Three planes, a train and a broken shoe :-(

Today promised the delights of a ‘three flight’ travel day to a destination, which if flown direct, would take two hours. But no no no… I left my house at 6am this morning and I’ll be lucky if I hit my hotel in Cadiz, Spain, by 9pm tonight. This is par for the course when joining the ship here as there are no direct flights from Manchester and I have indeed taken this route, or the same in reverse, several times over the last few years. You would think then I’d have prepared myself better. I tried. I brought socks incase my feet got cold on the plane, I wore layers so I could adjust accordingly to said temperature, I packed relatively light as I’m only away for four nights.I even ate a small snack at Heathrow as I knew Iberia didn’t provide an in-flight meal service. I however, did not contend for the fact that I am well aware that Madrid Airport Terminal Four is one of the longest in Europe, and that because the UK is not part of the European Schengen visa system it invariably means the flights that arrive from the UK do so at the complete opposite end of the terminal to the domestic flight that I am taking from Madrid to Jerez. This time was the most extreme example as the gate I arrived at was literally THE furthest away gate from which I am departing. One far end of the terminal to the other. My flight inbound to Madrid was delayed so I set off marching as fast as my little legs and rucksack laden body would carry me.. hoping that the onward flight would be retarded a little also.

However, in true Jayne Curry style, I had chosen shoes to match my scarf and so I was in fact careering through the airport in six inch wedges like a slightly flustered, possibly less hairy Kardashian sister. I was determined not to run as to be honest my backpack was already battering the base of my spine with worrying frequency and everyone knows that sweating in public is just not becoming of a lady. Nevertheless, I pursued my mission, target in view, ignoring ‘Zara’, ‘Mc Donalds’ and the place that sells nice cured ham and focused on the task in hand. It was a long way. And just as I seriously thought the end was in sight, up pops a sign that says ‘K Gates..9 minutes walk’. Thats all well and good for people with well proportioned legs and sensible footwear but unfortunately now fitting neither of those categories I had to adopt a gentle jog to the gate, aware not only that I look ridiculous running in heels but that I was not wearing a sports bra and was in grave danger of giving myself two black eyes. 

Arms folded tightly across my bosom to suppress the motion I made the gate with a couple of minutes to spare I was grateful for the laid back, European “mañana” style attitude I was greeted with by the staff taking my boarding pass. I only hoped this same mantra was not currently being adopted by the baggage handlers, responsible for transferring my luggage from one flight to the next. Don’t get me wrong, I like the scarf and wedge combination I am currently travelling in, but I don’t want to wear it on stage!

On boarding the small aircraft scheduled for the 45 minute connecting flight to cadiz, the aisle seemed unusually small and parading through to row 15 proved a little more difficult when carrying a backpack full of sheet music. I took my time and was careful not to bang into the already seated passengers, smiling and ‘Ola’-ing to the best of my ability. I could smell the guy in the next seat to me before I even sat down. It was a combination of two day old KFC and an apparent distain for hygiene products. I have become an accomplished mouth breather since flying so frequently and I squeezed into my less than capacious seat and attempted to settle. 

“OOO I’ll just get my laptop out so I can write my blog on the flight” I thought to myself. And though the aircraft was still filling I attempted to wangle out the the bag I had just so precariously wedged under the seat in front of me. In doing so I lost my balance, stood on my own shoe and fell into the lap of the unsuspecting and now somewhat overwhelmed gentlemen in the aisle seat opposite. Graciously he helped me to my feet and looked down at my now bedraggled Michael Kors wedge which now has half of the cord piping hanging off the side of the shoe. They are my favourite “mildly inappropriate for travelling, but still do-able” shoe and I was as vexed at the state of my orange old faithfuls as I was embarrassed at sandwiching the poor guy into his seat. 

Well after a fairly uneventful flight I waited with baited breath at the carousel hoping my bag had made the transfer and a little giddy at the prospect I might even make the 17.41pm train from Jerez airport to Cadiz. All seemed to be going just too well when my bag came bouncing along the belt and I almost kissed it. Aware of the time, I chose not to change my broken shoes at this point and instead teetered as quickly as possible to find the nearest signs of a train station. I was feeling pretty smug at myself for having ‘beaten the system’. Not all cruise lines pay for a transfer to the ship for guest entertainers, some instead choosing to give you money towards that travel. In Europe especially, this money rarely covers the actual cost so in knowing that a taxi from Jerez to Cadiz would have cost me the best part of €100 I instead opted to google the public transport options yesterday before I left and discovered that there was indeed a train from the airport straight to Cadiz which takes an hour. Result!

So here I am currently at the train station waiting for a train… a train that has only cost me €4 and feeling pretty pleased with myself.. until the train didn’t arrive, no one on the platform, including the announcement lady speaks English and there are no seats. The next train is scheduled for an hours time so I am perched on the edge of a step thats covered in bird poo wondering if this is the image people at home have of me… I bet they think I’m chaffeur driven and business class all the way. Instead the reality is I’m sitting in bird poop after falling on a stranger, in broken shoes, watching the sunset with a rumbling tummy. At some point today I’m sure I’ll get to my hotel.

I have only one cruise in November this year as December sees me embark on a new adventure. I need the time with family and friends before I go and we’re even having a fake christmas together in a few weeks as I won’t be here for the real thing. As of December 1st I will be based out of Florida for the majority of the winter season. I will stay at the other side of the atlantic till Feb 12th before coming home for a 17 day break then heading back stateside till April 17th. I will be ship hopping most of this time with an occasional lay over in some of the Caribbean islands and a few days off here and there in Miami and Fort Lauderdale. Don’t get me wrong, I KNOW how lucky I am that Celebrity Cruises have given me this opportunity and I am beyond excited to embark on the venture. It is however, the longest period of time I will have gone without seeing my parents and family and though Steve will fortunately hopefully be traveling with me for a month of that time, I’m not sure how I’ll fair without seeing my folks. The wonders of modern technology obviously prescribe that whilst Steve and I are on a beach in Curacao on Christmas day. we’ll be able to have a ‘cyber beer’ with my folks online as they celebrate with my brother’s in-laws in Manchester. But it won’t be the same and though I have worked away at Christmas before, I’m apprehensive as much as I am excited about the prospect before me. I am however, delighted to be working exclusively for Celebrity during this period and very much looking forward to introducing new songs by my arranger Jennifer Watson and some new dresses designed and made by my costumier/corset maker Emma at Elysium Corsets, Blackburn.

 I love a fresh challenge, I love the sun, I love shopping malls in Florida, PF Changs, watching the Caribbean sunset, entertaining for a living and bringing in the new year in style. So I’m lucky that the end of this spectacular year concertinas perfectly into the start of the next one for me… though if I have to sit on this step for much longer I’m pretty sure I’m going to seize up completely and I’l still be sat at Jerez train station on December 25th.

OK, I’m giving in… I’m opening my case and getting my flats out :-(

… wait… holy pigeon poop… the train is here...

Trying to be grateful for small mercies.

Be under no illusions, the annual annoyance to the 21st Century airport traveller is part and parcel of my weekly routine and excessive checks, scans, queues, delays, mix ups and the such like have become common place to me. As such I do my utmost to take these variables in my stride as often as possible. I am however becoming all to frequently aware that being vertically challenged, alone and female, all contribute to the ever increasing sensation that somebody, almost like a reversal of “the Emperors New Clothes” has sneaked into my room at night and drawn on my face in ink that is visible to everyone but me saying “Easy Target”. During the past three and a bit weeks I have been traversing the extremities of Europe, this continent has well and truly kicked my butt furthermore denoting that this job is in no way as glamorous as people seem to believe it to be.

Currently I am back stage on the fourth of four consecutive cruise contracts waiting to perform my second show of the night. But the convoluted process to get to this point is an entirely different story. Let me take you back to Iceland… a little over a week ago.

After disembarking the ship In Reykjavik just after noon on the day of its arrival, I was transferred to a hotel by the port agent who very much resembled an ‘Icelandic Jack Nicholson' . I was to be staying in a hotel apart from my fellow guest entertainer and friend Christopher Caress (International Hypnotist) so we decided we would try and meet in town later for some dinner. I was pretty proud of my self-contained efforts at traversing the capital on public transport without a word of Icelandic to my name and after a pleasant if slightly damp afternoon in Chris’s company I returned to the hotel for the night as a 4am wake up call was about to set the tone of the following travel day. Frequent travellers will attest to the inability to truly rest the night before such an early rise for fear of sleeping through their alarm so at 3.30am I was in the shower and preparing my luggage for the day ahead. The flight to Frankfurt was about as blissful as a flight can be if I’m truly honest. An unexpected upgrade to Economy comfort saw me ‘zed’ away the three hours of the flight in seats of the same dimension to the business class passengers. I was a happy bunny. However a six hour lay over at Frankfurt was never going to be fun and when I finally did arrive in Athens, we were delayed on the tarmac for 45 minutes with no explanation and the air conditioning turned off. We all trundled into the arrivals hall disgruntled, sweaty and I for one, ready for my bed. 

I acquired a taxi at the rank and as is usual and sensible for any traveller alone in a country in which they don’t speak the language I agreed upon a fare before commencing the journey. However on arriving at my destination the driver protested that the meter was incorrect (at 28 euro’s) and that even our agreed tariff (at 30 euros ) was now not enough for him. We both headed inside to the reception of the hotel in search of some change and some help interpreting the issues we appeared to now have with each other. I am used to taxi drivers ‘trying it on’ when it comes to squeezing more money out of you but in this instance and after the length of the day I had, I was pretty adamant it was safe for me to argue my case with ‘Greek Bill Murray’ the taxi driver. Not only did I have an interpreter as my aide, but said interpreter was a woman AND the receptionist of the 4 star hotel where I was due to spend the night. However  after many protestations on both our parts I relented, exhausted and emotional and threw the extra 10 euro note at the driver in a display of overt exasperation and stormed off to my room where I waited for the porter to bring my luggage. I have a LOT of luggage.. how can you pack for Ireland, Iceland, Athens, Turkey and Spain in 20kg??? You can’t. When ‘Greek James Gandolphini’ the porter arrived with my luggage I’m ashamed to say I was crying. They were entirely involuntary tears which appeared to have accrued though the culmination of feeling exhausted, ripped off and disappointed at the fact that my sister in arms, 'Greek Bridget Neilson’ at reception had failed to fight my corner for me. I had very little change left to give ‘Greek James Gandolphini’ for carrying my bags which made me feel even more morose and the tears were now entirely not of my control.

I ran a bath, grasped at the mini bar Heineken in the most urgent manner and sank into the tub to watch a tv box set on my laptop which I’d propped up on the toilet seat. Quicker than you could say “why does everyone I meet today resemble a famous person?” the hotel room phone began to ring and I clambered grumpily out of the bath, the affects of the beer I had ingested at light speed yet to reach my extremities.

“Hello”

“Mrs Parry? I am sorry to disturb you” It was Greek Bridget Neilson.

“My colleague, 'Greek James Gandolphini' (Obviously she didn’t call him that but I don’t remember his name) told me that you seem upset and distressed is there anything we can do?”

I refrained from saying what I was thinking… that maybe if she had stood with me in a little more sisterly solidarity I might not feel like the day was kicking my backside quite as much as it was. 

“No thank you ‘Greek Bridget Neilson’ (I didn’t say that either, but her name also evades me) I know none of this is your fault, but I have had an awful travel day, I am exhausted and I am so sick of being ripped off just because I am a woman travelling on my own. I’m fine. Thank you for calling, I’m having a bath and beer and I will be ok in the morning”

“Please let us know if there is anything we can do to help you” Bridget replied. 

“Thanks but no thanks” I retorted and returned to my bubbly haven.

About thirty minutes later I was safely ensconced in my pit watching the laptop and eating a packet of mini bar pistachios as it was far too late at night to be traversing the streets of Athens in search of sustenance and as per usual, the room service menu was horrifically expensive. There was a knock at the door. Down right naffed off at this point, knowing full well only a minute ago I had hung the “do not disturb” sign on my door, I dragged myself off to peer round the frame as by this point I was only wearing a tee shirt and a pair of knickers.

‘Greek Sally Field’ in an apron with a tray was waiting at the door.

“Compliments of the reception” she said in broken English. 

Flabbergasted yet grateful, I opened the door to let her in not comprehending the fact I was wearing less clothes than a pole dancer and she put the tray on the table for me and left. It was a luscious fruit plate with yoghurt and honey and exactly what I needed at exactly the right time.

I enjoyed every mouthful and immediately called reception to thank ‘Greek Bridget Neilson’. It was ever so nice of her and I felt a little unwarranted at my internal beration of her only moments before.

The next morning I hailed another taxi to the ship and steeled myself for the reality that I was about to again be ripped off. “Greek Dame Judy Dench’ however seemed relatively nice, though I had made the mistake of thinking the same about ‘Greek Bill Murray’ the day before. She spoke very little English and did her best to take me to my destination. My faith was restored albeit temporarily as being kept waiting for an hour by the authorities in the port is never particularly joyous, but alas part and parcel of the job. After “Greek Andy Murray” finally allowed us to pass through security (us being myself and the dutch juggler I had recently made the acquaintance of.. I blame him for the delay he had a case full of knives) we boarded the ship for what was to prove a very enjoyable week. Though I didn’t really know anyone as such on this particular vessel, it provided a welcome opportunity for me to rest and relax, make the best of the fitness facilities and eat well as the food was excellent and there were plenty of healthy options. Thats not necessarily the case on each ship I visit and even within the same fleet the food choices can vary greatly. The early nights, steamed fish and extra reps on the weights were all in preparation for the coming week as I’m well acquainted with every man and his dog on the subsequent ship so I knew there’d be a little socialising to enjoy. 

After a week on board that saw me perform to two sets of passengers, discover beautiful Argostoili in Cephalonia, an Island I had never previously visited and enjoy an early morning stroll through Venice before the streets had become too crowded, I disembarked in the port of Kusadasi to travel back to Athens AGAIN where I was to wait two nights in a hotel before joining the final ship of my four in a row. After waiting on the quay side for some 20 minutes or so it became apparent there may be some kind of issue with the transfer which my paperwork detailed had been arranged for me. An officer from the ship introduced me to the port agent who said that whilst no transfer provision had been requested of him, it was not a problem and would arrange it for me forthwith. I followed him, heavy laden with my luggage (now containing the obligatory duty free) and was delivered into the supervision of 'Turkish Danny De Vito' to arrange my onward travel. Shortly after the port agent left our company, ‘Turkish Danny De Vito’ asked me if I would like to pay the driver now or on my arrival at the airport, over an hours drive away. After arguing the toss with him for what seemed for ever, showing him emails and paper work and him “phoning” the agent though not allowing me to be put on the line to him to explain, it became obvious that if I wanted to make this plane at all I would have to give in and pay up. Feeling somewhat disgruntled I arrived at Izmir airport, looking forward to relaxing for an hour or two in the executive lounge, for which I buy an annual pass… a travel must when you do over 80 flights a year. As my turn arrived to check in my albeit dubiously capacious amount of luggage, the abrupt ‘Turkish Miserable Brunette Michelle Pfeiffer’ on the desk reliably informed me that no luggage had been allocated on my ticket.. at all. As I am sure you’ve acknowledged by this point, I seem to have found myself in more than one situation this last couple of weeks where people have been trying to take me for a ride so to speak and utter exasperation descended upon my demeanour at this point. At the ticket office I then I showed the ‘Turkish Joe Pesce’ my seamans allowance book which would ordinary entitle me to 40kg of luggage. Feeling the tears of sheer frustration bubbling in my sockets I surrendered the 70 euros to him on the promise of a receipt so I could at least claim it back from the company when I got home. To issue my boarding pass, I had to return to the perils of ‘Turkish Miserable Brunette Michelle Pfeiffer’ who tried to retain my receipt.

“I need that” I hollered. So she scowled and tore off the credit card slip attached to the receipt and proffered it, angrily.

“Take this then” she snapped.

At this point I felt the culmination of all the rip offs, delays, mistreatment and let downs begin to erupt like an emotional volcano in the pit of my stomach. If this blog had CGI I would certainly have morphed into lucifer at this point.

“No…" I shouted. "NO!. I want ALL OF IT .You’re not keeping this from me” 

She threw the receipts at me and started to curse at me in Turkish. 

Angry, disconcerted and well and truly ready for home I dragged myself through yet another security checkpoint to sit in  yet another lounge to board yet another flight to join yet another ship… totally travel weary.

On the small propellor plane taking me to Athens I sat in silence staring out of the window thinking that on days like today I wonder whether all this hassle is really doing me any good and if indeed its all its cracked up to be. I started to ruminate upon what I might do as an alternative if all this schlepping around the globe was starting to become too much for me. I miss my family, my friends, my new nephew growing and changing, many special occasions and celebrations.. is it really all worth it? It was as we started to descend into Athens I first saw it… a crystal clear Rainbow straddling the city. How utterly beautiful I thought and how uplifting. But it was then I realised that I was in fact viewing this rainbow from above. To all intents and purposes I was “Over the Rainbow” literally and I thought..’Who gets to do this? Who gets to see a rainbow from sky?’ As it arched beneath me I felt like I was being reassured in someway that despite the trials and tribulations of my trip, I was still immensely privileged to be being paid to do what I love the most and to see the world. 

I arrived in Athens with the notion of a new positive outlook for the days ahead and though I all but ripped off my little fingernail trying to get my passport out of my bag, the sight in the arrivals hall of ‘Greek Sean Connery’ with a sign bearing my name certainly signalled that my luck might just  be changing 

;-)

Its been a LONG, LONG time.......

I am sacrificing what I know to be the best Wild Boar Ragu I’ve ever eaten (and the worst service I’ve ever received) in favour of the most appalling sandwich I have ever consumed and super-fast wifi, here, on the sea front in Civvitavechia, the port for Rome. Like most cruise ship entertainers, we all have our favourite ‘haunts’ when we’re overseas and on the whole I’m not really a wifi-chaser, my belly always wins that argument. But though it has been light years since I posted a blog, and apologies are not enough, I have instead eaten a luke warm ham and cheese sandwich which had no mention of ‘a weird raw eggy kind of substance’ in the menu description so that you know I am still dedicated to the cause. 

I have, in actual fact had an utterly amazing summer so far and every time i have had the chance to sit down and write something I have truly not known where to start. After working for Celebrity Cruises almost exclusively for the first seven months of this year, I can safely say it has been my most professionally satisfying period of my life to date, and I am positively jubilant at the prospect of working for them again in December. What with mine and Steve’s annual birthday garden bash,(and ‘Paz’s Bar… a bar for the garden as a gift for Steve from my parents..cue cocktail chaos) my brothers three day festival themed wedding in a glamping forest in Yorkshire and the early but highly anticipated arrival of my first Nephew, life has been hectic crazy and highly satisfying both at home and at work. I joined the ship I’m currently travelling on yesterday in La Spezia after an overnight there in a hotel. I haven’t spoken to many people yet as my shows are not till tomorrow and to be honest I am relishing the ‘me’ time. Where has 2014 gone???? Its only 17 weeks till Christmas!!!

This week marks the beginning of a four week stint of ship hopping for me which has unfortunately ended up so as a result of the ever changing travel schedules that are part and parcel of this career choice. I have one day at home, (Monday) and Steve will not be there. I fly home from this contract on Sunday from Barcelona, via Cork to Manchester. I wash and repack for three weeks work on Monday and then I fly, you guessed it… back to Cork. I join a ship there that takes me to Iceland (via the Faroe Islands) where I will disembark, stay overnight and then fly Via somewhere (I haven’t checked yet, probably Germany) to Athens to join another ship that goes to Croatia and Italy and eventually to Turkey where I fly back to Athens to join my third vessel that sails home to Southampton via Vigo in Spain. If you can 

a) keep up with all that or

b) give me some kind of idea as to how I’m going to pack for all those different climates within a 20kg luggage allowance

you’re doing better than me.

But I have this crazy time because I took quite a bit of time off in July and August for all those aforementioned family events and whilst I enjoyed every second of being at home I’m ready to tackle this insane month of international roaming with aplomb.

I’m pretty sure, as I’ve remonstrated in earlier blogs that craziness follows me wherever I go and to this end I have started keeping a list of bizarre sightings in my phone to remind myself and indeed to prove to others that I am not inventing these things and that they do actually happen

Recent adages include

A buddist monk on two cellphones in the airport in Estonia

A man with several different coloured bandanas tied around his ankles

A japanese gentleman swimming in the pool on the ship wearing swim shorts and a pair of oxford brogues

A man on the plane wearing an enormous yellow paper tie

A man sat next to me on the train with a dragon in a box marked “Yellow Dragon” 

An old black labrador walking through the streets of Nice late at night wearing a hawaiian ‘lay’ with half a rubber chicken in his mouth, looking like he’s just been to the best dog-party ever.

I’ve included a couple of my travelling calamities from the summer so far… there are too many to list… but so very “me” hahaha. Enjoy.. and I WILL be better at this from now on… 

I thought I had done a spectacular job of sneaking out of the buffet with a piece of pizza in my mouth without any of the guests recognising me. I had after all,  just come off stage where I had procrastinated as per usual at the perils of the weight gain associated by working regularly on cruise lines. But at 10pm I officially finished the days 'fasting' (5:2 diet.. see previous blogs!) and was due to meet a couple of the incredibly talented cast of the Celebrity Constellation for a much anticipated glass of vino. Knowing how likely I am to drink the first glass after a show like a goldfish in the desert I thought it sensible to line my stomach with a quick snack before partaking so as not to embarrass myself. 

I darted out of the door to the 'Oceanview Cafe' like a stealth ninja, still chewing and headed out to the open deck to nip across to the forward end of the ship where my friends awaited my arrival in the Reflections lounge. My new years resolution this past year had been to try and do things slower, all round in general. I rush and fluster naturally and am forever getting myself in a twist as a result of my excessive whizzing about.It drives Steve insane. I'm like the Tasmanian devil, leaving a trail of destruction in my wake. I genuinely did try to address this, but like all good resolutions, I'd forgotten about it come February.

 In a thirty minute window I had managed to have a shower and change, pick up my sheet music from the office, collect my CD sales money from the gift shop manager and eat a piece of pizza (OK, two pieces of pizza). I'm not sure if it was my foolhardy dashing about, the slightly damp floor or the implausible gradient of my skyscraper heels but as i careered out of the door into the path of an incoming Japanese gentleman, me and my half eaten mouth of pizza shot into the air most ungraciously and landed like a drunk octopus, all limbs, tangled in a heap at his feet. I looked up at him, embarrassed as hell wishing I'd by chance bumped into someone who HADN'T seen my show that night and therefore I could go through life pretending I was someone else.

He stared at me a moment so I broke the ice with

"Its OK I'm fine. I fall over about 15 times a week”

 I giggled nervously as I tried to get up, however unsuccessfully, now resembling more of a newborn foal.

"Can you tell me where I can get a glass of water?" He asked.

Great I thought. I'm scrapping around on the floor like a bar of soap playing twister and this guys more concerned about his next beverage.

A large purple bruise immediately began to emerge from under the skin on my right leg. How will I explain this one to Steve I thought? I always come home from cruise ships looking like I'd just competed in a heavy weight title bout. 

I fell over in front of a thirsty Japanese guy. Yeah, that sounds convincing. 

The next day brought our arrival into the beautiful port of Warnemunde. Not a place I had visited until a couple of cruises ago but I was excited about the prospect of returning as I’d found the place positively idyllic.

My experiences of Germany till recently were of cities and urban areas. As a family we visited my Uncle when he was posted out here in the army in the late eighties and Steve and I took a marvellous city break to Berlin  last year which unfortunately coincided with the period of time I had given up alcohol for lent. I sat there nursing a coke salivating whilst he sampled the fine selection of 'bier' so often associated with this country. 

But on my first experience of Warnemunde, I was quite flabbergasted to discover this was a quaint seaside hamlet complete with its white powder beach, sporting oodles of seafood restaurants, 'eiscafe' and crepe stalls. Fishing and tourist boats sit side by side on the river leading out to the estuary and traditional musicians play wind up music boxes and bottles filled with varying levels of water. Its a lovely place to just amble around, but as I had ambled somewhat only a fortnight ago I instead opted for the train to nearby Rostock, buoyed by the sense of adventure, seeing something new and the pressing urge to go on an adventure.

As I exited the station into my new found destination the enticing waft of grilling sausage from a nearby stand evoked memories of my childhood visits to Dortmund and Paderborn.

I walked for what seemed quite a while before emerging into a pretty town square and much to my pleasure, a food market. I wandered aimlessly between the stalls of dried meats, rotisserie chickens, cheeses and bunches of wild flowers. My first thought was to look for a souvenir for my Dad. He was most contented with his jar of Moose terrine I had recently bought for him in Estonia. He will literally eat anything once as long as its not melted cheese.

Not yet hungry I headed for the main shopping street, whiling my time away and enjoying the freedom of knowing the ship did not leave port until midnight and so I could peruse at my leisure. After what seemed like hours I found a great oriental fast food joint where they wokked me up (if thats even a term) an amazing fresh chow mein and, with a bottle of Coke was only €4.90. Bargain, and totally scrummy. In lieu of any Chinese or German I approached the counter with my now clean plate and started rubbing my stomach and licking my lips ferociously in an attempt to display my gratitude. I think I looked more like a hungry washing machine so I just bowed a bit and left. By the time I'd caught the train back to Warnemunde it was late afternoon and still blissfully balmy. I opted to stay out a while and walk to the beach where I thought I might even sit and watch the sunset. But by now my feet were pretty sore, in fact my left foot was burning copiously on the bottom under my heel and whilst my shoes were relatively flat (by my standard) and I was so desperate not to miss the rest of the day, I thought I'd just walk on my toes for a while until it stopped. My decision to do this coincided unintentionally with my passing by some outdoor diners enjoying a late lunch in the sun. The gentleman was eating a steak of some sort with what I assumed to be Sauerkraut and other accoutrements.The reason I got such a good view of his meal is that for some reason on commencing my tiptoed walk I seemed to have dissisted from actually moving anywhere and so unbeknownst to me I was now marching on the spot beside a bewildered looking German and staring at his dinner. I'm not sure if he thought me a little odd or if I was trying out some new form of military style begging, but either way in a style not dissimilar to Fred Fintstone, I ran a little on the spot before creating the momentum to lean forward and move away. I'm not sure if he was perturbed so much by my antics that I put him off is food or that he is the Guinness Book of Records holder for the slowest ever eater but when I walked back past him a good 20 minutes later he still seemed to be eating as intently as when I left him but no food had disappeared. Maybe he'd asked for seconds. 

After a much needed days rest at sea, and surely buoyed by my new found sense of adventure I headed ashore in Stockholm in search of the Abba museum. I wouldn't call myself a fan as such, more of an admirer but I had heard on the grapevine from several friends who had been there in the past that it was well worth the trip. I'd been advised that the walk into town was approximately 25 minutes and with my map in hand I headed out to locate said museum and get my 'glitter' on. En route I called my brother. 

"Where are you today?" he asked

"I'm in Stockholm. I was planning to head to the Abba museum but I think I've lost my bottle a bit. Its supposed to be an interactive experience and I feel a bit sad going in on my own"

"No go on, do it." he encouraged. "Theres bound to be a group you can tag along with when you get there"

After getting lost and needing to make the final mile of the journey by cab, I emerged on to the pavement in front of the museum filled with a sudden sense of extreme excitement. I didn't care if I was on my own, in fact, it may prove better for me to be on my own, I thought to myself, as it was pretty likely I was going to get so giddy once inside that I would have completely shown myself up anyway.

Even the ticket office in the entrance hall was neon-tastic and as i descended into the bowels of the building, interactive ticket and audio guide in hand, I steeled myself to believe it was perfectly normal to go to a museum on your own and that if I had paid for it I was going to get my monies worth. 

As I passed between the rooms, reading the information, marvelling at the video footage,admiring the costumes and listening to the four original members on the audio guide telling their stories I found myself in a darkened room with a stage and a sole microphone. Seconds later, three girls got up to sing "Mamma Mia" with three projected holograms of the band members and I beamed openly at how much they were enjoying themselves. 

"Go on, have a go.." a lady next to me urged. I hesitated for a moment and then thought "why the hell not?..no one knows me" and I gave the attendant my interactive ticket and bounded on to the stage for my starring moment. Completely oblivious to all around me I hollered out my best rendition of "Dancing Queen" and bopped away to my hearts content with the holograms. Giddiness and adrenaline surged through me as I left the stage and laughed heartily to myself at how completely crackers I was for doing all this on my own. Throughout the tour I danced in an Abba pop video to "Take a Chance on me" and posed for a head shot which was super imposed on to an "Abba-tar" so I could try on those infamous lycra jumpsuits for myself. I left the museum feeling elated, a little silly but very glad I'd summoned up the guts to go in. 

"I'm getting pretty good at these solo adventures" I thought to myself and walked out into the sun with my Abba Museum hot dog and called my Grandad to tell him I was the 5th member of the group. 

I decided to walk back to the ship, it didn't look that far and even though I had already walked at least three miles that day looking for the museum I figured I was in no rush as the ship didn't sail till five and I wanted to enjoy the fresh air. A detour into town to a pharmacy for an injured crew friend and at least an hours walking later I realised why nobody else had walked to AND from the Museum and that I now had a blister on top of the blister I had acquired after my epic walking day in Germany two days prior. I berated myself for not taking a ferry or a taxi back. I was exhausted but jubilant on my return and after a brief jacuzzi in the solarium to ease the aching muscles, I prepared myself for my last night on board the ship before heading home to start the preparations and celebrations for my brothers upcoming nuptials.

As I hobbled that all too familiar route to the gangway to disembark with an implausibly large amount of luggage and two fresh blisters some passengers stopped me in the stairway...

"We saw you singing with Abba yesterday…you looked like you were having a lovely time!"

Drat! I've been rumbled!

A supermarket bathroom is not my first choice venue to apply make up on a Wednesday morning but needs must after an already eventful start to the day.

 I'm not so much upset that Steve put unleaded petrol into our diesel car, or that he left me at the side of the road at 7.30am to deal with his mishap whilst his step dad sped him off to the coast to compete in his tournament, or even that I was wearing open toe sandals (heels, naturally) outside at a temperature of 5 degrees for over an hour as I waited for assistance.. None of these things were my major gripe this morning... I was far more traumatised at the fact that as I was going to caddy for steve today and so had cajoled myself out of bed at some ungodly hour, I found myself  'sans' make up when the recovery driver arrived and after a few glasses of wine with a good friend last night and less than 6 hours sleep, I could have easily frightened the fuel out of the tank myself. John Macadam and sons recovery vehicles however were very efficient (if he was scared of my face he did a great job of hiding it) and whilst I had the sneaking suspicion they may be thinking it was ME who had  in a girlie moment forgotten which fuel the car requires (we do have one of each)  I most definitely blamed Steve whole heartedly and to be honest I look so scary this morning I think they'd have agreed with me if I'd said I was Kate Middleton. 

So whilst I wait for them to drain the engine, I have been advised to pop around the corner to the cafe in the nearby supermarket for a spot of breakfast and naturally I immediately headed to the bathroom to attend to my uneven complexion and wayward tresses. It was at this point I decided to write the next instalment of my travel blog, not because I want to name and shame Steve for being a prat and putting the wrong fuel in, though I do, and not even so much that I want to fill you all in on the splendid trip Steve and I just enjoyed aboard the fabulous Celebrity Eclipse, though I will, but more so because as I attempted to conceal my eye bags with a veritable trowel of concealer, I was bemused to hear a very strange sound coming from one of the cubicles. Either the occupant was 

A/ a gambling addict and couldn't wait to get home before erratically attacking a plethora of scratch cards simultaneously.

B/ she has a very bad case of fleas or

C/Has a handbag full of sandpaper and has opted to use it, in the cubicle, however she may deem appropriate.

Thus  proving furthermore that it doesn't matter whether I am on a cruise ship traversing the world or in a bathroom in Blackpool, oddities appear to follow me around the globe and not vice versa. Naturally, I felt compelled to write to you all, not specifically because it made me laugh, which it did, or because  I feel inspired, though I do, and not even because  I have lots to tell you, though I have, but because frankly , my toes are still frozen and breakfast here is cheap. 

We had a truly wonderful time exploring the Norwegian Fjords this past week. Though I have visited the area many times as a result of over ten years working onboard cruise lines, this was the first time Steve has been to Norway in any capacity and a first for me in the respect that I had someone like-minded to go on adventures, sample the local wares and generally laugh my socks off with for the entirety of the trip.

We drove to Southampton on the Friday morning early and missed all the traffic. After Steve had indulged his guilty pleasure of purchasing yet more new socks and underwear in the local shopping centre (I swear its a compulsion, he has thousands) we boarded the vessel and immediately felt  like holiday makers. At that point I was informed I wouldn't be performing until the final night of the cruise some seven days later which was a little disappointing for me as Steve had to leave the ship in Stavanger before the end of the trip as he had prior commitments at home. This meant he would miss my show and though he has seen me perform a thousand times, I am forever extolling the virtues of the 'Celebrity' audiences telling him how kind, attentive and supportive of my shows they have been since the start of the year. I desperately wanted him to see it, as much because I didn't want him thinking I was making it up! The one benefit to not working till the last night of the cruise meant that at that point, none of the passengers knew who we were, and whilst I thoroughly enjoy meeting guests after my performances and have indeed met some friends for life onboard cruise lines, Steve and I have been apart an awful lot recently as my prior blogs will attest, so we were very much looking forward to a little one on one time.

Immediately I realised that I had been accompanied on this trip by "giddy holiday Steve" and not "focused professional athlete Steve" as he bounced about the ship like a kangaroo on Red Bull , wanting to see everything, do everything and try everything straight away. As you know I have been pretty focused on this 5:2 diet I have been trying to stick to over the last couple of months and though I knew I might fall off the wagon on occasion whilst Steve was onboard, by day one he already had me skipping the gym in favour of a glass of wine whilst we watched the ship sail out of port. On returning to the cabin he furthermore convinced me I was travelling with a 9 year old child as he emerged from the bathroom with cotton wool balls protruding from each nostril.

"Go on, give me a kiss" he smirked, grinning like an untrimmed Santa...

"This must be what it feels like to kiss Magnum" 

Needless to say I conceded as I knew he wouldn't relent and that this was his way of setting the tone for the week to come. 

When I travel alone, which is almost always, sea days are for resting, going to the gym, catching up on correspondence, possibly a little light reading, but as I now had a fun companion it was inevitable Steve and I would attend the "Walk around the world" wine tasting event held in the beautiful Tuscan Grille restaurant that afternoon. At a mere $15 a head I must admit I thought we'd be in for a few thimbles full of wine and a whole lot of information but though neither of us are experts, we both do love wine and learning about it so we signed up. On our arrival we were given a glass and a sheet of paper detailing the list of the wines we were to sample each with three sections to complete.. sight, nose and taste. We were told to just have a walk around and try what we liked as we liked it and were very surprised to discover they were more than generous with the samples and if we were to fit all 12 glasses in within the allotted hour we should really get a wriggle on! Long story short, an hour and several glasses later we were no longer at a table for two discussing the finer nuances of the Australian Shiraz but rather all now in one large group, around one large table with all the other wine enthusiasts laughing heartily and generally having a whole lot of fun. 

We climbed the hill in the centre of Bergen the next day. Don't ask me why, there was a perfectly good funicular we could have taken to the peak, but whilst sat outside the Irish bar in town enjoying every last drop of the beers we'd paid FIFTEEN POUNDS for, we couldn't help but observe the rather bizarre choice of dress the locals seemed to be sporting. The weather was bright and sunny whilst still a little cool and almost everyone who passed us, man and women alike were wearing tight black sports leggings and running shoes. This spurred me to think there might have been some kind of marathon or fun run about to begin but on further investigation it seemed that most of the residents of Bergen were taking advantage of the beautiful day and walking to the top of the hill. Steve and I decided we'd walk a little way up, as the queues for the funicular were growing rapidly and the trains that passed us seemed cramped and full. We walked a little way and then decided we'd try a little further, and a little further and so on. After what we assumed was half way, though we were now puffing and panting and now fully aware of why the locals had all chosen to come out dressed as Usain Bolt, we made the decision that we'd continue to the top. It couldn't have been that far, after all there were women with prams making their way back down. Not so long later, I realised I'd probably have been better wearing envelopes on my feet than the ridiculous choice of shoes I'd opted for. As you know, I'm not a fan of flat shoes and in my opinion why should I be 5 ft 2 if I don't have to be? However knowing I'd be walking around the town all afternoon I'd worn some little red flat shoes (pumps in the UK, sneakers in the states) and I could now feel EVERY lump and bump in the road as the terrain became rougher. 

To be honest, reaching the top at over 1000 ft was worth all the huffing and puffing and instilled such a sense of achievement in us we decided to walk back down too instead of taking the train. This time, like veritable action heroes we took short cuts and dirt tracks and bounded down the hillside in a little over half an hour. By the time we reached the bottom we both berated ourselves for laughing at the 'local lunch boxes' in tights we'd scoffed at only a couple of hours earlier and vowed that next time we tried an adventure, we'd join them.

With the arrival into Flamm came the first of the spectacular sail-ins to the Fjords and the promise of a more subdued day than the last. After dragging our still aching limbs up for a late breakfast we headed ashore to discover to no surprise that all the tickets for the days local train to the top of the Fjord were already taken so we set off to amble around the port. After a brief look in the souvenir stores and museum we found a shed with mountain bikes to hire. This is something I've always wanted to do in Norway but as I'm usually alone I've never bothered. Though I was still remarkably stiff from the previous days escapades we agreed that £10 a person for 2 hours was not to be sniffed at, especially as the cost of living in Norway is so high. This correlates with their average earnings but makes it pricey for tourists in general. After a brief trip back to the ship to change attire (I'd learned my lesson!) and to pick up some water I met steve back at the bike shed and he instantly handed me a helmet. Most 30 something's with an ounce of street credibility would have recoiled at the suggestion of this slightly child like head gear but I gladly accepted knowing full well that I am less than steady on a bike at the best of times, without the distraction of waterfalls, on coming traffic on the wrong  side of the road and an unfamiliar bike. 

We completed the suggested 4km to the next town and the picturesque church relatively easily as the roads were flat and not at all busy. After a water stop and a few photo opportunities we opted to continue on further to the waterfalls we could see in the distance. As the road began to steepen slightly, I became less sure of the gear changes and started to wobble on the ascent. From behind me steve chooses this inopportune moment to say:

"I've got a great view from here... And I don't mean the scenery"

Well, as soon as I laughed I went... And I fell ungraciously and child-like into a heap with the bike on top of me in the middle of the road and smacked the helmet on the Tarmac. First taking a minute to check I hadn't broken myself, Steve tried to remove the bike from me and inadvertently almost removed my leg from me instead as it was still tangled in the frame. Laughing and a little shaken he straightened me up and dusted me off and I felt well and truly like a four year old with grazed palms and elbows. I was particularly glad for the helmet and after a further gradual upwards gradient towards a beautiful dyke, we rewarded ourselves with a speedy free wheel back down the hill towards the port. As we arrived closer we were travelling alongside the train returning from its trip to the top of the mountain. Knowing it was filled with passengers from our ship, buoyed with the new found confidence from zooming downhill and the added exuberance from all the fresh hair bombarding my cheeks I began waving frantically at guests in every carriage, enjoying their reciprocating greetings.

"Be careful you!" Steve shouted "Concentrate"

And after becoming a little too over confident at my new found ability to release my one hand from the handlebars, I proceeded to wobble into the kerb just as two ramblers were passing and almost took them out completely. 

In retrospect I'm pretty much convinced I will never be the next Lance Armstrong. Not only am I not predisposed to the consumption of performance enhancing substances but me and two wheels clearly do not get along. I am way better on terra firma, envelope shoes or otherwise and though no real harm was done to either me or the bike, I doubt Steve will be volunteering to come and ride with me again any time soon.

On the whole the week was spectacular. We both thoroughly enjoyed the other ports of call and an amazing final farewell meal in the Tuscan Grille on Steves final night onboard. It was hard saying bye to him in Stavanger even though I knew I'd be home two days later and the stateroom was certainly empty without him. I didn't miss him for long though as he'd decided for ease of passing through Manchester airport and onto the train he wouldn't travel home with his luggage but just a carry on case with essentials and left his belongings onboard for me to take back in the car. At the time I thought nothing of it, in fact I thought it made sense as I didn't need to take public transport on my way home and Steve was taking a bus, two flights and a train. However the reality was quite different as I began to pack and realised exactly how much he had left onboard. He'd arrived with a pretty full suitcase and a suit carrier and not only had I attempted to fit all this in the one case but discovered he'd left his coats, four pairs of shoes, ALL his toiletries.... So after a good half hour of lying on top of cases in an attempt to zip them up, I dragged the pair of them each weighing at least 30 kilos to the gangway to disembark. The walk way seemed miles in my 'ships anchor' platform shoes I'd refused not to wear as I was meeting a friend for coffee enroute home. I know, I know, I should have worn flats and changed them but to be honest EVERY BAG I carried (two cases and an over stuffed rucksack) was at absolute capacity and I dreaded trying to open them again. 

After what felt like miles humping the bags through the terminal building in Southampton, a row of luggage carts appeared like a mirage in the distance and I loaded my wares on to the trolley convinced my arms were now 6 inches longer. I emerged into the port like a stretched evacuee and immediately the heavens opened. My car was another good five minutes walk away and as I attempted to balance the bags and protect myself from the elements I cursed Steve under my breath for leaving me with all his belongings. I called  him all the names under the sun and fantasised about having a spontaneous yard sale on the way home and selling all his stuff on the side of the road to strangers. 

Obviously I didn't and after a good few hours on the motorway I made it home tired but unscathed, a little after lunch. 

On the whole I think there's a common misconception amongst cruisers about the suitability of a Fjords cruise for the 'younger' passenger. We met several younger couples on the ship and in our experience we definitely feel there was a lot to offer passengers of all preferences and mobility capabilities both onboard and ashore. As I've said I've been to Norway many times before but taking the trip in to our own hands so to speak as we did, having adventures and escapades and being as open as we could to trying new things we had an experience we'd have been more than satisfied with if we'd have booked this as a vacation ourselves. The fact its only eight days long also appeals to people with work commitments and even though at this time of year you're unlikely to be coming home from the fjords with a sun tan, sitting in the outdoor hot tub, looking up at the snow-capped mountains with a glass of bubbly as the ship traverses the channels and waterways of the region can't fail to satisfy the most diverse of travellers. 

I'm so tired I can't feel my own face.  

I've done more air miles than Captain Kirk in the last month or so and I am currently on yet another aircraft bound for Fort Lauderdale to join the fabulous Celebrity Sillouette for a nine day transatlantic repositioning cruise to Madeira.

Last week I flew to Namibia and sailed with no port days to Cape Verde so with only two nights on dry land in 20 I am contemplating a name change to Jack Sparrow. Pray for my sanity. 

Surely one of the most reassuring feelings in the world is seeing your luggage making its way up the miniature conveyor into the hold of the plane. I'm even more glad to witness this as i write as this morning I wasn't actually in possession of this bag. In fact I didn't know where it was. 

On leaving St Vincent in Cape Verde on Thursday, we (myself and a gaggle of other guest entertainers) took a short, albeit delayed flight to Praia, another in the group of islands before an epic eight hour wait to fly on to Lisbon and then Manchester giving me only 24 hours in the UK before starting this next trip. However, eight hours turned into over 11 hours and as a result we subsequently missed the connection in Lisbon, ended up flying via Brussels to Manchester only landing at 5pm yesterday and with no luggage. Better still, they couldn't assure us at the time that the baggage would make it back into the UK before my flights today so last night was largely spent trying on old cocktail dresses and spare bikinis in the vain hope I could scrape together enough stuff to suffice for this trip. The baggage handling firm were unsure as to whether our bags had re routed the way we had or were indeed still in Lisbon. As regular readers will attest, my luggage has had the habit of going walkabout somewhat regularly recently and my initial thought is always that it has been stolen by someone and that someone on the continent was parading around the streets in my burnt orange 'Alexander Mc Queen's. As I am yet to meet a Belgian with even the most remote taste in footwear I hoped once they'd smelt my dirty laundry they may have put the bag back on the belt and rifled through someone else's wares instead. 

Needless to say, I was being over dramatic as usual and a phone call from the airport at 10pm last night meant I could relax in the knowledge I wouldn't be squeezing myself into a 10 year old cocktail dress this trip and could instead enjoy what turned out to be only 11 hours in my own home. 

Though beleaguered and bedraggled after a travel day from hell I have to admit I really rather enjoyed the last trip. Although we only saw dry land on the first and last days of our voyage, a combination of the company of old friends and the acquisition of new ones meant I was rarely far from a giggle and the afternoon in Namibia made it worth the trip alone. After the obligatory formalities associated with joining a ship in a way port and reacquainting myself with some excellent chums who worked onboard, joined with some of the other entertainers we headed ashore to 'Dune 7' which is allegedly one of the biggest if not the biggest sand dune in the world and though I had witnessed its majesty during the taxi drive from the airport, trying to climb the thing was a different matter altogether. Ill-informed and entirely under prepared (wearing rubber flip flops and taking NO water to the desert) the foot of the monstrosity looked as inviting to me as it did perilous. After the best part of two days travelling and a night of rest in a local hotel I was ready to let off some steam and determined to make it to the top. Needless to say, all but one of our party failed to reach the summit and the one who did became worryingly more mirage-like as he evaporated away from sight amidst the sand and the sun. When he was no longer visible I was convinced he'd fallen off the top or simply combusted in the heat. On our ascent, We were positively jubilant to find him emerging from the palm trees at the base of the sand dune with his tee shirt tucked into his jeans like a cross between Daniel Craig and a beetroot. We reunited and headed off for the next of our desert adventures. 

Ever since being a child I've always been fascinated with monster trucks, so the opportunity for all six of us to ride in the rear of one through the genuine bonafide desert was way too much of a temptation to turn down. Just climbing up those giant tyres alone filled me with memories of my Dad taking me and my brother as kids to watch the enormous machines crushing cars in their wake like matchboxes, and the endless episodes on TV of Bigfoot, the daddy of all monster trucks racing against his rivals around sandy tracks in the states. I never thought I'd get to have my picture taken with one, let ALONE ride in one and the experience in those circumstances was magical. As the engine roared into life I felt like I was 8 again and though the drive was tame in nature, I was still filled with the same sense of adolescent excitement as if I was racing against Bigfoot myself. Not only were we surrounded by the most dramatic scenery but we were laughing and giggling and enjoying each others company amidst miles and miles of baron sand as far as the eye could see. It was like we were part of a movie set. These days are special when you travel on your own as often as I do and even more so when you know you have the prospect of 7 consecutive days at sea in your imminent future. 

The rest of the trip was great as all the entertainers rubbed along really well, enjoying each others individual shows and indeed performing together on more than one occasion. However, as I attested the travel  home was pretty arduous with all but the final flight being delayed. But we took the journey together, a whole gang of us and seldom have I laughed as much as I did these last couple of days.

I seem to be attracting travel traumas somewhat recently. Much to my dismay I appear to be spending more time sorting out issues and problems in my time at home than actually seeing  my family. 

On return from my last Celebrity Cruises contract in March I had a 12 day period in which to arrange an Indian tourist visa purely for disembarking a ship in Cochin and flying home. This process, according to all reliable information should take 2-3 working days and after a trip to the Manchester processing office on what turned out to be an Indian holiday, I thought it safest to drive to Birmingham and hand the passport in myself as the Manchester centre didn't provide a collection service. In short, after a 6am start to drop the passport off within the acknowledged office hours I waited and waited and waited for word from the embassy until two days before I was due to travel to the ship and still without the visa or indeed the passport. As a result of frequent travel I am permitted to hold two passports as its common place to have to send off for visas or to travel to what are described as "incompatible" countries where if you're brandishing a stamp from one nation you're forbidden to travel to another. Now, I HAVE two passports, but the other one is FULL of stamps which means I cannot travel outside of Europe on it as I discovered much to my dismay when I was almost deported from South Africa last year. On calling the central passport office it became apparent the only way to renew the passport within the final 24 hours of my time before leaving for the cruise was in Glasgow the next day at 10am. So I got up at 5am and drove to Glasgow and back from Bolton to get a premium passport. (In place of the word 'premium' feel free to insert 'we'll charge you the earth cause we know you're in a pickle')

So instead of disembarking the cruise in India as originally scheduled, I departed in Sri Lanka, (where a visa can be obtained on arrival) two days early and though I spent half an hour in a pre historic immigration office in the port trying to explain to an official who barely spoke English that I am indeed NOT married to Tiger Woods, the return journey  via Dubai was pretty much stress free, other than some ill advised Sushi consumed after midnight in the airport. 

As my plane takes off right now and I'm swooning over the Manhattan skyline being so close yet so far (sob sob) I am acutely aware of how many places I have been to in the last three weeks alone. Since embarking on my Indian Ocean adventure on the 27th March I have touched down in Munich, Singapore, Penang Malaysia, Sri Lanka, Dubai, Frankfurt, Windhoek Namibia, Walvis Bay Namibia, St Vincent Cape Verde, Praia Cape Verde, Lisbon, Brussels, New York and eventually later Fort lauderdale. 14 airports in 23 days is some going! And though nine days at sea in a row now seems like an awful lot of nothingness, I am really ready for a bit of stress free, quality 'me time' (and a quick trip to the Sawgrass Mall maybe if I land in time tonight) There's nowhere better than a solstice class Celebrity ship in my opinion, if you need some R&R in a modern luxurious environment. I can't wait to hit the spa and the gym and the stir fry bar. A bit of detoxing and a lot of sleep is exactly what the doctor ordered. I'm a very lucky girl to be paid to do this, I'm well aware. 

My next adventure takes me to the Norwegian Fjords on the beautiful Celebrity Eclipse and on this rare occasion Steve will be able to travel with me so whilst being apart for another nine days now is very tough so soon after my last contract, knowing we'll have the best part of a week together in May makes it easier to swallow. Well, that and the fact I can go shopping in America tonight ;-) 

One woman, Two suitcases and a ticket to Barbados....

...... i waited on the quayside in St Maarten for my transfer to the airport en route to the Celebrity Eclipse.  Experience taught me though I was only taking an island hopper flight via Antigua, I was well aware that whenever this particular Caribbean airline were involved the journey was less than likely to be trouble free. 

In the taxi, I made the acquaintance of John Clithero and his companion Mary. John is a guest speaker on sport and music and a thoroughly lovely bloke as is his companion Mary. I had assured them that despite our seemingly late departure from the ship, we would not only make our flight in good time but that the support of the travel company employed by the cruise line in the UK would ensure us safe passage to wherever we needed to be regardless of any delays. As a frequent traveller I have long since stopped worrying about the tribulations associated with missed connections and unexpected layovers and instead focused on my new challenge ahead... The impending arrival of Lent. 

Most years I try to give up something  and having a skipped a year last year I was determined to further challenge myself this time by giving up three things very dear to my heart... Wine, bread and........Diet Coke! Argh. Wine would be a challenge. I LOVE a good glass of wine and especially with the sumptuous collection of vino available in "Cellar Masters" onboard Celebrity  cruise lines its particularly difficult to resist. Bread is pretty much all that's available to me on a travel day especially through European airports where panini and pizza slices tend to be the staple offering. So giving it up would mean the need to plan ahead for these eventualities and to hold my nose when walking past the cheesy oozing slices of Neapolitan heaven calling me to indulge... I'm telling you if I had no sense of smell I'd be a size zero. 

But Diet Coke? That's the real killer for me.I don't and have never drunk tea or coffee and have always consumed admittedly way too much Diet Coke and now amongst protestations of scientific jargon from my family members extolling the dangers of the stuff I have decided to cut down and for Lent, cut it out completely. 

Simultaneously I have decided to try to stick to the 5:2 diet for a month. Five days of regular healthy eating in a Seven day period and Two days of fasting. Fasting sounds extreme, its just a reduction to 500 calories in a 24 hour period and as I'm not really a breakfast food fan, a 24 hour period consuming 500 calories from 2.30pm-2.30pm seems to suit me the best. I'm on the second of two fasting days this week so far, though I am inevitably hungry as it nears the end of the period, I'm already feeling the benefits. This diet is supposed to be particularly good in aiding digestion and, without going into too much delicate detail "re-setting your system". It also boasts weight loss, energy boosting properties and insulin regulating benefits and so I'm giving it a go, figuring travel days are the ideal day to do this. A perfect way to avoid the pizza altogether! 

Back to the airport, picture me  having my final "butty" (sandwich to my American friends) before weaning myself off the bread and starting day one of the fast. Already my flight is delayed and there is little to no information available as to the whereabouts of the plane. 

After a couple of hours and several fruitless attempts to ascertain the airlines plan, I hear my name being called over the tannoy and as quickly as you can say "yeah mon" I'm being thrust through the doors of the departure lounge onto the Tarmac and being told to "get on that plane" 

"What about my luggage?" I asked the supervisor "will it make the flight" 

"Hopefully" she answered with about as much conviction as an insomniac at a Zumba class. 

On the plane that I was reliably informed was headed to Antigua, I was seated next to a young lady named Shantice who it seemed was having "the worst day ever". Ordinarily I'd strike up a conversation with her as she seemed clearly distressed at these somewhat topsy turvy travel plans but to be quite honest I couldn't really understand what she was saying. Amid an interaction with the guy opposite I discovered she too had been shoved on the flight at a moments notice and that her trip home to Barbados for the weekend had something to do with a suitcase full of frozen fish. I just closed my eyes and tried to remain calm.

On the tarmac in Antigua, Shantice and I were unsurprisingly informed that we had missed our connection to Barbados and that we would be accommodated in Antigua for the evening before leaving for Barbados first thing in the morning. But as we entered the arrivals area in the airport "passengers to Barbados" were given a rather odd looking blank boarding pass and told to clear security again. Great, I thought.  Maybe the Barbados flight has been delayed also. However after stripping off my outer layer for about the third time already that day and fruitlessly searching for the information on the illusive Barbados flight we were told in no uncertain and less than polite terms to "get on that plane" for the second time in as many hours. Only this flight wasn't headed to Barbados but to Dominica. Shocked, Shantice immediately displayed her disdain in a more than eloquent fashion and this time I understood every word of what she was stating.

"I'm not going to Dominica. I don't want to go to Dominica. Why would you be sending us to Dominica? I'm not getting on a plane to Dominica"

Shantice was not going to Dominica. 

"Why can't you accommodate us here in Antigua?" I asked. "As your colleague offered on the tarmac?" 

"Because of the cricket" Mrs shirty knickers explained. "There are no available hotel rooms because of the cricket" 

At which point Shantice's eyes were as wide as saucers.

"Antigua is 108 square miles!" her voice now raised and clearer than ever. Impressive I thought, and waited for her to continue 

"You can't tell me there are NO hotel rooms on this entire island" 

"That is exactly what I'm telling you" Mrs aggressive pants added. "And you cannot stay in the airport overnight so you either make your own arrangements in Antigua or you get on that plane. 

Lucky Shantice had friends in Antigua and paraded out of the departure area retreating back to her inaudible rants about suitcases of frozen fish. 

I don't mind telling you at this point, despite my earlier proclamations I was worried and a little upset. As i watched my comrade in arms leaving the airport I felt pretty alone and anxious. I too had no intention of going to Dominica but couldn't really see any alternative. Moments later, Mrs Cranky trousers' work colleague, Mr Patronising face informed me I would no longer be staying in Dominica but instead I would be disembarking there, waiting another hour and then flying on to St Vincent where I would be accommodated over night. After an unpleasant exchange involving  a selection of remarks such as "Are you listening to me?" "Why would I send you somewhere with no accomodation" "yes I KNOW you just came from St Maarten and so did this flight" etc etc and my retorts encompassing "I'm a woman travelling on my own", "you have a duty of care to me" and "don't you roll your eyes at me", in a flood of tears I reluctantly got on the plane to Dominica and unashamedly sobbed most of the way there. I had no knowledge of where my baggage was, no confirmation of where I was spending the night or how I would get to Barbados but most worryingly there was no paper trail anywhere and no one in the UK knew my current whereabouts as no official boarding passes for any of the three flights I took that night were issued to me and my phone wasn't working. 

After an hour in Dominica I boarded my final flight to St Vincent. Tired, emotional and very sweaty I was pretty sure this day could not get any worse. 

Needless to say, when my 'taxi' arrived to take me to my 'hotel' I was convinced I would meet my demise in St Vincent. 

What appeared to be a repurposed bread van with soaking wet seats and an engine gruffer than Louis Armstrong careered at unreasonable speeds up into the hillsides of the island and I held on for dear life as we traversed a road with more lumps and bumps than Oprah  without spandex.I was more than well aware that not only did no one know where I was but that I didn't either. 

Tired and teary I headed to my bed for the night in a somewhat dilapidated guest house down a dark alley for three hours rest before heading back to the airport for my eventual journey to my destination. 

The following morning I awaited my 6am flight to Grenada and then Barbados where I was more than prepared to have to wait till the airline located the whereabouts of my luggage. Sure enough, there she was at the lost luggage desk, Shantice, hollering at the poor baggage attendant about her suitcase of frozen fish which now, I would assume smelt worse than Gandi's sandals. If I was her, I'd have scarpered and left the smelly case as a thank you gift to the less than competent airline that had "ruined her weekend" . Instead she insisted on seeing the management to determine who was going to "compensate me for my frozen fish"

She left, still protesting in her wake "I can't eat the fish" and "you've ruined my fish" and "who's going to pay for my fish???" 

Six hours, several phone calls and two inbound flights from St Maarten via Antigua later, not only was there still no sign of the bags but no body could tell me where they were. The more I thought about it, the more I remembered what I'd packed in those cases and the more stupid I felt. On the island hopper flights you are only permitted to take one small piece of luggage and not the usual carry on trolley bag. All my best shoes, jewellery, stage wear, EVERYTHING I owned that was decent was in those bags not to mention 150 CD's I'd packed to sell after my shows and a necklace my parents had bought me for my graduation. I called Steve, devastated and completely convinced they'd been stolen. 

I joined the ship in Barbados as scheduled after three hours sleep, four flights, six islands in 12 hours and with only the clothes I was stood up in. 

The staff onboard the Celebrity ship are amazing and immediately took up the case, pardon the pun, contacting all the port agents shore side in all the places my bags could have been, sending them to the airports to check. They also gave me an emergency pack of toiletries,some stuff to sleep in and some clean underwear and I retired to my cabin to await the fate. 

The next day, the luggage was finally located in Barbados and flown on to st. Lucia where the ship was now docked with an hour to spare before sail time. I've never been so happy to see a box of contact lenses after spending 24 hours looking like a greasy ugly Betty and more than relieved to be performing my show in my stage wear rather than an 'I love st. Lucia' t'shirt. 

Amazingly enough, I write this sat at a table in St Maarten on the beach. That's right, after all that travelling and stress, the ship has brought me right back to where I started the flippin journey four nights ago and yesterday in Antigua I was in port with the ship I had left in St Maarten the first time to travel to this one. My carbon footprint I swear is yeti-sized. 

Tomorrow is St Thomas before two days at sea and disembarking the fabulous Celebrity Eclipse in FortLauderdale before flying to Costa Rica (again) to do the three hour taxi drive (again, i wonder if its victor who picks me up?) and to join the Celebrity Equinox (again) .

I love my job, and admittedly I learn something new every day (namely never to travel with a suitcase of frozen fish). 

As you can see its not always glamorous and without the support of my husband, my family, my amazing agents and the ships crew, I'd probably still be blubbing in Barbados somewhere. 

LAST POST OF THE TRIP.... PROMISE!!!

Normally I wouldn't consider writing two blogs in the space of a week for fear you'd all get bored of it and stop reading them. But as I perch on the bottom step of the entrance to the Internet cafe in St Kitts like a stylish street urchin, poised waiting for it to open, I have time to reflect on the last 22 days of my travels. 

I did my final show last night and when I started penning my tales of the high seas I vowed to myself I wouldn't talk about the shows on my blog

which I won't, but I do want to draw upon how extremely lucky I feel to have been able to entertain four separate sets of audiences in 22 days, work for a cruise line I deem to be one of the best in the world (its frequently voted so) and to have started an impressive 'base tan' upon which I can pile bottles and bottles of St Tropez before my bridesmaid dress trying-on session next week. As we are all aware, brown is the new skinny. 

My fabulous sister in law to be has arranged for us to go try on some 'fancy frocks' next week and whilst I am V Excited at the prospect of a girlie lunch with her, both of our mums and the rest of the bridesbirds, I can't help wishing I'd had another couple of months to fight the flab before the eventuality. I've been to the gym as often as I could manage this last contract and whilst I LOATHE every second of sweating in a public place I realise that at my age exercise is not only the most successful way to try and pinch an inch but undoubtedly the best way to assist in coping with the arduous amount of travelling that comes with my charmed life. The travelling in my opinion is the bit we get paid for. I took 88 flights last year in and out of the UK and over the last three years alone have taken over 250 flights in and out of Manchester airport so whilst I am we'll aware I will never die of overwork, there is a distinct possibility I ill die from deep vein thrombosis.You take the rough with the smooth though right? 

Tomorrow I fly Barbados to Miami (where I have to pick up and re check my bags as its the first stop of the trip in the US) Miami to Heathrow and Heathrow to Manchester. This is why it takes so many flights to get to and from the ships... Cause we very rarely fly direct. Ill leave the ship tomorrow around noon and get home on Thursday around 3pm. I'm going to treat myself to... You guessed it A TAXI!!! Home from Manchester as most of my relatives will be at work at that time and steve is in Thailand. 

I have a regular taxi firm I use in Bolton all the time, primarily because they will come out for me at 4am in the morning to do an airport run and have never let me down yet, but honestly because Mo and Sal, the alacritous brothers that own the firm "Timewise taxis" are comedy geniuses. You can't learn timing like theirs. They never cease to make me laugh. I think I'll need that after my journey. 

Currently, I am drinking a strawberry daiquiri waiting to meet with the other entertainer and his pals at a bar in St Kitts. The port area is large and built up here with every store selling almost identical merchandise. The most disconcerting experience in st kitts is the giant Rasta guys who parade  tiny monkeys in nappies around the terminal area in a bid for you to pay to have your picture taken with what is pretty much an incontinent rat in a cuter outfit. 

I mean no disrespect to all you furball lovers out there, but those of you who know me will concur that I am not indeed an animal enthusiast in the least, I mean them no harm essentially but prefer them between two slices of bread. Controversial I know but I think this stems from the time my brother, maybe only 6 or 7 at the time was bitten by a neighbours dog.  It's not so much the physical scars he may have acquired as a result of this unsolicited attack that has perturbed me but more what occurred directly as a result of it. My mother in a fit of uncharacteristic rage, frog marched my bawling sibling down the street to confront said neighbour about the frenzied attack (insert "little nip that didn't really break the skin" here) and proceeded to yank his pants down in the STREET to show the canine owner the ever reddening results of her pets plight much to my screaming brothers dismay. Seeing him "revealed " in that way left a long lasting impression on me that animals do indeed inadvertently mean naked public screaming.   That's just how it is.

So now after one daiquiri and no breakfast I have been joined by Fred Klett (amazing comedian) and Jenny Baker (amazing documentation officer) and Doug McMillan (world class guitar hero) and am making the most of my final day of sunshine before I have to hide my tan  beneath 14 layers of clothes. 

And so now after 23 days away, I am thoroughly sick of putting make up and a dress on EVERY NIGHT and though I've loved every minute of performing and being part of the team on two very different but very lovely Celebrity ships, I have an appointment on Thursday night with a 'China Rooms' take away, 40 odd sky plus episodes of Emmerdale and Steves onesie. 

Bliss.