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.
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