I was aware of their origin instantly as it had been a lovely sunny start to the day and I had travelled into town with the soft-top down on my Mazda.. singing to my hearts content along the motorway, filling my lungs with the fresh morning air and warming up the old vocal chords ready for the session ahead. This also meant however, that I couldn’t avoid making eye contact with the said gentlemen who were chattering away in their native tongue quite nonchalantly as I stared open mouthed at his albeit incredibly attractive but now somewhat tea-stained looking physique. This wasn’t a ‘weekend in Monaco’ kind of tan. This was a ‘he’s fallen in a chocolate fountain’ kind of affair. A stripper-gram maybe? I thought. I laughed to myself and gathered my things.
Usually when I come to the college to work on the album I am greeted with dozens of students half my age.. milling about the café area… carrying their instruments… wearing vintage knits and hipster glasses and more often than not eating Quinoa from a plastic tub. It’s their space after all and I am merely a guest.. but teetering past in my stiletto’s with a full face of ‘You can do this, Jayne” confidence boosting make-up I stand out for all the wrong reasons. A bit of me wishes I was effortlessly cool like them or that I had persevered more with the Trumpet. Though I’m pretty sure the rest of the human race breathes a regular sigh of relief I didn’t.
Today however brought a whole new sense of inferiority as upon entering the building I was greeted by not one but literally dozens and dozens of Men and Women who had apparently coloured themselves in with the dark brown body stain. Bewildered and bemused I began to realise that all of them were as beautifully honed as our European friend in the car park.. but not that crazy, massive bulked up kind of muscly.. just really really fit. And really REALLY brown. Some were so brown they just looked like a tea bag with eyes. And some had omitted to tan their face all together. One guy had left an obtuse looking line around the top of his neck… almost as if he'd been dropped in a cup of gravy and drank his way out.
Its transpires that the College holds the 'Annual UK Natural Body Building Championships' here and whilst I scurried amongst the competitors, up the stairs to the safety of the vocal booth it was in fact I who felt weird. I have been cruising the Baltic region for the last three months and by my standards, have little or no tan to speak of really. I felt like an overstuffed bag of marshmallows, all puffy and white, bouncing embarrassingly from pillar to post trying to avoid accidentally contacting Adonis or Narcissus for fear that I might leave a streak.
Today I head out to the fabulous Celebrity Silhouette in Helsinki. It is the fifth time I have been here this summer, yet I’ve seen literally none of it. I usually arrive late having caught the 17.55pm last flight out of the day or have transhipped here from somewhere else in Europe and because Finland is two hours ahead of UK time Its usually close to midnight by the time I reach the airport hotel. Today however, I fly at 10.25 am and my accommodation is more central to the city than of late so I’m hoping to see a little of what the area has to offer. Who am I kidding? I’m going shoe shopping.
“OOOHHH Jayne I like your shoes… where are they from??”
“These??? oh just a little something I picked up in Finland.” Hee Hee
However two Helsinki’s ago I flew here from Southampton having disembarked the awesome Celebrity Eclipse there earlier that day. It was an unusual journey for me as the flight had me transferring through Manchester… not something I have ever done before as its normally where I would begin or end my journey. I transfer flights in airports so regularly its like second nature to me but I must admit I found this experience to be less than straight forward. There was signage but it wasn’t abundantly clear and upon reaching the area where you would transfer terminals from T3 to T1 I was told I would have to wait until all the passengers had cleared security before I would be allowed to proceed through the locked door. This seemed odd.
‘There’s loads of them!” I exclaimed to the lady at the customer service desk. “I Might miss my connection”.
I was hoping she wouldn’t ask to see my boarding pass as this was a blatant embellishment. I had plenty of time. I just knew there was only that one seemingly pointlessly locked door between me and TAX FREE shoe shopping. I was frustrated.
The journey hadn’t be altogether hassle free to this point either. On arriving at Southampton I had discovered no baggage had been added to my reservation and so I joined the queue at the enquiry desk to rectify it. Patsy recognised me waiting patiently in line.
“You again??!!” she smiled. “Whats wrong this time?”
Patsy had kindly helped with the exact same scenario two weeks previously although on that occasion a glitch in the system had threatened leave me with a £350 ($500) charge to take the luggage on the flight. Patsy persevered however, and eventually the problem was solved.
I try not to stress out when traveling these days unless its absolutely mandatory or unless I fear I might have unwittingly stranded my Dad in Belgium (see previous blog).Primarily because I would then be spending at least two days a week ‘wigged out’ of my mind about things I can not control but also because nine times out of ten the person in front or behind you in the queue is most probably having a way worse day than you.
The two Italians that were now screaming into the faces of the two markedly taller Swede’s over who’s turn it was to be seen next was indeed a much more dramatic scenario than my lack of baggage allowance so I smiled back at ‘Patient Patsy’ and gesticulated that the crazy Italian miniature person may indeed take my place in the line. She didn’t know what I knew. That Patsy from ‘Swissport’ handling is indeed a superwoman in disguise and that no problem is too big for her to solve.
When they eventually let me through the door in Manchester, and I EVENTUALLY managed to buy a pair of shoes that were very beautiful but I do not in fact need at all, I headed to the gate to board the flight. The chaos at Southampton and the lack of a usual transfer system in Manchester left me doubtful that my bags would make the connection and I realised that 'bleary-eyed morning Jayne’ should have packed more things in her hand luggage incase the bags did not indeed transition to Helsinki with me.
On arrival I waited at the belt for my belongings and lo and behold everybody elses came and went and mine were nowhere to be seen. I headed, downtrodden to the baggage handlers desk all too aware that tomorrows flight landed well after the ship was to depart the city and that friends of mine had been in a similar situation with their guitars a few weeks previous and had ended up chasing them around Europe from port to port.
“Oh well” I thought “Even if I have to go on stage in these stinky jeans, at least I’ll have a new pair of well-good shoes to wear” I chuckled to myself.
At the desk I explained my predicament and started to compose an email to the ship to warn them that if I was scheduled to perform the following day, I might not have my luggage. At this point the colleague of the lady dealing with my enquiry popped his head over the desk to ask if I was Mrs Parry
“yeessssss” I sighed, forlorn looking up from my phone “That’s me”
“Your bags are here.” he retorted. ‘But they have been sent to another belt. Number 33
“I could kiss yoooooouuu” I squealed. He recoiled. I decided not to.
As I headed to number 33, there, in a glass case in the centre of the luggage belt was a stuffed Beaver. A rather dominant looking creature. Odd to say the least, he looked like he was about to pounce. And as my two bags made their way into view, independently of any other luggage, they came to a halt right in front of the Beaver.
“The Beaver saved the day!!!” I thought “Hoorah for the Beaver” and I immediately took a picture of it and sent it to the Cruise Director and the Stage and Production Manager on the Silhouette merely stating
“Don’t worry. The beaver has saved the day”
It made me laugh. I grabbed the cases and bounced to my hotel full of beans, not realsiing at that stage that I hadn’t in fact sent the first email to the ship telling them that I had lost my bags at ALL as I had been distracted from the task by my joyous luggage news.
So that was all they received. An an email from me saying that a Beaver had saved the day.
" I could try and explain” I thought to myself.
" NNNaaaaaaahhhh… they know I’m a nutter. I’ll tell them tomorrow”
Footnote:
Since ‘Beaver-gate’ and now thoroughly convinced that Beaver’s are indeed my lucky animal, I subsequently purchased myself one on Amazon. (Other websites are available) He is a small stuffed version of the somewhat more grimacing example I encountered in Helsinki and I have named him Newman. He has been a big hit on the ship… especially with the dancers in the crew bar and has developed quite a penchant for red wine.
He is very soft and furry and though I am well aware I am 38 years of age and therefore it may not be deemed necessary or appropriate for me to be travelling with a plush toy, I must admit I find his presence very soothing. He doesn’t answer back, he is very reliable and doesn’t mind being stuffed into my ‘trusty goes everywhere with me’ backpack at a moments notice.
Other passengers on this particular flight seem somewhat disconcerted by his presence on my knee but today for once, I am not in a rush or horribly tired from my travels, so I intend on taking Newman to meet his Muse. Hopefully there will be photos to follow if I can work out how to attach the darn things.
Newman may appear in subsequent blog posts as he traverses the globe with me. I don’t know how long this will last. Not because I am fickle and may discard him, but because I cuddled him so hard in bed last cruise that he seems to be bereft of any stuffing around his midriff at present. He may need surgery. I’ll keep you posted.
The menacing Beaver at Helsinki Vaantaa Airport who thankfully guarded my bags for me
The bags arrived protected by the Beaver
Meet Newman
Newman meets his Muse
This is fellow entertainer 'Gareth Oliver' with his new mate 'Newman'
Was supposed to see you again. This time at Valencia Shores. Sorry to hear you will not be there! Allen of the BOOTS
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