Our cruise changed from the sublime to the ridiculous in the last 48 hours. On Sunday night we went to the Crew Show. As usual it was superb and far better than the professional entertainment. Acts included traditional Thai dancing, truly excellent singers and eight self conscious guys in from the engine room who did “Sex Bomb” in only their overalls. I clapped till my hands ached. The only thing I would have enjoyed more would have been watching the professional “comedian” (his description, not mine) clean a cabin.
The banging and grinding started at 8 o’clock on Monday morning. There had been some noise on Sunday but we spent most of the day out of the cabin and it didn’t bother us. However, as an official outbreak of Norovirus was declared at 9a.m. on Monday, we decided to stay in and watch DVD’s. Throwing up on a coach to Liverpool didn’t sound like an ideal end to the holiday. Before we settled down I went up on deck to photograph the work that had started on building a gymnasium above our cabin - one of the alterations that will be carried out whilst Boudicca is in dry dock next week. We stuck it through three episodes of Dinner Ladies and most of Chicago before I cracked and stomped off to complain.
“Oh dear”, said the nice young girl on reception, “I’ll phone Engineering” followed by “Engineering say it’s only maintenance”. I managed to count to five “I’m an Architect – I know the difference between maintenance and a building site which is what you’ve now got on Deck 10”. Flustered she retreated to the back office. I heard a whispered conversation which was probably “You deal with it, I’m not going out there” in Indonesian. The original girl re-appeared “Sorry Sir. I’ll phone the Carpenters”. I did another five count before saying “There’ll be no one in, they’re all jumping up and down on my bloody roof” We both agreed that the situation was unacceptable but that I would have to go to the Customer Relations Office when it opened at 3.30pm. “I’ve come to complain about the noise” said the next lady in the queue.
Someone wisely decided to open up another front further down the deck and the noise stopped soon after I got back to the cabin. At 3.30 there was a long queue outside Customer Relations. Fortunately, the lady who was behind me at Reception was now at the front and we decided on a joint approach. Behind us the queue of mainly inside cabin people seethed with petty grievances. The poor lady in the office looked like she was looking forward to committing suicide at the end of her shift. We were so nice I think we really scared her and she logged our complaint in puzzled silence.
Someone at head office is obviously paranoid about completing the dry dock works on time which is, of course, why we returned to Southampton instead of Liverpool as originally planned. On Tuesday breakfast was at 6.00am (no chance) and we were off the ship and on a coach to Liverpool for 7.30am. Maybe there had been a flu epidemic at head office and the man who procures balcony furniture had been drafted in to organise the coaches. The destination of the coach was “The Liverpool Docks Car Park” which was fine if you’d come by car but a touch vague if you were being met by a taxi. “We’ll be going to the Cruise Terminal” said the coach driver, who was looking forward to his first trip to Liverpool Docks, “I expect someone from Fred Olsen will be there and you will be bussed to the car park – should arrive about 1.00pm” . As Janet phoned the taxi firm to confirm we would be at the terminal for 1.15pm I knew without any shadow of doubt that this was going to end in tears.
We entered the dock gates at about ten past one. The “Cruise Terminal”, which is actually a shed that most allotment societies would be proud of, is hidden somewhere in the middle of miles of derelict buildings and rusting machinery. The whole thing looks like the set of a “after the nuclear holocaust” film. “It’s not like Southampton is it?” said the coach driver who had by this time discovered that there would be no one there to help him. One of the passengers knew where he had parked his car so the driver followed his directions. “We’ll just drop off at the car park and then find the Terminal” said the increasingly less confident driver. It took a while to offload all the luggage, find the car owners’ bags and reload the rest and we were getting worried about our taxis. Eventually we were back on the coach and ready to go when one of the car owners jumped back on. “Don’t go” he yelled frantically “My wife’s still in the toilet”.
If it hadn’t been for the lady in the toilet or the two more stops to ask for directions we might have got to the swing bridge in time. As it was we sat on the coach for a further 20 minutes whilst a tramp steamer sailed out of one of the docks. By this time everyone on the coach was frantic about their taxis which may or may not have been waiting patiently in front of a deserted shed. Finally the bridge locked back into place and the barriers were raised. As we crossed we passed a stream of taxis, who had obviously heard a rumour that there was a coach at a car park, going in the opposite direction.
Fortunately our man from Whiteside’s was the one who had brought us to the “Cruise Terminal” two weeks ago and he had decided to stay put. We grabbed our bags, threw them in his boot and off we went leaving the chaos behind us. We were about halfway home before I realised that, in the confusion, I had forgotten one of our bags. By that time it could have been anywhere but ten minutes later my phone rang. It was the Dock Police to let me know that a black bag with our cabin number was now in their lost property. Oh well, does anyone fancy a trip to Liverpool Docks?
Dave
x
No comments:
Post a Comment