My new blog can be found at: www.shotandawe.com
So as y’all probably know by now, I’ve moved out of my floating home and returned to blighty and the joys of decent Tea, walking the dog and once again having daylight in my room.
Somewhat disappointingly, my return has nothing to do with being fired after being caught indulging in sexual shenanigans with a pair of voluptuous Swedish twin sister passengers on spring break or similar, rather with being offered a job back home which wouldn’t have been here for me had I stayed on until the end of my contract in June, meaning that a rare spot of forward planning on my part was called for.
My new job still sees me working behind a camera, only now as a sports photographer, who shoots first and asks questions later, as I’m typically stood on a sideline with a big fuck off zoom lens, and stopping the matches or events at various intervals to ask if anyone would like a photo would just seem bad form.…
As far as times of year to come home go, I think I’ve picked a pretty peachy one (a sentiment which I doubt was shared by the mother, who was actually expecting me back a month later), spring has well and truly sprung here and my return to life on land has been made waaaay easier by some very unseasonal sunshine for the last few weeks.
As expected, my token gesture of a suntan has been ridiculed on more than a few occasions, but this being Britain, pretty much everyone else tends to look like they’re on dialysis anyway so I’ve fitted back in nicely.
So now that I’m out of the loop and obviously completely free from fear of any repercussion, I can finally give you people what you really want and wax lyrical about everyone who pissed me off onboard over the last few months – hehe, just kidding, it takes quite a lot to piss me off, unless of course you’re a dick.
Oh hang on, there was the power tripping head of security, Richard (though ‘Dick’ would definitely be a more fitting nickname) who inexplicably took it upon himself to make all the photogs’ lives as difficult as possible at regular intervals, typically by stopping us getting off the ship when in port, leaving us with nothing to do but hurry up and wait whilst watching the very passengers we should’ve been shooting get off the ship before we were allowed to; in addition to his finding new and ever more ridiculous ways of essentially stopping us doing our jobs. My heartfelt condolences on your evidently tiny penis, but there’s no need to take it out on us, moron.
I also had a gander at some passenger comments about the photog team for the first time in ages shortly before I left (incidentally, since I first mentioned them I’ve come to the conclusion that some people fill in these ratings forms only because it means someone will actually listen to them!), with the ones that tickled me most being the short and sweet “Oliver Morris is impatient”.
I daresay some might take that as a bad thing, but personally I was kinda touched that 2 people had actually gone to the trouble of learning my name just to complain about me. You’d be impatient too if you’d just asked someone to do something stupendously fucking simple 3 times in a row and got no response other than being looked at as if you’d just shot their cat. And besides, everyone knows that no things come to those who wait….
On a more positive note, there are far too many fine folks to thank for the numerous good times which were had at work and play, but I was given a wicked little boat when I left (see pics) which some of the guilty parties signed so I don’t forget them, ta muchly y’all!
Having just said I’m not going to name names however, I am rather proud of turning Cristina from the ship’s string quartet onto the joys of thrash metal over the duration of my contract, with a little help from the O.B. jukebox and my good buddies Metallica, System of A Down and those cheeky German industrial metal sexpests, Rammstein. The politics of the crew jukebox were actually quite often a source of amusement, as there seemed to be an unspoken hierarchy whereby the officers in the bar would play brain melting techno for most of the evening and woe betide anyone who changed it. I’m sorry to say I never did manage to fulfil my intention of rocking up to the ‘box and whacking on some Slayer midway through one of their self indulgent takeovers. Methinks that woulda learned ‘em. (Just for the uninitiated, should you ever actually be dumb enough to badmouth them or change a Slayer song before it’s finished they will actually come and burn your house down. Fact.)
Unfortunately, I don’t think there are really any revelatory tales to share here in this 10th and final blog, partly cos I’ve already written about most of them (keep up!), but mainly because I can honestly say that my ship life has been one of the rare occasions that something has worked out pretty much exactly as I’ve imagined, i.e; no little amount of hard work, a great way to meet a lot of cool people and infinitely preferable to spending winter in the U.K; although I guess I did discover a few things along the way, such as that boffing the Spa manager actually affords you far fewer privileges in the Spa than you might think, Canon flashes suck major balls and that dressing up as a woman and acting like a twat means you don’t pay for your drinks. Incidentally, for those of you who didn’t have the privilege of seeing the divine sexbomb Ms. Chesty La Roux doing her thang live onstage, a quick click at the top of the videobar to your left should do the trick, or hop over to:
Please be advised that some content may be unsuitable for small children. Come to think of it, adults too…
Which just leaves me to say a ma-hoosive thank y’all to the frankly startling amount of you who’ve actually been reading my ramblings over the last few months, which amazingly includes folk in such far away places as Russia, South Korea and even Lebanon (incidentally, apologies to you folks, I can only assume that the language barrier prevented you from realising that I’m actually a nobody. Sorry!)
Of course, what with not living in the microcosm of life that is a cruise ship any more I’m now left with the question of what the hell to blog about next, as sadly I doubt the intense monotony of flat hunting or meetings with my accountant (gotta screw the taxman before he screws you, people!) which currently constitute my life would make for particularly interesting reading, so answers on a postcard please!
In the meantime, Here’s my ship life in numbers:
39,900+ - The amount of passengers I photographed at least once during my contract.
11,000 - Meals prepared onboard everyday.
735 - Highest number of days in total that I heard a passenger had spent cruising with Holland America Line. (I’m guessing not all at once though)
147 - Days I was onboard.
24 - The number of countries this ‘ere blog has been viewed in (that I can remember, anyway). Hey, I’m as surprised as anyone!
22 - The number of countries I’ve now visited.
13 - Different members of staff who made up the Photog team at various intervals during my time onboard.
10 - Different ports of call along the way.
6 - Continents I’ve now set foot on. Any ideas on how best to get to Antarctica and make it 7 are welcome….
5 - Different time zones.
4 - Members of my family who came to visit me on the ship. Not one of whom thought to bring the dog.
3 - Times I got properly sunburnt – come on, for a brit that’s pretty impressive!
3 - Times I managed to go diving – cheers J Dawg!
2 - Unlucky roomates.
1.60 - The price in dollars of a JD & Coke in the O.B. Rock!
1 - Time we came ohhhh so close to missing the ship.
1 - Minor traffic incident. Twat.
0 - Days off. Owwee!
Thanks for reading.
