Chapter One ... Back to the USA (leaving Manchester March 1st)

JUST as I got comfortable, wrestled Steve for my portion of the duvet and was reaching over to mute my phone, it beeped… an email? at 11.30 at night? And there it was 

To: Jayne Curry

From: US Airways 

We regret to inform you that your flight from PHL to FLL tomorrow has been cancelled due to poor weather conditions. 

Very little you can do about that from a bed in Manchester at 11.30 at night. 

After calling the emergency travel line that Celebrity Cruises provides for us, I was advised to speak to the representative at the airport tomorrow.

“Don’t worry.” He said “there are several other flights to Fort Lauderdale from Philadelphia tomorrow.

So I settled.

Tonight was to be my last night at home for another six weeks. I have been back for a mere 17 day break after 75 days away and here I was preparing to go back for more. As hard as it is on your personal relationships I knew I was heading back with the full support of my family. This time I would be spending the duration of my stay on one vessel.. I have never done this before. With the exemption of two periods of four days off, I would be spending six weeks on the Celebrity Constellation. The ship from whence I had arrived for this leave. The ship I had left all my summer clothes on. There was after all, no need for them in Manchester at this time of year and no need for winter clothes in Florida and the Caribbean. Sunshine!!! YAY.

On my arrival at the airport I was reliably informed that my flight from Philadelphia to Fort Lauderdale had indeed been rebooked for me but now consequentially I had a 6 hour wait in Philadelphia. My heart sank. A long haul flight followed by a lay over like that was a really sucks. But I was determined not to allow my spirits to be dampened. Inevitably when you spend as much time travelling alone as I do, you have days that you feel a little low,  the only way to combat this is to be as positive as possible as much of the time as you can manage. I reminded myself of this as I reluctantly accepted my new boarding pass. And again at the check in desk when the attendant told me my bags were too heavy and I was forced to repack… and again when the guy behind me shoved my seat all the way to Philly. 

I arrived back in to the US with a spring in my step. What positives could I take from today? I had two seats to myself on the plane, I managed no to cry in public watching a soppy movie AND they had diet Dr Pepper on the plane. My air of positivity quickly trebled into one of mischief and adventure. Maybe it was the lack of sleep and the excessive caffeine but there was no way I was killing time on a bench in an airport for 6 hours when there was a city out there I had never visited. Sailing through immigration and baggage claim so expediently sealed it for me. Stuff it! I know I have a tonne of hand luggage but I’m going to  Philadelphia!!!

Train ticket bought and safely ensconced in my seat onboard, the excitement fizzed inside me at the prospect of seeing somewhere I knew very little about. I had no idea the declaration of independence had been signed here. I knew about their famous Cheese steak sandwiches and the Tom Hanks movie, but little else.I asked the train conductor where was best to disembark to spend an hour in the city before dark. He was incredibly helpful, sold me a cheaper return ticket and gave me a map. He told me the historic old city of Philadelphia wasn’t too far west of the station stop so a mere 20 minutes after boarding I was in downtown philly.

I think up until this point, the sheer excitement and marvel at my spontaneous adventure had prevented me from feeling the temperature. Wearing a hoodie with a small leather jacket I headed into the sideways hailstones, dragging my wheelie case carry-on bag through the couple of inches of the previous days snow and slush. Even though within a minute I couldn’t feel my fingers I was too giddy to stop or to consider pausing to buy gloves. I had promised Steve in a text I would be back at the airport before it went dark and having in fact no conceivable idea when it WAS going to go dark I continued ploughing on through the adverse weather.. laughing to myself like some scruffy, deranged bag lady. I looked a real state. Hardly dressed for the conditions or the occasion. wearing barely a scrap of make up and dragging a bulging bag I charged on, determined to see something of significance. And that I did. After a brief trip to the Independence Visitor centre and time to pose for a selfie with a life-size statue of Rocky (I’d forgotten he hailed from these parts) I discovered much to my delight that across the road from where I now stood, was housed the Liberty Bell. I know a very small amount of American history shamefully, but I was more than excited to learn more and at least aware of the significance of the bell to the American people. After emptying the contents of my bag for the umpteenth time that day for security at the entrance to the museum I marvelled at the displays, watched the interactive movies with avid interest and paused to take a picture of the bell itself. So much history and significance steeped on one tiny bell… not tiny, but certainly in comparison to “Big Ben” it was. 

The weather worsened and after struggling on a couple more blocks in the weather i thought it sensible to head back to the train station. I hadn’t really realised how far I walked so, map in hand, I found the nearest subway station and used my all day pass to head back towards Jefferson Station for the airport train. The subway platform was deserted and reminded me very much of the scene in ‘Ghost’ where the guy is shouting “GET OFF MY TRAIIIINN” to the newly dead Patrick Swayze. 

With very little hassle I ended up back at the airport and found a lovely looking restaurant for a spot of seafood and a glass of wine.

“Do I need to see any ID Mam?” the waiter asked 

“Yes Yes!!!” I hollered “He thinks I’m too young to drink!!! Hoorah!!” And I started my own partially exhaustion fuelled mini mexican wave. 

“This is the best worst travel day EVEEERRRR” I yelled after he waiter as he walked away in bewilderment. My inner-American was back!

The elation of my crazy day eventually began to gradually wain as the reality of the amount of hours I had now been awake began to kick in. Exhausted, I dozed on a bench for a while at the gate until I was safely ensconced on the plane and nodding off happily. The captains announcement came over the tannoy.

“Sorry folks theres going to be a further delay. We are in a queue to be de-iced before take off and we won’t be leaving the ground for at least another hour”

More delays. By the time I eventually hit the tarmac it was 12.15am on the morning of March the 2nd and I had been travelling for 19 hours already. Thoroughly exhausted and a little grumpy I headed out on the all so familiar route to the taxi rank.

As we left the airport I noticed the flashing blue lights ahead of us and the two police cars now blocking our slip road. Very long story short, there had been an accident on the railroad and the enormously lengthy freight train that traverses the length of Florida from bottom to top of the state and back was at an utter standstill and was likely to be there stationery for some time.  This was a problem for the taxi as we needed to head west to east across the railway line which was stood still south to North and therefore we took a $50 detour around the very edges of Fort Lauderdale and an hour later me and my copies amounts of baggage dragged our entirely dilapidated backsides into the hotel to crash. 23 hours after leaving Manchester I was in bed in Florida. I could have travelled to Australia in that time.

The next morning still jet lagged I rose early and drew the curtains and there it was… the beautiful florida sunshine… I slipped on a T shirt dress and headed out for supplies to the local supermarket. 

I’m not sure if it was the crazy juxtapositions in temperatures I had experienced in the two days or the jet lag that made me a little delirious but I beamed a smile across my face the whole way to the store.

Yes being away from home is hard. Yes missing the people you love is hard. But I was determined to be inspired by my slightly wacky spontaneity of the day previous…. I was going on another adventure and I had a feeling this one would be even crazier than the last. 

Jayne's Caribbean adventure...Part Two

Finding a strong wifi signal in the caribbean is the holy grail for guest entertainers, indeed for all crew member on a ship who have spent any length of time away from home. So not only to find this, but for the lovely lady in the hotel in Cozumel to allow me to use it for FREE??? It was like christmas come early. After a good chat with Steve I connected via Skype to my parents back in Accrington to catch up on the latest news from home. But something just wasn’t sitting right with me

“Mum, I feel a bit weird” I said “I can’t remember what time the ship is leaving. Its 3.10pm now and I’m not sure if it leaves at 3.45 or 4.45.”

“Don’t take any risks” she said “You can’t afford to miss the ship”

This is the on going and reoccurring nightmare of all frequent cruisers. They drum it into you quiet fervently that under no circumstances will a ship ever wait for you if you’re late back. I frequently have dreams where I’m stood gesturing wildly on a quayside somewhere protesting “You left early… wait for me” and a captain shouting back at me “No… you’re late… so loonnngg” I’ve woken up innumerable times with that panicked sensation so todays niggle started to fester at the back of my mind. 

“I’m pretty sure its 4.45pm mum… but I just don’t know” I said disappointedly as I relish my family time, albeit online of late.

“Seriously Jayne… go” she insisted. So I packed up and made my way towards the ship… a mere 5 minute walk at best. As I headed out into the warm rain, I checked my watch again and thought to myself that even if the ship did leave at 3.45pm I had time to nip into the grocery store over the road and buy some water and supplies before heading back, so post-haste I darted between the endless stream of taxi’s taking care to avoid their splashes as I negotiated the muddy puddles in the uneven road. 

I approached my shopping expedition like a stealth ninja.. determined to gather my wares and make it to the check out before the giggly group of spanish speaking teenage girls, their arms laden down with drinks and treats. As the checkout assistant processed my items I smugly furrowed around in my bag for my wallet as I internally patted myself on the back for making the shopping quick so hastily on my way back then the real panic hit me. 

“my wallet… its gone… where is it?” I emptied the contents of my copious tote on to the floor of the shop and ferreted around most erratically as the realisation hit me that not only did my wallet contain $200+ dollars and my credit cards but also my sea pass card for re-entry to the ship.

Immediately I ran through all the possible scenarios in my head: Its been stolen in the restaurant at lunch, I’ve left it in my friend Davids car, a Cozumel local who had so kindly taken me out to lunch that day, or have I dropped it?… and I pictured the ship… leaving without me as captain Tasos shouted 

“No…you’re late.. soo looonnngg”

I jumped to my feet in mad panic just as one of the giggly teenagers was leaning over me to put her purchases on the counter and I head butted her sandwich clean into the air 

“Muchos sorry” I offered as her friends laughed and she gazed at me bemused as if to say “who is this crazy wet lady launching my lunch?” 

I then realised that I may well have left my purse on the sofa in hotel. I remember taking it out to make an online purchase just before calling my Mum.

I scurried across the floor gathering my scattered belongings before darting out of the shop shouting “Muchos sorry… I’ve lost my purse I’ll be back”

and like Yussain Bolt in wedges I bounded across the road, ignorant of the puddles, unaware of the on-coming traffic and waving my protruding umbrella around like a knight on horse back. As I stumbled for the second time a shop keeper shouted “Woah take it easy amiga” and I found my self “Muchos sorry" for the third time in as many minutes. 

To find my purse, perched on the sofa where I had left it was a relief to say the least and I dragged my now mud splashed legs back to the grocery store to complete my transaction. The giggly girls were still at the till, faces full of goodies as I bounded in through the door panting like an out of breath collie. 

“I lost my purse” I offered. No reaction

“I had to go back to the hotel to get it” 

They looked at each other bemused, shrugging their shoulders. So the actress in me decided that I should use my university degree to portray through the medium of mime the calamity that had just befallen me to my spanish speaking audience.

Wildly I gestured, first, palms on cheeks I struck a panicked face.. before running on the spot.. pointing out of the window and then drawing my wallet from my now soggy bag… making a “phew” noise and wiping my genuinely now sweaty brow. They laughed… then they clapped.. so I took a little bow. Feeling more than proud of myself at this stage, shopping, purse rescuing AND doing my best Marcel Marceau for the Mexican masses, I paid my bill, picked up my groceries and fell out of the shop door. 

The giggly teenagers, now laughing at me not with me looked at me with those kind of pitying looks that manage to encompass both “Oh my goodness she is SO not cool” with “please don’t tell me I’l ever end up like her” whilst simultaneously laughing amongst themselves and eating a sandwich with my head print in it. 

I limped off attempting to restore my pride, only to be greeted by my cabin steward who was entering the port as I was leaving 

“Rolando… where are you going?” I asked.. “Aren’t you going to miss the ship?”

“No miss Jayne” he offered “We don’t sail till 5”

As I write this I am currently back stage, preparing for my 36th show of this contract. This time next week I will be on a plane somewhere over the atlantic with any luck, quite possibly too excited to sleep. Whilst I have had an epic time over here, and epic really is the best possible word to describe it, at some point you do start to crave a little normality, less calamity and your creature comforts. Most importantly though I’m looking forward to seeing those I love the most. And even after 6 years of marriage and 10 years together, I still do my very best ‘Clark Kent’ impersonation on the aeroplane home. I get onboard looking like a hobo and squeeze my backside into that bathroom cubicle on the flight, borderline dislocating myself to change out of my sweat pants and hoodie and put a full face of make up on and a clean outfit to greet my husband at the airport in Manchester. I wish I could say the same for him… If I’m away, he doesn’t bother to shave so Shaggy from Scooby Doo will be picking me up next friday!

Tomorrow is Key West, the southern most point of Florida. I was here a few weeks ago when Steve was travelling with me. I shall doubtless be heading to the ‘Conch Republic’ seafood restaurant on the harbour for a bowl of their spectacular ‘Conch Chowder’ before this time most definitely sampling a slice of Key Lime Pie that I missed out on during the previous trip. Saturday is ‘Turnaround day’ which is basically the offloading of this weeks passengers and the arrival of the next. But as I am staying for the next cruise also it means only one thing to me… SHOPPING!!!

75 days

35 shows

26 beds

20 ports

14 flights

13 cruises 

9 shopping malls

6 car rentals 

2 new suitcases 

One Epic Adventure… to be continued.

Jayne's Caribbean Adventure... Part One

Its a common misconception amongst many, local advocates included, that life in the caribbean is stress-free. That people bumble along aimlessly like the leaves on a breeze enjoying the sunshine and rum in abundance as the pace of life slows to a veritable halt. That people on arrival immediately relax into the way of the Island folks, embracing the hassle free existence of the turquoise blue marine paradise in which they now basque. 

Don’t get me wrong, huge portions of the caribbean are utterly idyllic. And most of the visuals of the images I have just described do in fact exist. But stress free? No. Especially not for a european  like myself who’s life is dictated by the schedules and arrangements of my job. Then, the slow paced ‘mañana' attitude of the caribbean becomes positively heart attack inducing and you see the local people for who they really are when they operate under pressure. The nuances of the Grenadan accent meant I was unsure which of the plethora of what I could only assume to be expletives were the most offensive… I just knew this taxi driver was getting me to the airport.. and therefore his $10 bonus I had promised him.. regardless of who he had to insult or potentially injure on the way.

Picture the scene. This morning at 7.40am I was waiting in the conference room onboard the Celebrity Summit for officials to board the vessel, and clear me and the rest of the passenger manifest through the immigration process. The ship officially docked at 8am and my flight to Miami was booked for 9.30am. The airport is a 20 minute taxi ride away in the best of circumstances so to say I was a little anxious was an understatement. 

I waited patiently for the tardy officials to thumb leisurely through the mounds of paperwork before them as I uttered under my breath but inherently audibly that my flight was due to leave in 90 minutes. The blank looking gentleman pushed away my passport without even making eye contact with me and continued to revel in the merriments of the conversation his colleague was having with him about the inappropriate choice of car parking spot he had berated a local on this morning on the way to the vessel. Whilst I was obviously riveted at the prospect of a lengthy lesson in the innermost workings of the traffic system of the west indies… time was ticking on and I had luggage to collect and drag to the gang way. I tried approaching another of the officials hopefully… “sir, my flight leaves in 90 minutes!!”

“well choo be cutting it fine gurl” He retorted and I bounced up and down on the spot eagerly like a frantic Gordon Ramsay, biting my tongue all too aware they could make life very difficult for me if they wanted to. After the slowest passport stamp EVER in the history of modern man… moments later I was careering down the quay side with my two suitcases in the blazing hot sun, rueing the decision I’d made that morning to bother washing my hair. In the terminal building i scoured the empty hallway fervently in search of the driver promised to me by these ships agent in order to expedite the process to the airport and hope to make the flight by the skin of my teeth. After the security guard opened the gate in the SLOWEST fashion ever, I hurtled towards the ageing gentleman proffering his hands  motioning me to give him my bags 

:where choo be gurl? I be waitin on choo since a quarter to.” he said.

Flustered and sweating profusely I retorted “None of this is my fault. This flight was booked on my behalf and immigration took an eon to process me today.”

“De traffic be bad girl at dis time. you be cutting it fine gurl”

Already aware that the ‘cutting it fine’ moniker would likely stay with me all morning I breathed deeply in and began to steel myself with the implications of missing the flight. There were no more flights to the states today and an overnight alone in a hotel for the umpteenth time this trip appealed to me somewhat less than the apartment of friends I was scheduled to spend the evening in..catching up and eating chicken.

As we rounded the first corner the taxi came to a halt and the drivers companion dangled himself out of the window and gestured wildly at a passer by.

“Tis mi daughter.” the driver offered. “I needs to cillect mi daughter” . addressing me through the rear view mirror.

Prone to an imminent explosion I calmly retorted “good sir, I have paid for the exclusive hire of your vehicle and we have no time for this. I’m sorry but we can not wait for your daughter” 

“but… but… okay..” he said reluctantly pulling out to rejoin the now queueing traffic.

“How much is the cab?” I asked. “I’ll pay you now so as to avoid any further delays when we get there”

“de taxi be twenty gurl. I ov the reeseet right ere”

Bravely I added. “I will give you $30 if you get me there in time. Now Step On It!”

Now acutely aware I sounded like something from a ‘straight to TV’ movie I waved the money at the drivers companion who gladly pulled his torso back in from the open window and gestured the cash in the air like a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

If I’d turbo charged the engine myself I doubt it would have had more impact than the extra ten dollar proffer now appeared to make. My septugenarian 'Caribbean Lewis Hamilton' ploughed his way through the traffic like a maniac possessed. I was now more in fear of losing my life than missing the flight.

“We will do it gurl.. don’t choo worry your pretty ed” He laughed and made off like a bullet, steering wheel in one hand and a stack of crackers ten high in the other. He munched and blew out the crumbs all over his companion who seemed ill bothered by his manners as he asked me if I was married and where was my husband.

“He’s in Thailand.” I offered. “My husband is a professional golfer (that bit always fills me with pride.. i love the initial surprised response!). He is currently out there playing a tournament”

In an about turn from the norm, ‘Caribbean Lewis Hamilton' did not seem in the least bit impressed. 

“why don’t choo leave dat husban of yours and cum stay in Grenada wit me? Den you will be in no urry.I have a big ouse just for me… we can go to de beach.. I will cook you fresh fish and roti, I Know i will make choo appy gurl”

Whilst I was sorely tempted by the offer of the Roti, an amazing curry parcel native to the Islands of the caribbean and utterly delicious, I politely declined my suitor in favour of my current status and urged him to pay attention to the oncoming traffic instead of me.

His hollerings from the taxi van offered to the obstructing vehicles we overtook were choice to say the least. There was nothing ‘calm and relaxed’ about this Grenadan. I was thinking to myself, all this ‘chill out… take your time’ attitude we are so familiar with in this part of the world causes more stress than actually just getting on with what you need to do. I suppose I am guilty as the next western european of needing to rush through life, of being a slave to a schedule and feeling the constant need to plan ahead and be punctual when travelling at all times. But the laid back approach to my blind panic today had only caused me to stress out even more. There was very little sense of urgency displayed by anyone up until this point… and now I had incentivised my guardian with the prospect of a ten dollar tip… he was careering through the back streets of the island like a man possessed… much in contrast to the ‘chilled out’ traffic crawling around him.

‘I’m going to die in this taxi, stressed, sweaty and late’ I thought. Worrying about it wasn’t going to change a darn thing so I resigned myself to my fate.

However on arrival at the airport the stress tables turned and I instantly became enamoured by the slowly slowly approach to the order of the day when I hurtled towards the check in desk, convinced I’d missed the flight.

“Don’t choo worry gurl” the chilled out attendant offered. “its aaaall good. Choo have plenty o time” and she casually tap tap tapped away at the computer checking me in, her giant pink talons, curling back on themselves looking more like langoustine than finger nails and smiling away to herself like life was aalll ggoood.

Relieved, I waited in the departure lounge, perspiring, shaken, hungry and fatigued after only two hours of my day… and readied myself to board. 

When eventually seated in 24A, jubilant at having three seats to myself and therefore the prospect of a refreshing nap-ette, the captain spoke to us all over the PA system.

“I’m afraid ladies and gentleman we are experiencing some serious technical difficulties with the aircrafts engine starter system. We will have to ask you all to disembark the plane back into the terminal whilst we attempt to rectify this situation. We are very sorry”

Four hours later I was still sat there wondering why I had bothered stressing myself out so much this morning. If I had missed the flight, I had missed the flight… nobody would have died. I’d just cause myself more grey hair. And for what?

The cruise I have just completed is cruise number 9 of 13 consecutive cruises I am performing onboard for Celebrity Cruises this winter, whilst being based out of the US and the caribbean for this duration of 12 weeks. I have another 24 days to go of my 75 day stint here and I am having an absolute ball. I was fortunate enough for Steve, my husband to be able to travel with me for four of those weeks over the festive period and whilst it is much harder without him here naturally, I am well aware how completely blessed I am to be able to call this my job.

I have lots of stories to regale over the period of my travels here. I will enlighten you with those at various intervals as I go along. I haven’t written a blog for a while now… the simple reason being I have been too darn busy trying to make the most of this incredible opportunity. 

Every few days I have been packing up and moving on and trying to get to the airport this morning is but one of the calamitous instances I regularly find myself entailed in as I traverse from ship to ship… bouncing about the celebrity fleet like an eager child, thrilled to be being paid to avoid the British weather and dark nights at the present time.

Last week I stayed overnight in beautiful hotel on the Marina in Phillipsburg, St Maarten. I had disembarked the Celebrity Reflection and was waiting for the Celebrity Summit to arrive the next day. As I sat there on the balcony of my room looking out over the crystal waters I was mesmerised at the literally hundreds and hundreds of white butterflies that danced in the breeze like tiny feathers. At first I had mistaken them for light, sun bleached leaves but their constant changing of direction betrayed them to be alive and I marvelled at the phenomenon of how very many there were gathered in one place at one time. Unlike anything I had seen before.

I was on my own and for a moment, sad I had no one to share this unique spectacle with. Then I stopped myself from beginning to wallow and appreciated what I was seeing all the more as a thought occurred to me

“Happy is he who gets paid for what he would happily do for free”

I’m a lucky, lucky Gurl.

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.