“Screw you guys, I’m going home!”

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 10^th 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:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVTNxuEIaE4          

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.

“Well, there’s no use being stupid if you don’t show it”.

I know what you’ve been wondering, and in the end, no, creating an incriminating picture of the previously mentioned pain in the ass security officer engaging in a spot of bestiality turned out to be unnecessary, which in some ways was a bit of a shame, it would’ve been jokes fersure.

 The last few weeks have seen over half the photog team jump ship, starting with the Westy’s favourite videographer (and part time male model), Michael. We’ve only really bid him au revoir however, as he wants to see Alaska so bought himself a shiny new camera so’s he can come back as a photog in a few weeks’ time. He was replaced by Josh, a smiley surfer–esque dude from Virginia beach USA, who packs a hefty pair of guns and a penchant for spa girls.

 Not far behind Michael was my onboard wife (so called because at one point we were inexplicably finishing each other’s sentences and sharing a room every night but not having sex) Jadine; who, aside from a month’s vacation when the ship was in dry dock had been onboard since March last year. Although I was bummed to see her go, I was also slightly relieved as I figured it was only a matter of time until all those all nighters printing formal night pictures using a printer that makes Paris Hilton seem low maintenance pushed her over the edge and she picked up a dose of cabin fever. (Incidentally, after granting that professional waste of space the honour of a mention on my blog, I will restore equilibrium by adding that she was once named 'World's most overrated celebrity' by the Guiness Book of Records, random fact fans). 

 Boss man Serhat and Black Label photog Holly also left on the same day for a month’s vacation, going their separate ways for the first couple of weeks, Serhat going to South America and Holly taking a genuine busman’s holiday and jumping aboard another HAL ship for a week, the mentalist! It’s been a sweet few months with Serhat at the helm, and whilst he made us all work like pit Donkeys, I daresay he’s also the only boss I’ll ever have who buys me shots after work, so cheerio, grand turk!

 The threesome were replaced by some familiar faces; namely Sorin, Claudia, and Leicester’s favourite son and my (Tea) drinking partner Chris, as well as Nicole, who, to coin that well worn American phrase is ‘brand new’ (well, to ships at least, I think she’s one of the few people on the planet who can actually claim to have had more jobs than me in her time, though sadly I’ve never been a Yoga teacher in Hawaii, more’s the pity). On her first day I was given the task of showing her how to shoot on the beach at Half Moon Cay, which, needless to say, I took very seriously; with Mr. Miyagi’s philosophy that “There no such thing as bad student Daniel san, only bad teacher” ringing in my ears, I made an effort to impart my knowledge to Nicole as best I could.

 Obviously, this didn’t take long and she listened well, and by the end of the morning had learnt how to take the relentless tide of rejection that comes with being a cruise ship photographer in her stride, how to spot a pair of falsies from 50ft away and that a Pina Colada does, in fact, make an effective breakfast substitute. Not bad for a morning’s work! Anyhoo, an ‘extreme’ themed crew party materialised for the first time in what seemed like ages, which was a bit of a tricky one, to say the least. I was toying with the idea of being extreme-ly lazy and just showing up in my work clothes, but thought better of it and instead made the extreme effort to get changed. Unlike all the previous crew parties which have all been held on the bow, this one had a bit of a twist, as it took place in the engine room instead, which is much like holding a rave in an oven, though I was able to overlook this as the engineers had been kind enough to grace this little sweatbox with a pole….

 Sadly, as is all too often the case, it wasn’t long before lots of sweaty men who really should know better took it upon themselves to gyrate against each other and the pole, which made for disturbing and, I’m ashamed to say, strangely compelling viewing (y’know, like a car crash).

 Luckily, the day was saved by one of the female cast members who – presumably weary of the boys’ feeble attempts wrapped her thighs around the pole like there was no tomorrow and showed it who was boss in all her curvaceous and supple glory. Rock!

 Oh, before I forget, I recently got round to doing something I’ve been meaning to do for absolutely aaaaaaages (no, no, not Megan Fox – she’ll keep), I am of course talking about Parasailing!

 Despite working under a very corporate umbrella for the last few months, I’m pleased to report that I’ve lost none of my blagging ability whilst being at sea, managing to sort a free ride into the sky by simply telling the staff that I didn’t have my wallet with me (which was actually true - it’s often all I can do to remember my camera, CF card and fresh batteries everyday ; ). Sadly, having an uninsured and far-too-fucking-expensive-to-risk-dropping-500-feet-into-the-ocean camera round my neck prevented me from trying to stick a backflip in the harness whilst I was airbourne, but the view from the top (and a still-functioning camera) were more than adequate compensation as the pics will show. I’ve been hitting the O.B. much more regularly just recently, partly because after more than 4 months onboard I’ve discovered that they do actually sell a half decent beer (San Miguel) as opposed to all the watered down, identikit ‘Lite’ crap which I can only assume is aimed at shandy loving footballers. Anyhoo, the upside of my more regular patronage has been not missing power hour (does exactly what it says on the tin – an hour of ridiculous and highly amusing videos with a break every minute or so where everyone has a swig of their preferred tipple before gearing up for the next onslaught of silliness) for a change, as well as bearing witness to quite possibly the most brilliantly random thing I’ve seen onboard so far, when Tam, one of the ship’s officers, brought his bagpipes out onto the deck and started giving us an earful under the stars. No sooner had I finished expressing my disdain for the bloody things however, he went and redeemed himself in epic fashion by playing ‘Thunderstruck’ by AC/DC.

I think there can be little doubt you’re onto a winner when you can write a riff so effin’ good that not even the insufferable droning of the bagpipes can spoil it. As Jack Black once proclaimed, you really cannot kill the metal!

 Thanks for reading.

“The only time you usually see a face this old is in the morgue”

So after more than 3 months of not being able to venture any further into the land of the free than the inside of the embarkation terminal where we dock every week, I finally managed to go have a wonder round the U.S and A, heading straight for what is supposedly one of the few things worth checking out in Fort Lauderdale, the Las Olas promenade. I had a stroll along the surprisingly busy beach and before long decided to mark the occasion with a trip to that most American of institutions, Hooters. After leaving somewhat disappointed with the food and lack of Owls in the place I strolled along the beach some more and managed to spot a fair few Redbreasts, which went some way to putting a smile back on my face, though not for long as I soon realised that I too, was getting redder by the minute and didn’t have any suncream. Christ knows what it’s like in summer….

As I mentioned last time, voyage #302 was a bit different as my parents and 2 grandmas climbed aboard for the week, which (despite them not bringing the dog) was ace. After having a look around I got the feeling they were quite impressed with the size of my office, in particular the Lido deck, where Grams Farm expressed delight at being able to eat as much dessert as she wanted whilst giving an often uncomfortably loud running commentary on the size of the many oversized fellow passengers walking past our table….

 Grams Clock had wanted to come on a cruise all her life, and at the spritely age of 84 finally managed to do it, which was obviously very cool. (Incidentally, this blog’s title came from a very cool 91 year old Canadian gent, who, when asked if he’d like a picture declined with that particular reply – what a legend!) Her legendary status amongst grandparents was also firmly cemented by her bringing me some Yorkshire Tea – score!

 As I expected, I got some stick from the ‘rents for arguably bearing more resemblance to a dialysis patient than someone who’s been working in the Caribbean for months, but after a couple of days here I think there was little doubt as to why I still haven’t let Mr. Sun have his wicked way with me – were it not for good old factor 30 I’d probably be close to a different ethnicity by now….

 Anyhoo, after being brought up to speed on what’s been going on back home whilst I’ve been away (we have -16 degree winters now? Yikes!), I also discovered that my frequent urges to jump off things from great heights is actually inherited, as my parents both mentioned having random Lemming - like urges to jump off the side of the ship whilst they were walking round the prom deck on their own at night. For once though, I can claim to be the lesser idiot, as the only time I’ve properly considered jumping off the ship is when we dock at Grand Turk - i.e. when the ship isn’t actually moving and the water is bluer than Billy Connolly’s mouth. Jumping off at night when you’re gonna get left behind and not have much of a view just seems a tad joyless to me. Just sayin’.

 Anyhoo, the first stop of their cruise was Half Moon Cay, where the awesome foursome went off on a glass bottom boat tour, leaving me to do some work. Bah!

 Me ma was somewhat overwhelmed by the fact that the sea was actually as blue as it appeared in my pictures, but I’m not usually one for overly doctoring my images (well, apart from the main one on the last blog of course, but we’ll come to that later). We then all hit the beach for all too brief a time, as we had to make sure we didn’t miss the last tender back to the ship, though I’m pretty sure we’d have found a way to cope if we had been left behind on the island….

 The first port day was in Aruba, where we hopped on a bus tour with a driver who possessed a blantant disregard for speedbumps and who, for some reason was even more obsessed with local property prices than your average Englishman. He took us to some bigass rocks, encouraged us to vent anger at the island’s Tax Office and was even kind enough to give us an extended close up viewing of the local flaura and fauna by the side of the road when we got a puncture halfway through the tour and had to wait for another bus to come pick us up. After that, we were shown the island’s lighthouse, then drove along the main strip of beaches and hotels on the way back to the ship, where we were told the story about one of the wrecks lying offshore from World War 2, whose captain, upon being surrounded, he didn’t particularly want to give ze germans the benefit of all his fuel and supplies onboard, so set the ship ablaze and sank it instead. What a badass!

 The next day was spent in Curacao, where we had a wonder round Willemstad before succumbing to the heat and stopping off at a waterside Café to cool off. Whilst we sat there largely failing to do so, Stairway to Heaven came on and all my cares faded away while I air guitared like a bandit. Epic. (In case you’re wondering why it was such a big deal I should perhaps explain that there seems to be an unwritten rule that wherever the sun shines in the Caribbean you must play Reggae in a public space. Personally, Reggae is something that’s always baffled me, as I’ve never been able to understand how people can take quite so long to say absolutely bugger all in a song. I mean, I know they’re all mashed and everything, but seriously!)

 Anyway, that afternoon we headed to Mambo beach, one of the only non - coral beaches on the island, where I learnt that the sea water in Curacao is probably the most salty you’ll ever taste and that apparently you’re never too old to be told off for diving off rocks by your mother. Good times!

 The last day was spent at sea heading back to Fort Lauderdale, where my Dad shocked us all by saying he was going to give himself a treat and have an acupuncture session, though as I suspected, claims of such wild indulgence on his part wouldn’t come to much – I think he was worried about being made to feel a bit of a prick or something. One thing which did materialise however was a trip up to the bridge, where we given an impromptu tour, during which we learned that despite all the technological gubbins they have on the ship they still park it by eye, and that we spend a lot of time sailing in water that’s a helluva lot shallower than you’d think. Eek. (Random fact: The top 10 feet of the ocean holds as much heat as our entire atmosphere)

 The week went past even quicker than usual, and no sooner had I got used to having them around it was time for the brits abroad to hop back across the pond, having experienced a week in my somewhat surreal life.

 Randomly enough the last blog’s main picture of me pretending to have missed the ship was almost all too appropriate for this particular installment, as after renting some dune buggies and quads to celebrate Serhat’s birthday in San Maarten, most of the photog team came very, very close to doing just that, after having too much fun and underestimating how long it’d take for us to get back to the ship. Although the drive was no real distance from where we’d stopped, for some reason San Maarten has a traffic problem to rival that of even good ol’ blighty, which obviously makes getting anywhere a challenge, especially if you’re in a hurry. After rocking up to the rental place, the guys there were kind enough to give us a lift back to the terminal and we all had to literally sprint down the gangway to avoid an extended stay in Phillipsburg, eventually all making it onboard with just a few slapped wrists and red faces. (I discovered yesterday that they don’t screw about if you do miss the boat either – one crew member did just that in San Juan, somehow managed to hitch a ride to our next port with another ship, but was then told that he needn’t have bothered and would have been better off simply buying a flight back home…)  The merriment continued that evening in the bar, where I rediscovered that lighting your body parts is always amusing and that headstands are waaaay easier than I’d previously thought, even on a listing ship. Having acquired my new skill though, for once someone else took it upon themselves to take things too far, as Kenny busted a bit too big a headstand and smashed one of the picture frames on the wall, giving himself a glass shower in the process. Oops. Still, as he left that week it certainly gave us something to remember him by. Good skills, Goose!

 Finally, the team has been on the receiving end of some rather ironic surveillance just recently, as one particular member of (in)security has taken it upon themselves to photograph us in the process of committing such heinous crimes as walking along with hands in our pockets, or, in my own case - for shame - drinking a coffee behind the photo desk in the gallery whilst on duty and sending them to our manager. I’ve let it slide the once, but I’m buggered if I’m going to put up with being spied on, so tune in next time to see whether I’ve been forced to give said wannabe paparazzi a taste of their own medicine by sending a (seamlessly photoshopped) image of him doing immoral things to a sheep to every single person on the ship……..

Thanks for reading.

“If a man speaks in the middle of a forest and there’s no woman around to hear it, is he still wrong?”

They say change is as good as a rest.

 I disagree.

Having acquired a new boss, black label photographer and roommate in the space of a week I have to say I’d still rather have a day off! Starting at the top, there’s my new manager Serhat (sir rat), who, immediately upon learning of my stellar performance in Miss Westerdam has called me ‘Chesty’ from the day he arrived, even going so far as to put it on our schedule everyday. (Incidentally, cheers to those of you who have offered your ten cents’ worth on why I didn’t win Miss Westerdam, the general consensus being that I should have had more flesh on show, but not having an extensive supply of women’s clothing to hand, I was obviously forced to take what I could get. Had I managed to get hold of that union jack dress to go along with my spice girls tune however, those fools wouldn’t have stood a chance…)

 Anyhoo, Serhat has changed a fair few things onboard, but is a cool guy and you can’t argue with his track record – he holds Ocean Images’ record for once making $115,000 on a week long charter cruise in Alaska. Kerr – ching!

 He brought with him his Black Label photographer girlfriend Holly. With an ‘H’. Forgive me for pointing out the bleedin’ obvious like that, it just never ceases to amaze me how confusing it is when someone wants my or her attention and shouts across the room, attracting both our attentions at the same time. Lackadaisical enunciation be damned! Maybe I’ll end up having to change my name to Chesty after all. Anyways, Holly has a wicked accent, is madder than a hatter when shooting in her studio and comes from the town which has the dubious honour of being voted Britain’s crappest: Hull. But don’t judge her, I mean, she is from Hull after all. Then there’s my new roommate, Alrick. Hailing from the Island of Jamaica. he has two kids, a penchant for Cologne and pricey watches and is one of life’s snorers, which has been interesting. Whilst being kept awake one night by his aural onslaughts I remembered a life lesson which came from the legend that is Sir Steve Redgrave, who, when sharing a room with a snoring teamate just clapped his hands once, which stops the madness while their brain figures out what’s going on. The tricky part is trying to fall asleep before they do.

 Anyway, Alrick also seems to fit the old stereotype of having a girl in every port if the phonecalls made from above my bed most nights are anything to go by – hey, you try not listening when you can still hear the sweet nothings being uttered through your earplugs as you’re trying to catch some Z’s.

 We had another charter cruise onboard a couple of weeks back, this time it was the Hay house cruise, which is a sort of spirituality and personal growth / self help book publishing company giving seminars and stuff. I’m not averse to spirituality, or personal growth (though I was bummed to learn that one of THOSE doesn’t actually count as personal growth, which I found quite ironic), I just tend to lose interest when people bang on their all powerful - yet oddly invisible - friends, as is so often the case. Actually, considering what I’d heard, I found the number of fruitloops onboard to be somewhat disappointing – these people have a habit of finding me no matter where I am in the world and they would no doubt have made for some chucklesome tales. Still, their reputation as photo lovers was somewhat justified, as they managed to quadruple our wage packets for the week, so I certainly wasn’t complaining. Come back soon, new age type dudes!

Being in the presence of all the spiritual creaminess, I also decided the week might be a good time to have a bit of a detox, so out went the booze and (most of) the caffeine, and in came copious amounts of water and ridicule from my shipmates, who refused to believe I’d make 7 whole days onboard sober. To cut a long story short, I made it through the week easily, and was even told my eyes looked brighter at the end, which was good to hear, if slightly worrying…. I’m not normally one for abstinence at the beginning of the year; it’s usually cold, miserable, and no one’s got any money after Christmas, so I figure the last thing you really need to do is to throw another shrimp on the barbeque of misery, but I’ve discovered, perhaps unsurprisingly, that it’s a hell of a lot easier when the sun is usually shining and you’re never more than 48 hours away from some time on a beach! Having visited the same 5 or 6 ports for the last 3 months or so however, it’s getting harder to find stuff to write about them, which is obviously a very first world problem, but a problem nevertheless, so I’ve decided to make more of an effort to get out of the port towns and see a bit more of the places where we’re stopping – you can’t really say you’ve seen a country if you’ve only seen one place now, can you? I mean seriously, imagine someone came to the UK and all they bothered to see of it was Swindon! 

 Anyways, my first move towards getting more experienced involved having a proper look around the fort at San Juan, which is pretty badass, the island itself was a bit of a rest stop for ships coming over from Europe on their way to America, so they built forts on both ends to keep ‘em out. The watchtowers (shown in the pic) are dotted all around both perimeters and something of an icon, and were manned round the clock back in the day, so it was a bit surprising to learn that the island was only attacked about 5 times in 400 years. Paranoid much?!!

 I also managed to see a wee bit more of Curacao during our next stop when I went diving with Jadine and one of the ship’s navigation officers, Mike, who – proving the ‘it’s a small world’ cliché is a cliché for a reason - just happens to be from Wolverhampton, but is a nice guy regardless.

 We only had time for one dive, but still saw plenty, including brain coral, some rare kind of anenomenome which I can’t spell, and a sea turtle. I’d forgotten just how cool they were, although sadly I didn’t manage to grab shell : ( While we’re on the subject, the dudes can live for 150 years random fact fans, which I guess would explain why they’re so chilled out.

As another week came and went, the changes somehow stayed constant and we got another addition to the team, Emma. As she hasn’t been onboard long I can’t give you too much info just yet, but she’s Blonde, usually cold, really into Haribo and makes for a buxom wench in a Pirate costume ; P Oh, she’s also the only other person I’ve ever met who whistles by inhaling rather than exhaling.

 As we now have an extra person to lighten the load a little, apparently I’m getting a half day off in Fort Lauderdale tomorrow, which means I’ll finally get to step on U.S. soil that isn’t the embarkation terminal, in the process making it the 6^th continent I’ve set foot on, whoop whoop!

I’ve also discovered that my folks and 2 grandmamas will be coming aboard, which was hugely exciting. Until me Ma told me she couldn’t fit the dog in her suitcase.

 Oh well, you can’t have it all.

Thanks for reading.

It's blues. In the key of sea...

Cast your mind way back, dear reader, to a time even before the last blog, where we finally got round to renting two dune buggies for a blat around San Maarten just before Kirsty (remember her?) left us. Although each had the steering wheel on the wrong side and both the engines combined would barely have pulled the skin off a rice pudding, they did make an awesome noise when you buried the loud pedal and ventilation was excellent, so it didn’t take long for the good times to roll. Anyhoo, not long after hitting the streets of San Maarten, we had a somewhat brutal introduction to their road etiquette when after coming to a perfectly controlled stop in a traffic jam we got an unexpected chiropractic adjustment from the bumblefuck behind us who evidently never learnt the 2 second rule and gave us a love tap up the ass. Had we gone for the scooters as originally planned there’s every chance this ‘ere blog could have been winging it’s way to you from San Maarten’s Hospital with me still having minibus bumper pulled out of my butt...

 Luckily, further drama left us alone and we made it to Maho beach on the other side of the island, which was where the main pic from the blog before last was taken where planes entering the island land right over your head in a Wayne’s world stylee, which is a pretty epic experience. 

 We had our Christmas meal a couple of days late in San Juan, where we also exchanged secret santa gifts. My new roomie Chris turned out to be mine, which I already knew because he told me, which actually kinda pissed me off – I mean seriously, can no one keep a secret these days? He did however redeem himself pretty quickly and earned himself a place in my heart by getting me some good old English TEA!

 Simple pleasures people, simple pleasures.

He’d also obviously been paying attention when I mentioned not having a laundry basket, as he got me one of those too. Despite a number of futile attempts to get it back into its bag however, it resisted better than one of those infuriating tents from Millets, which left me little choice other than to carry it back to the ship, though using my head to do so was perhaps a little OTT.

 Having a roommate has involved some adjustment – no longer can I shower with the bathroom door open and I’ve had to give up my walk in wardrobe (or to give it it’s more common name, the floor) in the interests of habitational harmony, but having to sort these kinds of things out never does you any harm. Chris is pretty cool, he’s here for a month to see out his contract from another Holland America ship, the Rhinedam, before heading back to Blighty, and already his time is nearly up. They had an interesting night a couple of weeks back when a passenger decided to drop the rear anchor whilst the ship was sailing, then decided to throw a life buoy into the sea, which obviously attracted further attention and caused the captain to muster (i.e; call EVERYONE onboard to their lifeboat station) to ensure no one was missing at around 5am in the morning. Fun times! He thought he’d gotten away with it too, until the ship arrived in Fort Lauderdale and the FBI arrived for a quiet word. Apparently he’s now looking at time for endangering public safety, so guess I won’t be finding out how well the Westerdam does hand brake turns anytime soon….

 Anyhoo, without further ado, here’s the part I know y’all have been waiting for - ‘Miss Westerdam 2011’, a contest to find the prettiest ladyboy type in the crew, which was held in the ship’s Theatre in front of most of the 800 crew onboard, many of whom, it should not go unmentioned, I have to see everyday….

 Talk about being thrown to the Lions.

 I resisted signing up, until Randall, our gay Texan piano player managed to twist my arm at the very last minute (which is never a mean feat) but this, folks, is a man so hilariously over the top he almost makes myself look reserved in comparison. So, the night before was spent racking my brains as to what the hell I could wear and what exactly my particular ‘talent’ would be, as Miss Chesty LaRoux…..

 A quick inquiry confirmed that there were no dirtbikes or unicycles onboard which could be ruined onstage for comedic effect, and given that the contest was being judged by the Captain, amongst other VIP’s I didn’t think my only other talent of pissing people off by being overly loud and obnoxious would be the best idea, so another way had to be found. Given that I was up against dancers from the cast and also the only person in the contest who doesn’t sing for the other choir I figured it was pretty pointless to take it seriously (especially with a face like mine) and just decided to go rock out with my cock out. So after shaking my hips like a Polaroid picture to a spice girls song for what was quite possibly the longest 3 and a bit minutes of my life and answering a few risqué questions about strapping young lads, (or was it lads with strap ons? I think the shame has corroded my memory somewhat), the judges eventually gave me an award in the brand new category of ‘scariest act’ in the contest! Given that it was basically 7 blokes dressing up pretending to be girls, I took the fact that I looked the least like a chick out of all of them as a win - go me! I also believed I should have got some kind of recognition for being the only idiot to actually go onstage sober, but quickly realised a slap would probably have been more well deserved. There is video evidence of her performance floating round the ship, and given that Miss Chesty is very much in touch with her public, she may even be found on that Facefook at some point in the not too distant future, so should her pics have you all a – flutter, watch this space.

This last week has been quite different as we’ve had the annual “Delbert’s Blues Cruise” take over the ship, which is pretty much exactly what it says on the tin - a week of some pretty badass blues music held all around the ship. From the start, we were left in no doubt that these were not our usual type of passengers when our manager Sorin told us “the only things you need to bear in mind are not to smoke weed and that the passenger area curfew (i.e; for crew) has been extended to 2am”. Game, and indeed, on! We also stopped off at a new destination on the way too; Bonaire, another island of the Leeward Antilles which is world renowned for its diving. And, er, pretty much sod all else. Oh, wait, their airport is called Flamingo airport. Cool, huh? So anyway, off Jadine and I went for a dive, which was sweet, it’s been way too long since I went diving, though unlike the last time I did this time I managed not to bleed green blood after cutting myself on a piece of sunken ship. Unfortunately, Jadine didn’t bring her underwater camera along (you’d be amazed how often we all manage to do that), so I can’t share any pics of our underwater friends, though it is perhaps a good thing she didn’t, otherwise I’d almost certainly have felt compelled to disregard the dive shop’s rule that we weren’t allowed to swim underneath our own ship. A picture of the belly of the beast would’ve been pretty badass methinks.

  I managed to catch quite a few bands throughout the week, some of which can be seen in the pics. They all knew how to have a sweet time fersure and we’re all going to be a bit bummed to return to the usual melancholy of the blue rinse brigade. Speaking of being bummed (no no, not like THAT, I’ve no desire to take the being a woman thing quite that far), Sorin and Claudia, our Manager and assistant manager are jumping ship and leaving us, which kinda sucks as it’s been sweet working with them. In typical ship fashion they only found out like 2 days before, which is pretty crazy, but hey, ship happens.

Thanks for reading.   

"We did once try to recreate the Christmas story in Australia, but we couldn’t find 3 wise men. Or a virgin, for that matter…"

So that’s Christmas and New Year done and dusted. It all went by in a bit of a blur and there wasn’t really much time to do anything other than ring my ma & pa and apologise for me and my brother being such being such bad offspring (what with me being in the Atlantic dodging Whales and him in Afghanistan dodging bullets) and make the dog run round the kitchen table when she heard me on speakerphone. Due to this marked lack of time to wax lyrical about what’s been going on recently, in a change from your usual update on all the newlyweds and nearlydeads aboard my bigass boat, I figured a list of a few things I’ve learned in the last year might be cool instead. Here goes:

·        Finding out that people read my nonsensical ramblings in places such as Russia and Croatia is a bit bonkers. Actually knowing anyone reads anything I put on here is slightly crackers. But pretty cool too

·        Everyone should see Rammstein play live before they die – who wouldn’t be impressed by a man wearing 25ft angel wings that shoot flames at each end? BANG BANG!

·        I like not having a cellphone again

·        Hot tubs rule

·        If you ask nicely enough, Skin from Skunk Anansie will sign your nipple

·        Not having to take your wallet to your local rocks

·        The Inland Revenue are a big bunch of liars – Tax is always taxing

·        System of a Down are reforming : D

·        Passengers who will unexpectedly be needing to disembark the ship horizontally are kept in the flower freezer until such time as this is possible

·        Having your dirtbike stolen sucks serious balls

·        Finding out your dirtbike wasn’t covered under insurance sucks even more balls

·        Having your buddy’s dirtbike stolen by the same bunch of bastards is almost even worse

·        Having your parent’s car stolen in the same night is just the icing on a shitty cake

·        Having my stuff stolen from my own home almost makes me want to buy a gun to wipe out any more workshy pikey fuckers who may decide to pay a visit in the future. Tony Martin for Prime Minister!

·        On a ship you’re supposed to sneeze into your arm

·        You don’t need any A levels to get a half decent degree

·        I should have bought an Ipod years ago

·        Levi Sherwood is actually made of rubber

·        For some reason, sometimes we really do hurt the ones we love the most

·        There is no good way to ask gay couples “which one of you wants to be the man?” when posing them for a photo

·        Being able to say you were there when Metallica, Megadeth, Anthrax and Slayer played on the same stage on the same day for the first time ever is pretty freakin’ sweet. Even if I very nearly did go to the gig on the wrong day. OK, so my Polish isn’t all it could be!

·        Slash once came close to joining Megadeth

·        Having no windows in your bedroom will almost certainly leave your body clock more confused than a Hermaphrodite’s y-fronts

Apologies for the less than stellar update, I promise next time there’ll be far more to rock your socks, including some info on my new roommate Chris and my participation in the Miss Westerdam 2011 contest (Awwwwww yeah!).

 I’ve also decided my resolution is to do a Parachute jump before year’s end, possibly on my birthday and maybe naked, so if it all goes tits up at least I’ll leave the world the same way I came in ; ) Anyone else game?

Hope Santa was kind and y’all had a Happy new beer.

 Thanks for reading.