ in my leg. Convinced I would walk it off I thought nothing of it.

Today however, said calf strain has decided it is not playing ball with me running up and down flights of stairs with my ten tonne handbag trying to rescue my abandoned documents. Imagine me, fringe now stuck to my face, bright red, giant bag on my shoulder shouting “oooo ow ooo ow” as I ascended the stairs like an awful Benny Hill tribute. 

Passport in hand I headed back to my waiting cab where my knight in shining Ray bans was waiting for me. 

“Lady! Don’t worry. I will save you!” and we screeched out of the car park like Batman and Robin if they travelled in a sensibly priced saloon.

As we pulled into the airport, with more than enough time to spare, the driver glanced at me though his rear view mirror.

“See lady! I said I would save you.”

“Yes my dear,” I exclaimed “ You are indeed my hero”

He grinned from ear to ear.

“Today lady, I am your angel”

“Indeed yes” I concurred, thinking about what a good blog this would make. 

“What is your name?” I asked him.

“Gabriel” He answered, and winked at me.

The angel gabriel

Course it is.

Appendices

Unfortunately, a couple of weeks ago, “Trusty Goes Everywhere With Me Backpack” had to be permanently laid to rest after an unfortunate series of events at Manchester Airport.

Twas another day, much like the above, where I had arrived comfortably early for my flight and managed to chat my way out of an excess luggage charge at check in. 

My bags are all too frequently taken off the belt in security as they are often too tightly packed and on this occasion I had taken precautionary measures to avoid this and separated my belongings a little.

Murphy’s law, my bag was chosen for a ‘random search’. Whilst being routinely swabbed by the security staff, and after several other senior member of staff had been ushered over to inspect the sample, it was revealed to me that my bag had tested positive for explosives.

Mortified, I was taken to one side, questioned and searched.

Where was I going? Where had I been that day? Why was I travelling alone? What had I been up to?

I told them I had given my bathroom a good bleach and maybe that could account for the chemical traces on my bag. 

 Alas, no.

It transpired that the hairbrush in my bag, which was indeed the vehicle of transportation for some of my newly dyed follicles was the culprit as apparently hair dye has some of the same components as explosive materials.

I always knew my hair had a tendency towards the dramatic, but this took it to the next level.

At this point I explained that as the music in my bag may well demonstrate, singing power ballads to pensioners does not indeed make me a terror threat and after effectively apologising for having stubborn greys, I headed off on my way. 

On my return from this trip I felt it best to dispose of my contaminated bag for fear that I might trigger a series of unfortunate events forthwith, and I therefore dedicate this blog to the memory of my trusted travel accomplice, sacrificed in his prime through no fault of his own. May he find fulfilment with other discarded backpacks wherever he may now be.

Miami... the long way around!!!

Its a two hour journey on a bad day from the port of Puerto Quetzal in Guatemala to the capital city airport. Today it took three.

I arrived nonetheless with two other entertainers with whom I had just spent an enjoyable and successful three days on the Celebrity Infinity… still full of the joys. Because I was flying to Miami. Direct. And in three hours time I would have two nights and a full day and a half to myself, to do what I wanted...See friends, shop, have a cheeky vino or two before joining the awesome celebrity Equinox in Miami for the last cruise of four in a row. For those of you who have read my previous commentaries you’ll know I am always very fond of my albeit short but sweet stays in the South of Florida. Having joined and left ships here during the winter months for the last three or four years I have accumulated a lot of great friends in the area and my knowledge of outlet shopping is akin to a local. So I was excited, despite the lengthy commute and the early start.

I trundled along to the American Airline self check machines and after several fruitless attempts I had to call on a member of staff for help. Very pleasantly he tried himself twice to access my booking and there was no joy. He kindly helped me with my copious luggage (yup… still travelling with all those shoes) to a customer service desk where it transpired there had been an issue with the booking and it had been cancelled. 

I wasn’t worried. These things happen. Oversights usually, so I called my agent in the UK who was heading out of the office and asked him to help. 

Eric, the comedy magician I had been travelling with approached me with a puzzled expression… 

“Whats going on?’ he enquired. His glances towards the luggage I was still in possession of, clearly causing him confusion.

“Don’t worry” I explained “Little hiccup. I’m on with it. My agent will be sorting it out for me. Listen, you head through departures and I’ll see you shortly. We are both very hungry and I don’t want to keep you waiting. I have no idea how long this is going to take”

Last night I had performed a 'one off’  kind of show in the Grand Foyer of the ship. It was well attended and very enjoyable but because of the time of the show, my inability to eat food before I sing and the ludicrously early time our pick up for the airport had been scheduled for, I hadn’t eaten in 24 hours.

“I don’t like leaving you… you sure you’ll be ok?” he asked ever so gallantly. ‘Want an emergency protein bar?"

“Thanks but no I’m fine. We’ll eat properly soon. I’ll be there annoying you shortly” I assured him. We had been scheduled to take the same flight and I had every intentions of bugging him the entire way to Miami with my childlike excitement.

Ten minutes later my agent called back.

“Your booking was cancelled Jayne but they have booked you another flight. Have you got a pen??”

Theres no public wifi in the Departure hall of Guatemala Airport so I had resorted to texting and calls. It had already cost me a fortune.

"Your flight is now at 4pm. Via Panama City and you’ll arrive in Miami at 1am tonight”

My heart sank.

As regular readers will know, I am a ‘Person of Interest’ in the immigration system in the States due to a misunderstanding with my ESTA earlier this year. I am now in possession of not one but TWO legitimate visa’s which allow me unlimited entries to the States for ten years… but I‘m still in the system regardless and EVERY TIME I enter through Miami airport I am detained. For anywhere up to four hours.

My early evening arrival had meant that regardless of my fate on this particular day.. I would be in bed at a reasonable time and ready to have Breakfast with friends and pound the pavements of the ‘Miami Dolphin Mall’ earlier than the first cock crows. Not that I had ever heard a cock crow in Miami.

This was going to be tough. A 1am arrival. Then join a line to learn my fate. I wasn’t relishing it. But I was trying to remain positive.

When I find myself in these situations I usually try to take a minute to think about all the awesome experiences this job has afforded me. It takes the sting out of the tail a bit.

I have been out on cruises now since October 28th when I joined the splendid Celebrity Eclipse in Southampton for her transatlantic repositioning cruise to the States. It was seven consecutive days at sea and whilst the weather can be unpredictable and the many sea days a little weary, this time it was exactly the opposite. I’m fortunate enough to have an excellent working relationship with the cruise director Eddy, and he and I had met a month or so previous to discuss a few Ideas I had come up with to add to the entertainment programme and make the whole experience a little more eventful and rewarding for the guests and the other entertainers. He gave me the thumbs up and whilst it was an inordinate amount of work and I found myself either on stage, in rehearsal or in the shower for the entire duration of the trip, I seldom remember a trip I enjoyed more. It had ignited a fire in me… my creative juices had been flowing and the feedback and positivity it had stimulated catapulted me towards the rest of these subsequent back to back contracts with a vigour I haven’t felt for a long while.

From there I had been to Celebrity Reflection in Roatan Honduras, where I had spent a night in a beautiful and tranquil hotel on a diving lagoon, perfect for rest and relaxation and an opportunity to recoup some energy before the next ship and a new set of shows. It was not ideal however, for pest avoidance… It was my fault… I had left open the balcony door for too long and I woke the next morning in abject horror to discover that I had been bitten to death by a mosquito. But only on my right boob… which was now accurately akin to a squashed Blueberry muffin. Not attractive. 

From Reflection I had headed to Celebrity Infinity in Puerta Vallarta Mexico and from whence I was currently making my way to Miami.

Buoyed by these thoughts of the past few weeks, I shuffled over to the ‘Copa Airlines’ desk to check in for my new ‘around the houses’ version of my previous route only to be told the ticket hadn’t been paid for. 

Not a problem. Another call to my agent in the UK and all was sorted. However, Copa have a strict policy about flying into the US and because I had no exiting flight details or any paperwork they deemed official enough to allow me board the ship in the States, they refused to check me in. 

Several more calls to my agent in the UK and a two hour wait and finally I was issued with a boarding pass.

By this point I don’t mind telling you I was a little frazzled. My correspondences with the UK had racked up to over £100 and knowing the other acts were now somewhere around 35,000 feet on their way directly to Miami made me feel envious and a little sad I’m not proud to say. One more incident in customs with being shoved to the back of the line and my patience had evaporated.

I dragged myself to the nearest bar.

“I need a beer. Its an emergency” I told the bar tender and she smiled and poured me cup. My eyes were hot and red as i gobbled the first mouthful.

I finally got online and managed to message Steve who had understandably been worrying as I had been sending him text messages as the drama had unfolded.

“I can’t talk right now. I’m too upset. Let me just have this beer and calm down” I wrote

“Whats happened? Are you ok? Are you SAFE??”

And I realised at that moment what an irritating drama queen I was being. This is NOT a big deal. In the grand scheme of things I stand to be a little inconvenienced. My plans for a hotel evening of CNN’s 'Anderson Cooper' and Chinese take away food in little cardboard boxes like they have in American sit coms might have been kiboshed, but so what? I was safe.

It took me the duration of the plastic glass of beer (yes I AM a glass snob but today I was so not bothered) to rationalise the entire situation. And on boarding the aircraft I decided I was going to spend this next extra two airborne hours thinking about the highlights of the last two weeks….

The pop up jam night in Martini bar on Eclipse, getting to sing AND dance with some of the cast in a show I got to produce called ‘Duets’… a fantastic day in Boston sharing every kind of food conceivable in Quincy Market with some very good friends and a mini tour of the Irish bars…catching up with pals on Reflection, a lovely dinner in Tuscan grille with guests who travel with me regularly and then another in the Porch seafood restaurant with another couple from Belgium I have known for years. And the beautifully gift wrapped Belgian chocolates they had given me. A shore excursion to the rainforest in Costa Rica… seeing Sloths and Vipers and Herons in their natural habitat and tasting Pineapple that had been hanging on a tree only hours before…sweeter than I ever dreamed plausible... Joshua the dive instructor from ‘Barefoot Cay’ the hotel in Roatan, who drove me to the immigration office from the hotel and carried my luggage all the way to the ship for me.

I came to my seat ( a middle seat) and the gentleman in the aisle seat offered to switch with me.

“Really? How kind of you!” I exclaimed. “Thats the first nice thing that has happened to me today”

“Oh No!” he said in perfect English… “What’s happened?”

I told him and I felt foolish. 

He empathised with me and ooo’d and aaahhhh’d in all the right places. He was very sweet.

He told me he would be taking his first cruise this year.

“Oh do you work on Cruise Ships too?” I asked. His English was so good I thought he would have been an excellent International Host.

“No No I work in a bank. There are 60 of my colleagues on this flight. We are going to the Dominican Republic tomorrow on a trip with the bank”

“Oh how nice!” I offered”

“It is” He said “especially as 50 out of the 60 of us have never been on a plane before”

I was stunned. And shamed. And altogether put right back in my proper place.

How dare I moan.

I have been paid to see the entire globe. I’m the luckiest person I know.

It doesn’t matter HOW LONG it takes me to get to Miami. It doesn’t matter if I don’t get there today at all. I am SO fortunate. I am so lucky. And this guy has just given ME his seat.

Consider my attitude shifted. 

I attract calamity I think. Often times I worry its because I am not organised enough (though I try very hard to be) or I am simply doing too many things at once.

Just this summer on two consecutive cruises I went to the Celebrity Silhouette in Helsinki without A SINGLE PAIR of knickers but with SIX bras…..HOW???

And the cruise previous I had ended up on a train from Bruges to Amsterdam leaving one ship and joining another and after getting into an argument on the platform with a very rude ticket collector, had been forced to ride the whole way there sat in the luggage rack.

What I sometimes forget are examples like the generosity of the ‘Baker' family from Matlock, Derbyshire who allowed me to share their cab to Bruges from the port when I couldn’t get one so I didn’t miss my train, or the passengers on the Silhouette who bought extra CD’s because they knew that I would have to buy knickers in Stockholm which is one of the most expensive cities in Europe.

Never underestimate the magnitude of human kindness, It will bite you in the bum when you least expect it.

(Post Script… as I write this I am on the plane to Panama and I have just been given my airplane food… PIZZA! Plantain chips, Oreo’s and BEER!! Is this the best airplane meal EVER???????)

"Person of Interest" Part Two....

…… I took a deep breath and looked around me.

There were about a dozen other passengers waiting on the tarmac as a tiny propeller plane pulled into view. 

I tried to weigh up my options but I was just too tired to concentrate. My logic led me to conclude that everybody here was in a similar circumstance to me. They would all need onward transportation from the airport in Curacao. Hopefully somebody would be able to help me out at the other end. So I followed them blindly on to the aircraft figuring we may as well be stranded in bulk.

As the plane came in to land in Curacao I was more than surprised to discover my luggage was the first off the plane and onto the minuscule conveyor belt in the customs hall. Wearily I dragged my bag into the street where a couple were loading their bags into the back of a minivan on an otherwise deserted road. 

“Excuse me” I asked the driver. Is this the only taxi?

“Oh yes” he replied almost laughing. “Its 1am. I am the only one crazy enough to still be awake at this time. This is my last job of the night.”

I looked at the couple. They too looked tired but their faces were warm and friendly so I thought I might as well ask.

“Hello. I’m so sorry to bother you” (Brits become so very much more British in a crisis) Would it be possible for me to share your taxi to my hotel please? It isn’t far.”

They paused. Looked at each other… spoke to the driver in Dutch… who answered them in Dutch and they smiled and nodded.

“Thank you thank you thank you” I blurted and they giggled.

The hotel was indeed a short distance from the airport and the property, brightly painted and pristine looked very new.

I dragged my wares into reception and attempted to explain my predicament to the gentleman night manager.

I knew I was making very little sense. I was flapping and waffling and gesticulating… about cancellations and flights and runways and airports…

He stood there and let me finish before he silently walked to the fridge in the hotel lobby shop and took out a cool bottle of water.

“Here” the gentle giant proffered and I immediately fell silent and took a drink.

“I took your call earlier this evening Mrs Parry when you contacted the hotel to cancel the reservation. The airline has been experiencing a lot of problems recently and here in Curacao we are used to the last minute changes this throws our way. So I took the liberty of keeping your room for you… should this eventuality arise. Now, you take a moment to collect yourself and I’ll load the bags on to the golf cart and take you right there. What a long day you must have had”

Stunned for a moment… I hurriedly reached into my bag… rummaging through the used tissues and half eaten packets of Cheetos to find my purse to pay him for the water.

“No no.” he murmured very softly “Its on me"

And he smiled that warm caribbean welcome so synonymous with the Dutch Antilles. He was a huge man…tall and broad and soft with more teeth than an alligator as white as snow. I genuinely wanted to cuddle him right there and then. But I was aware of how incredibly terrible I smelled. 

Safely ensconsed in my brand new bed in my brand new hotel room after a cool shower and in some clean PJ’s I led there thinking about my day.

It was literally the kindness of other humans that meant I was here right now and not sleeping on a bench in an airport somewhere. 

On days like today, despite all that goes on in the world, I am gratefully reminded of the generosity of human nature. 

The contract on the beautiful Celebrity Eclipse was a great one… with my good friend and Cruise Director Eddy at the helm it was always going to be fun. And when I left the ship in Barbados to head to New Orleans to join the Equinox for the Mardi Gras cruise I was feeling as positive as I possibly could considering I had come down with an awful cough and cold during the week. I dosed up on everything available to me and messaged the Cruise Director John on Equinox to let him know how excited I was to be heading their way.

The flight from Barbados to Miami left around 3pm and I was due into Miami airport around 6pm local time.

I went though the usual airport motions… walking for what seemed miles from the arrival gate to immigration and then joining the enormous line in order to wait my turn to be seen. 

After what felt like around an hour I was called to the booth to present my documents, all too aware that it was now less than 60 minutes to my connecting flight. The stern faced Gentleman made as little eye contact with me as possible and took what felt like an eon to scan my passport and enter my details. It was then the probing questions began…

Where was I going? What was I doing? Where was my visa?

Again I tried to explain that I had been alerted to the necessity of a visa unbeknownst to me, during my transit through Fort Lauderdale. I tried to offer him the email on my mobile phone detailing the appointment I had made at the US Embassy in London on the absolute earliest date after my arrival back into the UK… and he brushed my hand aside, thrust a yellow slip of paper at me and pointed to the entry to the booth from whence I had just arrived.

“Wait there” was all he offered and I was not permitted to pass. 

I was summonsed by an equally unfriendly looking gentleman and told to join a line of people being ushered away from the crowds towards a different part of the airport. I was told to enter the room and wait for my name to be called.

I was utterly bewildered and disorientated. I hadn’t been told where I was or why. Just to take a seat and hand my luggage labels to an American  Airlines representative as ‘My bags were not being loaded onto the flight’

I sat and waited. Looking around anxiously trying to discern my surroundings and learn a little from what was happening to the dozens of other people sat around me. Some were called to a booth and sent on their way within minutes… some disappeared in to side rooms… only to reappear moments later and sit again before being recalled and readmitted sometime later. i was unsure of WHAT was going on. All I do know was that I was decidedly under the weather, we were not permitted to use our cellular phones AT ALL, I had now missed my connecting flight, no one had any answers for me other than ‘wait your turn’ but most worryingly I was now the only person sitting in this full room that had been here when i first arrived. Every seat had been vacated and refilled at least once and I was beginning to become increasingly upset. After 90 minutes I approached a booth… and before they could tell me to retake my seat i implored the lady 

“PLEASE. Just hear me out”

I explained to her why I thought I had been detained. that I had indeed done EXACTLY what had been asked of me by the immigration official in Fort Lauderdale… offered her the email to peruse and told her that I had missed my connection… that I had NO INTENTIONS of trying to stay in the US at all and that I just needed the opportunity to explain myself to someone.

She reluctantly looked up my case on the computer and answered.

“Most people here have queries on their green cards or resident permits. Because yours is an ESTA violation you;re going to have to wait”

“Violation?????” I retorted… “I’m not violating anything. I’m travelling on the exact same document every other guest entertainer travels on.” I was visibly shaken by her words.

“Let me see what I can find out” and she tap tap tapped away at her computer. And I retook my seat. And I heard nothing from her for an hour.

Two and a half hours after my initial arrival in purgatory I was millimetres away from completely losing my cool. There were no windows in the room… only one way in, one way out, one vending machine and one bathroom and the churning of anxiety had long since begun to spur in my gut. 

I have suffered with bouts of anxiousness for a few years now and though I am usually quite able to control it myself and talk myself out of an unnecessary panic.. my first step towards doing that is invariably to go out for air. This was not going to happen.

I reproached the tardy lady 

“Two and a half hours.”

That was all I said. 

And I just looked at her… now profusely sweating from my brow.. and she raised from her chair and went to speak to a colleague

Some twenty minutes later I was called into a side room where I began to AGAIN explain my circumstances to the fourth official of the day.

After a lengthy process of covering all the information I had so freely and openly shared with every other immigration officer I had encountered that day.

I had lost the will to argue my point. That I was not a mariner. I was not a crew member. I didn’t need a crew visa…. in the end I backed down and said “yes I’m sorry I’ll do that at the earliest possible opportunity” and finally he allowed me to leave.

It was well after 12 am

My bags had apparently already been sent to New Orleans without me. I had no clean clothes, no toothbrush or PJ’s. I was tired, sweaty, stressed and ill. I headed wearily to the American Airlines desk where the last member of staff was closing the counter for the day. I exhaled and started to regale my tale. Before I could even finish she had printed me a voucher for dinner, breakfast, a new flight and a hotel.

“Here honey." She smiled. "Get some rest. We’ll see you in the morning”

It wasn’t the airlines fault. I was amazed they were prepared to help me like that. I’d had visions of spending the next hour or so on the line to the emergency travel department at head office trying to re arrange everything over again.

“You have no idea how grateful i am” I whimpered. “This is so kind of you”

“I’m the supervisor. It has its perks.” and she winked and closed the desk.

This job has its ups and downs. And I know this amount of travelling and moving about is probably not a lifestyle neither I or my marriage could sustain long term. I often find myself wondering why I put myself through it. And then I think about the people. The people I meet on the ship every week. The passengers, the crew, the officers. 

And the taxi drivers, the dutch couple who let me share their cab, the gentle giant in the hotel and the airport staff like the amazing American Airlines lady. And I remember how incredibly fortunate I am. That I am allowed and encouraged to be part of strangers lives every day. That I get an opportunity, by means of sharing my show with them… to ever so minutely, give a little bit of something back.

When I lost my father suddenly in September I was angry at the world for a while.

Why him? Why us? He was only 64 and fit as a fiddle. And like anybody who is grieving, its a process that after only several months I am beginning to try to make sense of.

But then I think of everything my parents did for me, sacrificed for me to get me to this place. Yes I get stuck in airports, lose luggage, miss flights, catch more than the average share of airborne illnesses! But I get to do that ALL OVER THE WORLD because on that very first cruise some 15 years ago now, when I didn’t have the courage to go, my Mum and Dad booked and paid for the cruise so they could be there with me to support me.

So I don’t want to dwell on all the tough stuff. I share it with you cause its mildly amusing and I hope on occasion a little of an insight into what goes on in the crazy world of Guest Entertainers, because believe me, I am but one of hundreds of people treading this life path and experiencing this journey. Literally.

So in the most uplifting and warm hearted way I can possibly express, I dedicate this blog, both parts, (and the first one I have written since he died) to the memory of the most amazing man I ever knew. 

Someone very special to me told me “He was your Daddy and therefore he was the first man to ever have your heart”

And I know that because of him and my Mother, I have not only the best chance at life anyone could wish for, but that HE… my Dad… has THE BEST seat in the house now for every single performance.

Dedicated to the Memory of Bernard Curry 

5 March 1952- 17 September 2016