Good morning my little friend.

There has been so little time to sit with you since Ventura.There is always the post to sort out before anything else when I return from my travels. The past six months or so I have been away so often,that many letters are opened,but remain sitting in a pile waiting to be dealt with appropriately and filed,if they do not require immediate attention.And when I decided to go and visit my sister on 28th April,I made a conscious effort to get all the paperwork in order before leaving. This time it was easy to do, because the weather was perfect for staying in.I do not mind the rain, the wind, the cold,but there are times when there really is no place like the warmth of one's home. But it took hours and hours,and when I wanted to unwind,instead of writing the blog[this always relaxes me as it is a joy and never a chore], I re-read all my blog entries and tried to kind of correct the typing errors and spelling mistakes,and my goodness,there is so much to correct,because it is one thing typing in a public place and something completely different doing it at home. So it has left me with little time to post new entries.

"Merry or not,widows are healthier without a husband",

A study,carried out by The University of Padua Italy, followed 733 Italian men and 1,154 women for four and a half years. It had come to a conclusion,that marriage may be good for men,but not so good for their wives. Widows were about 23 per cent less likely to be frail,than married women. If a woman outlives her husband,it is apparently often because he was ill and she had nursed him till his death.Then,the burden gone, she thrives.                                                   A man is not so lucky,having usually had everything done for him throughout the marriage,he is often helpless, when the wife passes away before him. Death of one partner in a marriage can bring quite a relief to the other person, if the relationship is not happy.                                               Long time ago my husband and I had employed a carpenter,whom we trusted implicitly,if anything needed to be done, he would do it in our absence and he would also water the plants,take care of the mail,etc. One evening the door-bell rang,I opened the door, a large smiling lady was standing there - I am Mrs B...,my husband has passed away,I think these are yours,she said and handed me a bunch of keys. Yes,they are. And I am so very,very sorry for your loss,we would very much like to come and pay our respects and attend the funeral. Oh,he died three weeks ago,she replied, We only had a small family gathering,that is the way he would have wanted it. My husband, having just showered,quickly dressed and ran out,wanting to catch up with her and express his condolences. Several minutes later he was back. I didn't say anything to her,she was with a man,holding hands,he said. We knew then that the man who had always appeared so jolly, was very likely in an unhappy relationship. And he never let on. But neither my husband nor I had thought the behaviour of his wife was unseemly and she should be grieving if her love for him was gone, and it so very obviously was.

Why do I do it?

Why do I have my hair cut in a foreign land, whose language I do not speak? I hate going to a hairdresser. So when I do make an appointment, it is either when the fringe absolutely has to be shaped by a professional, myself having trimmed the life out of it,or when I decide to have a complete make-over. VIGO,SPAIN, three or so years ago. There I am on a perfectly lovely sunny day, looking for a coffee and a cake shop, when my eyes take me to a large window,through which a hive of activity attracts my attention- women's hair being washed, dyed, cut, dried under a hood. My lucky day,just when I am in the mood, I thought,and in I went .A receptionist approached me,I explained in English I wanted just a little trim of the fringe and to have 5 or so cm taken off the length of the hair. She gave m a big smile,answered in Spanish and beckoned to a large lady, whom I took to be the manageress or the owner.The formidable matron pointed to a chair, I sat down. Without a moment's hesitation she took a pair of scissors and made the first cut. Just like that.My hair was not brushed, it was not pinned up,it was not wet. I could either get up and leave with the hair missing a bit on one side, or remain seated and let her finish the cull. After 10 minutes her masterpiece complete I was presented with the bill, 25 euros.I paid,then turned round and asked aloud, if there was any-one, who spoke English.A young boy said I do,beaming. Would you, please, tell her that never in my life have I had a hairdresser cut my hair so badly. She has no idea what she is doing and should be on a farm sheering sheep, there would be no-one to touch her. Between fits of laughter he said- Mama,madame says [that much Spanish I understood] and translated for all to hear, I presume my every single word just as I had said it. LISBON,Portugal,three or so weeks ago. When you leave a ship, you can either walk to the right, or to the left,or up the hill. I decided to climb. There I am on a perfectly lovely sunny day, looking for a coffee and a cake shop,when my eyes take me to a large window...I explained in English I wanted just a little trim of the fringe... She replied in Portuguese... But she had two certificates on the wall, TWO, for cry now loud! Or did she try to tell me she trims poodles?

1 March , 2016.

Am spending five relaxing nights at The Thermia Palace Hotel,Piestany,Slovakia.Two or so years ago a well respected New York newspaper,The New York Times,I think,published a list of ten best places in the world to lose weight. The Thermia Palace ,to my disbelief, was in the seventh place.My most favourite spa in the whole wide world the seventh best place to lose weight,cant be,judging by the most wonderful feasts they serve! I go there to indulge,not to dispose of the extra pound or three. Arrived yesterday late morning,immaculate room with a massive TV set and a bed oh so beckoning. But no,the first thing you must always do when you come here,is to get your time plan,the schedule of procedures you will enjoy during your stay. Having been here many times already, I know what I like and enjoy the most, so it is easy for me to add extra treatments.To a newcomer I would advise-wait until you have tried something, and if you like it,ask for more. Here you must forget your inhibitions. My very good friend has never had a massage in her life and adamantly refuses to disrobe in front of a strange person, unless it is a doctor or a nurse.No amount of persuading would make her change her mind. And she is a university graduate. So what is it that makes me come here time and time again? Where do I start? The hotel is a beautifully renovated,art-nouveau gem ,built in 1912,as the brochure says. It is 5-star establishment. The food is second to none,the breakfast one of the TWO best I have ever had -the second in a hotel Bauer in Venice,where I had croissants that no-one else has bettered and this gives Bauer a slight edge,because I LOVE croissants. But do not expect any fancy footwork as far as the food is concerned,at The Thermia.No embellishments on your plate,no tiny morsels you need a magnifying glass to find,or sauces you do not know the name of. You get superbly prepared meals from the best ingredients. The Thermia is immaculate,every nook and cranny spotless.This is the only hotel, where I do not clean the drawers with a wet tissue before unpacking,everywhere else,including every ship I have been on, I clean before absolutely anything goes in. The treatments are superlative. This five night stay offers 8 procedures. The cost-680 euros. I am paying for 4 nights, the fifth night is gratis. A super duper deal. I have already been pampered and my body feels relaxed, skin soft.

Ludka goes dancing.

When on board of the Independence of the Seas in March 2011 with my sister, we attended line dance classes.It started well.My gay instructor in his ever so tight pants pranced around full of enthusiasm and so did I.Step left,step right.Easy peasy.Step forward,step backwards.Why not.Now lets combine all steps in one sequence.What?! And it was going so well.The sequence was danced.They went left,I went right,step forward,no, wait,my feet thought otherwise.My sister is a lovely dancer. My family is a family of lovely movers.My dear brother, now deceased, light as a feather on his feet,could have been a professional, when he took you in his arms you were floating.The girls loved him, he was also the kindest man and very handsome.Cancer took him away from us. My sister's side glances and smile disappeared alongside my rhythm,her face firmly fixed ahead.The look of horror on the instructor's face-what is she doing,this cannot be happening to me,why cant she follow what every-one on the dance floor is doing?What is she dancing? Transfixed to my feet he missed a step. With abandon I gave myself to music and danced, danced, danced,turning one way,then the other way,hands in the air.I could have danced all day, but the lesson flew by.My sister barely containing herself burst out laughing and was still in fits when we got back to our stateroom.You certainly made an impression on the instructor,she said,I hope you can sleep well tonight, he wont.What do you mean,I asked indignantly,I am a good dancer.He kept looking at me,I am sure it was because he liked what I was doing,maybe he wants to learn my moves and teach them to others.She gave me a long,long look.I felt quite insulted. Well,if any-one asks you if you know me,feel free to say you have never met me before,I wont mind,I said cheerfully,still feeling elated. But truth be said, I have never tried to learn any dance since.I think my dancing is too good for this world.We have all heard about some people having two left feet.Clarkes,one of my favourite shoe-shops,have a closely kept secret-a back room full of shoes for left feet only.I went in there once,a treasure trove reserved for the chosen ones.But they could not provide me with dancing shoes.Because I have, what is known in the dancing world,"three left feet".No-one knows where the third foot comes from,no-one knows where it goes,it appears out of nowhere,and disappears just as fast.I feel very privileged.And it has never stopped me from dancing.I sway to the sound of Abba,Paolo Nuttini,Santana and my most favourite of all, Dean Martin.Dancing is wonderful!

The Silver Cloud, Warnemunde, Scandinavia, Russia.

One lunchtime I was seated next to a couple,mid 90's,as I learnt later.He was unsmiling,morose,grumpy,hawkish face with a hawkish nose.She was tiny,friendly,lived in face, once very beautiful,kind eyes,ready smile.He hobbled away on a stick with a passing shot-don't be long. She didn't answer, but turned towards me-I have seen you often,always alone.I know you are alone because you want to be,not because you have to be,would you mind if I talk to you...No,not at all,I would like that very much...Why are you alone, what happened? her kind eyes quizzically taking the measure of mine...I am a widow...I thought so, no man in his right mind would want to divorce you, unless of course, you were unhappy in a marriage.How long?...Five and a half years...Too long to be alone.Have you not found any-one you could love again?...I don't know,I have been asked out many times but I always have million excuses why to say no and never a good reason to say yes...You are a lovely person...I smiled feeling quite embarrassed...You don't think so,but you are.Even my husband said you are lovely and have lovely feet and he never says that about any-one.When you smile your face lights up and your eyes smile,you have Spanish eyes,are you Spanish?No,you look  French with a bit of Italian in your background,she continued without respite wanting to say so much and having so very little time.It is terrible to be alone when you are old,don't close your heart, let someone in...I think I want too much.I want everything or nothing.There cannot be greater loneliness than that in an empty marriage... She stared at me, her eyes swelling up with tears...You are very wise, Are you a writer?... No...You should write,you are very interesting,and a nice, warm person.She put her tiny hand on mine.I love talking to you.I have to go up now,he gets cross when I leave him alone for too long...She looked at me with her pale blue sad eyes.I have been mostly unhappy in my marriage,I knew within a year I made a terrible mistake but then the first child came and I was hoping things would change, they never did.Many times I thought I would leave but with no education and a little prospect of a good job,how would I support us?I have no say in anything.I have to go where he wants to go... She got up,we embraced,her slight body trembling. I watched her go,leaning on the walking stick... In my cabin I cried and cried. We all have a cross to bear.

What is a typical day on the Queen Elisabeth?

For me every day is typically untypical.I may say I have a certain routine but in reality I have no such thing.I do as I please.I wake up when I want to,breakfast when I am hungry,lunch at a time convenient.Tea? Sometimes.Dinner? As I have not been given a decent table and do not dine in Britannia, I do pop up to Lido now and then,but it really is only now and then,mostly I have no evening meal at all,just two little pieces of chocolate left by the room attendant.So what are the daily activities?Let's take Monday 7th December.The gym has a selection of classes:at 7 stretch and relax for all,then fab abs for the more fit,pilates and yoga for the converted,indoor cycling for the dedicated.As I am neither I like to do my own thing.I love using a ball to stretch my spine and do lift ups to strengthen the stomach muscles.I walk on the walking thing and pull on the pulling thing.One can take part in a trivia,killer darts and a paddle tennis competitions,learn to watercolour or play bridge.There are lectures to go to,music to listen to.And then there are the dance classes.

December 4, 2015.

There was the most wonderful harpist playing in the theatre last night,Shirley Dominguez from Uruguay,Montevideo.The choice of songs utter perfection.Funny,witty,a star.There is another evening planned and I cannot wait.Had nice breakfast this morning-porridge,fresh fruit,some lemon water.Do not drink any fruit juices on the ship unless it is s freshly squeezed orange.The lunch itself was a very successful affair,delicious egg and corn soup, fresh crispy roll,crab cakes with some rice and tasty mixed vegetables.Carrot and hazelnut cake followed by black coffee.Had decent neighbours who smiled and said hello.We talked and joked throughout.Their first Cunard cruise.Pity it is on this ship,but as they do not know any better, it may not be as much of a disappointment for them, as it is for me.Even had a decent cup of latte in Carinthia.Hate weak milky coffee.When asked the waiter how many shots goes into a cup, he looked at me surprised.Obviously no-one has ever asked this before.He had to consult with another waiter,then with someone else.After,what seemed like negotiating the world peace,we agreed they would serve me what they would put into a large cup,in a small cup,thus making the coffee strong.The doesn't allow for any variation.The coffee was excellent,they were happy and smiled when I told them so.It is,in fact,very hard to get decent coffee on any ship.Even Silversea Cloud didn't get it right last August.Ah,Silversea Cloud.The expectation,the anticipation,the disappointment.When I saw the very first advertisement of the six star cruise,I knew this was the cruise for me.Scandinavia,Russia,sailing from the heart of London.Yes,please,paid quite a substantial deposit,a part of a very substantial grand total.I do not remember the exact figure, but it was astronomically high,in the region of £13,000.They say fools and their money...Well, the writer is not a fool and the money is her own hard earned.I neither smoke, nor do I drink or squander my money, my needs are modest,true,I love shoes and I love bags,but I am kind to my family and friends, generous. And life is so short.the cruise was advertised about 18 months prior to the 3rd August 2015 sailing date.Taxi took me to the ship,docked by HMS Belfast,by the Tower of London.Full of anticipation I looked for the ship.There was something small and grey perched next to the Belfast.It must be Fata Morgana.But where is my Cloud.I look closer,It IS my Cloud.Are they joined at the hip? Soon it became apparent why.You had to climb up to the Belfast and from there waddle your way across an uncomfortable,raggedy old planks,swinging precariously, onto the Cloud.All done and dusted.At least I was on board!The gloomy,dark,lifeless interior was the second shock to the system.No flowers anywhere.Strange pictures on some walls,identical,in pairs!Is this the famed Italian chic!?Stained threadbare carpet along the corridors to be matched by old fashioned furniture in the staterooms.The only redeeming feature was the shower cubicle with sliding doors and a stone bench to sit on,perfect when shaving legs.Is the food going to make up for the disappointment?One little mousse.two little mousses,three little mousses.Am I not going to get a simple Victoria sponge with real cream and lots of jam?No.Every single day European classics were given the Oriental twist.You mess with my schnitzel at your peril!Maybe the extra stars went into entertainment on board?No.This was practically non-existent.If you are old and want to come on Cloud to sleep or die of boredom,then this is the ship for you.But it wasn't all a disappointment. About the good things I will tell you the next time.

Thursday 3 December 2015.

The five days in the Caribbean were mostly wonderful. Benjamin Makisi,an excellent singer, whom I had the pleasure to listen to several nights ago,I had heard I think,on Azura,in Sept.Then an American Olympic gymnast Lance Ringwald, took my breath away,considering he is 45.He has to" make a living to support his family".Superb. Lorraine Brown,an English perfectly good singer, bored me to death with her choice of songs.We are not at a wake, we are on a holiday,for goodness'sake. Had I not been sitting in the middle of a row,I would have walked out half way through her performance.Then there were the Flyrights,3 South London boys.Or should I say Flywrongs. Sorry, boys,couldn't help myself.How should I describe your performance?[Have heard it once before, again on Azura) What you lack in singing, you make up in enthusiasm,or,to put it differently-never mind the quality, feel the width.I remember years ago when I was a student at a University, I used to go with my good friend Laurin to concerts,usually of his choosing.Once there was a performance at the Royal Festival Hall,a group of dancers was giving a farewell performance to the oldest member who had just turned 70,he,in fact participated in one dance and it was quite painful to watch. He was so hard trying to keep up, but every step of the way he was one step behind. Every-one should know when to say yey and when to say ney.Flyrights remind me of this performance-trying hard to be good,but are never quite good enough.One of them asked the audience if, as we were in the Carib,we had any jerk chicken.Well,having encountered so many living, breathing jerks on this ship,I certainly do not want any on my plate!Yesterday at lunch met ancient, but still very beautiful, well turned out and charming, Londoner,Sheila,widow for 20 years.She said never had she met as many badly behaved buffoons as on this trip.I agreed.Everything in small doses is acceptable and palatable, the odd badly-mannered person gets easily lost in the sea of people in the know. But if time and time again you get shoved and you do not hear the word sorry,if people sit down next to you at a table and do not have the good manners to say good morning or whatever is appropriate,then this is a very sad reflection on the quality,the education of society.Sheila commented many British men were accompanied by much younger Filipino girls.I did notice.Ca me fait mal au Coeur de voir how badly these ugly men,in a need of a decent hair cut and a shave,with big bellies barely encompassed by the ill fitting shirts,speak to their partners.Several days ago in a dining room I was seated next to such a couple.She had Oriental features, may not have been a Filipino,kind face,but sad eyes,I smiled at her,her mouth smiled back but the eyes were dead.He had thin pinched lips,they hardly moved, when he barked at her throughout the meal.No man who respects or loves his woman could behave in such a deplorable way.My husband would tell with such pride to any-one who would care or even wouldn't care to listen-this is my wife.When the illness that eventually took his life took over his brain, there were so many things he could not remember, but until almost the very end he remembered that I was his wife and that he loved me very much.Sheila said she had never met a man she wanted to get involved with since her husband's passing.Is this my destiny? A widow is like a withering twig.If,now and then,it gets watered and composted,it perks up a little,but it never quite recovers,it never blooms again.Not until she loves again and is loved in return.

P.S.

So what is the first most wonderful thing to do on this ship? Sitting in the nude on the balcony.The glorious sun kissing my naked body,the ocean running away from the ship into the distance.The peace, the quiet.The neighbours, who do not mind seeing the odd bit of flesh! Why should any-one mind a naked body,you may ask. Well, let me tell you a story.On Azura in September last,I was in my sun lounger on the balcony in the altogether, when I heard the balcony door in the next cabin, open.I covered myself up strategically.The neighbour coughed. It was a woman.I did not stir. A minute or so later, she coughed again, at first several times, then this developed into a serious fit. I did not move.I knew it was directed at me.But I was decent,certainly more decent, than any-one by the pool.The balcony door opened again.Do not come out here,she is naked,the woman said. I remained still. The next day I met them coming towards me in the corridor.I smiled and nodded.She looked at me...well, if looks could kill...Is that her, asked the husband.I didn't hear her reply.It was a very unpleasant moment,so unnecessary.From then on all bets were off and so were my clothes .Every time I was on the balcony I strategically uncovered myself. I said earlier I had misgivings about taking a cruise on Azura in Sept.The reason being that I took a cruise on Azura to the Caribbean the year the ship was launched.It was very disappointing.The service left a lot to be desired, the food was mediocre. Teething troubles,I said to myself, and when I set a foot on Azura on 12th Sept. to sail for 14 nights to the Med, every single day was an affirmation, that the troubles then really were just teething troubles, a distant memory.This time the food was good, the service excellent.I loved every single moment on the ship.I didn't even mind the odd buffoon.And believe me,those you get on every ship aplenty.This is my second time on the QE.The first cruise was a great disappointment,I do not even remember the itinerary,I only remember the dirty tables in Lido, the mostly unpalatable food,the service that left a lot to be desired.The QE seemed then like a poor sister of The Queen Mary and The Queen Victoria.Now, four or so years later,it seems not like a poor sister,but a second cousin twice removed. Teething troubles have developed into bleeding gums.The food still a hit and miss affair, the service similar,if it is good it is very good, if it is bad,it is awful.The stateroom itself is kept reasonably clean by Dindo, yes,that is my state-room attendant's name, Dindo.But the balcony hasn't been cleaned for months, it is filthy,dirty water not draining from the guttering,brown sediment at the bottom, the floor covered with paint peeling off the uncomfortable lounge chairs and off the table.The area looks utterly disgusting. Water drips from the ventilation on my bed. I hope the vent system is regularly checked for the Legionair's disease.

Friday 27 November 2015

I love the Library on the Queen Elizabeth.The position is excellent even though the upper windows are obstructed.It is on the lower floor,that the magic happens-out of the large windows you see the waves frolicking in the distance, that's where they seem the most enchanting, blueish in colour,the further away they are, the paler they become, until they dissolve into a silver glittering mass disappearing into the distance.The nearest waves to the ship are the darkest.I am feeling utterly spoilt.Could this get any better?And then an old crow plonks herself on a seat next to me and starts pitching into her poor old appendage, left standing in embarrassment,and the magic is gone.Why do we do it to each other?Chip away at the pride, the dignity,with relentless ferocity.The never ending put downs, the moans and the groans,incessant ridiculing.Why does one person do it and the other person takes it?Is it because the love had died and only the fear of being alone had remained?Yet there cannot be greater loneliness than that in an empty marriage.And then the same evening in the theatre I hear an old man say-common, blossom,let's have you.I see a voluminous shapeless red pleated skirt float by.I take a lift to Lido.The red skirt is in front of me.I look at the face above the skirt.The blossom is blooming.She smiles at me.Sweet,round face covered in wrinkles.A face loved,a face adored.As I once was.Now I live alone.A widow.One of so many once blooming flowers, now withering away,each one of us dying a slow death.In September I went to the Med on Azura,Two or so days before the end of what turned out to be one of the loveliest cruises I had been on, in spite of my initial misgivings, I was seated at dinner next to a very pleasant looking couple.It was a formal night, every-one relaxed and lovely in their best clothes,as was I, feeling wonderful in heels from Livorno and a new silk top paired with cropped trousers.As always, when I sit down at a table, I smiled at my neighbours and said good-evening.This is often not reciprocated,but this time I was lucky.They smiled back.I liked them both instantly.We exchanged pleasantries,the waiter took an order.From the moment I sat down I was aware of the man looking at me constantly.True, I looked good, I felt a million dollars,but he was dining with a woman, so why is he not taking his eyes off of me?I liked him instantly.Tall, well built,kind handsome face,a ready smile, quick wit, a voice nice to listen to. What was there not to like.His plump companion with freshly coiffeured hair and once beautiful face, was smiling constantly ,showering me with countless questions.He just sat there listening.They must be a brother and a sister,how else can he be dining with a woman and be so very obviously taken by another? That's it, that's what it must be.Then she said-we met on Azura four years ago,we do not live together,we live 200 miles apart,but we go together on cruises.I have five grandchildren,he has nine.I looked at him and smiled.He smiled back.I could tell from her voice she was very fond of him.I liked him very much.Often I am asked out and I never say yes.I always find million excuses why I say no, never a good reason to say yes.For almost six years I have not been kissed by a man, not even touched by a man.His eyes were pleading.But she was nice, smiling, pleasant,the salt of the earth, and I just could not do it.I just could not do it to her.When after almost two hours we parted and shook hands,she left first,giving me a wave,he took my hand in both of his,his eyes not leaving my face,we held a gaze and he knew and understood.His fingers gently caressed mine and then he was gone.My husband always said I was the only human being he had ever totally trusted. He always said I was too honourable for my own good. How I sometimes wish I did not always need to do the right thing.

It is going to be a bumper ride all the way to the Caribbean on the Queen Elizabeth in Nov 2015

Woke up at 2 with the most excruciating pain in the left shoulder and stabbing pains in my stomach.With the speed of lightning I sprang into the bathroom,just barely made it when the previous days food, the little that there was, went out faster than it went it.I threw up time and time again.The cheese and mushroom omelette,most of which I left, as it was too hard and too greasy, the brown toast,the black coffee, the freshly squeezed orange juice at an extra payment.Lunch, the sorry affair of the over embellished gnocchi,Dinner...what was it,oh yes, a sausage and some mash,no, it was lunch I caught just gone three,was starving. And then nothing at all as my desire to eat had deserted me.this is a rare occurrence.I like my food.I took paracetamol, ibuprofen,and rubbed the sore shoulder with cream, it heated up quite nicely and for a while gave some relief.I love listening to soothing music when I cant sleep.At home it is Santana.What is soothing about Santana, you may ask.I love them.I love Dean Martin too but I only have him on cds,Santana still plays in the old fashioned radio on the old fashioned tape.I love classical music,jazz, but now have those on cds and the cd player is in the sitting room.But I digress.Could not settle for good two hours.Luckily the clocks went back again,had an extra hour to sleep.Woke up at 8.30,breakfast in the Britannia.Fresh orange,porridge, little black coffee.To the left of me there was a middle aged couple bickering.There was nothing they could agree on-you say tomato, I say tomato...She reminded me of Sally, the psychic, but slimmer and less pretty.To the right of me another middle aged couple, a joy to listen to.She a little plump pudding,nice to look at.the waiter came with another tray of pastry saying to her-you have the loveliest smile in the restaurant,please have another.What a cheek, said the husband indignantly when the waiter left.It was lovely knowing he was a little jealous after probably good twenty five years together.The woman was loved,her face glowing,the extra kilos didn't matter to him and they didn't matter to her.I miss so much being loved.I miss my husband's face glowing with pride when he introduced me-this is my wife, I am so proud of her,I love her, I adore her...I miss not having any-one to dress up for.I have wardrobes full of beautiful clothes I never take out any-more.On cruises I take the same things time and time again with little variation-everything is practical,easily packed, little ironing if at all.I do pick up pieces on my travels,usually silk or linen.Linen from Tallin, silk blouses from Livorno, adorable Italian leather shoes from Livorno,too, a black leather bag, simplicity itself,I have the bag and one pair of shoes with me on this trip.But my most favourite pair of heels came from Clarks,nude, highish wedge,peep toe, strap,very comfy,matching bag, go with everything.I picked up an identical pair in a deep burgundy at Heathrow , these are in my holiday home and there they stay, even though often I move items from home to home. The intention was to give you a typical day on a cruise ship,but as this is not a typical day,I typically do not drink contaminated water in a gym and am consequently as sick as the proverbial dog.Or is it a parrot?I want to be fair to the QE in my judgement. and feeling out of sorts is not conducive to impartiality.And no, to date no staff member has asked me how I was. No-one.Outside the sun is shining and a large amount of people taking a walk,some quickly, some at a more measured pace.We have passed Madeira, so the sun should be shining daily now. The next port of call- Barbados.Have I told you I am going to Canary Islands on 21st December for 14 nights?On my most favourite ship of all, little Oceana.

If you get sick on the Queen Elizabeth,do so at your peril.

In the evening of Friday 20th Nov,2015 in the gym I drank a plastic cupful of drinking water, provided by the ship.Only when I downed a full cup, before refilling it again, did I notice the water had some strange grey tinge.Now, we are not talking about fifty shades of grey,we are talking about a greyish tinge of what should have been a sparklingly clear water.The staff said there was nothing wrong wit it.24 hours later I begged to differ.When the avalanche came, it was as sudden as it was unexpected.I barely made it to the bathroom,collapsed by the toilet and the light supper I had in Lido, the lunch consumed in Britannia restaurant,the porridge I so love every morning ,it all came out though my mouth and my nose. I remained seated on the toilet, having lost strength to move.And then, before I managed to turn round I threw up again, again, and again, into the sink. Then I blacked out,there, on the bathroom floor.When I came to for a moment I didn't know where I was and what had happened.I was cold,my left shoulder excruciatingly painful,I couldn't move,no strength in my legs,in my arms,I crawled on all fours towards the bed and with all the strength I could master climbed into it.I was shivering.So this is what drinking water that "there is nothing wrong with"feels like.Thirsty,I staggered to get a bottle of water from the fridge and took a gulp.Mistake.My stomach turned .I just made it into the bathroom, where I remained for what seemed like hours.Have you ever had diarrhea? Well, who has,understands.Just after six, when I knew I had the energy to hold a conversation, I dialed the ships 999,a chirpy young man took my call and after extensive questioning, put me through to the duty nurse.The phone rang and rang and finally a sleepy woman answered.She didn't seem to be listening, several times she asked the same question, several times I gave the same answer.Then she said the medical centre opens at 8,they will send for me a wheelchair to see a doctor.A fee of £100 would be payable.I didn't laugh.I didn't cry.7.15 was the last time I looked at my watch, then must have fallen asleep.I woke up at 9.We were in Ponta Delgada.I knew I had to force myself to try and get back to normal.I went out, but my legs could barely carry me and had to sit down several times, so I turned back.I didn't venture out of the cabin until the following morning.To date there has been no visit, not even a call from any member of the staff.How absolutely unacceptable, how utterly disgraceful.When I was on the QE in 2011 weeks after it was launched, it was not a happy experience,but as it was a five star Cunard vessel, I put it down to teething problems.Four years on the gums have started to bleed.This is the second and the last time, I have taken a cruise on this ship. The service is sloppy.The waiter instead of coming round and placing the cutlery down as he had no doubt, been taught,just leans over and throws it down.The food is a hit and miss affair with more misses than hits.But the ship has something quite wonderful-The Library, in which I am writing this.It is in the corner of a central atrium, spread on 2 floors. The books are plentiful.On the lower level there are tables and chairs facing the windows and there I love to sit the most.Reading,looking out into the vast expanse of the sea, it is something quite special, something precious and when there, I realize how very,very lucky I am to be able to travel,to wake up every morning in a different port,to be on the way to the Caribbean!Caribbean!How wonderful is that.One day the memory of the excruciating night will be gone. The Azores. The name is enchanting.And that's it.Rumanian constructions erected under communism is more elegant in comparison with the concrete jungle put up here. Not even a jungle. Monstrosity. Grey shabbiness surrounds you at every step.If ever I come here again, I am not venturing off the ship.In five days we are docking in Barbados,I love days spent at sea.I have a routine I am going to stick to from now on:freshly squeezed orange juice in the Britannia restaurant,this is at extra charge, then porridge.Then I go to the self-service restaurant Lido to prepare hot water with lemon, I take this to my cabin, then there are daily activities and just after 1,lunch in Britannia.Today passable mushroom soup, inedible gnocchi with duck confit,duck confit,for goodness sake, are they nuts. Why not plain gnocchi, a bit of olive oil, Parmesan and lunch ready for a queen! They have to spoil it with a fancy sauce.Fresh fruit plate had lovely LOOKING melon, kiwi, grapes, again left uneaten as they were too bitter.It is now 2.45 and I may going to Lido to have a tuna sandwich,this they cannot ruin.

Friday, 20 Nov 2015 Queen Elizabeth.

The eternal optimist me,I always try to find something positive in all things negative,but is there a silver lining on this cruise? The disappointment of not getting a little table to myself at dinner cannot be measured.And the attitude of the staff in all things encountered!!!The silver lining is fast disappearing into the horizon.

27 May, 2015. Cunard celebrating 175 years in he business.

Had the most wonderful news,a lovely 49 cm long addition has arrived in my family, 8 years in waiting ,9 months in making, And here he is, all of almost 3kg That he doesn't weigh more is a miracle as his mummy was eating for 4,but then she had always been a big eater.My sister, her mother-in-law has said she would eat her out of house and home,said jokingly of course ,as my sis is generosity itself, always welcoming,a great cook and an excellent hostess.Healthy,with lungs of an opera singer,the midwife and the doctor said they never heard a newborn cry so loud.He wanted the world to know-Boris has arrived...And now back to my cruise. Yesterday the ship docked in Liverpool.What anticipation,what a let down.At 2.30 the tender tickets started to be handed out, we waited for the first boat ride to shore, and waited, and waited. Finally at just past 4 we were loaded all of the 400 or so of us onto a dirty, cold, unpleasant vessel and slowly shipped ashore.And what ashore that was - the whole of Liverpool must have been in that square mile,air filled with smoke,boozers staggering, some on crutches,some being prepped up by children's buggies or wheelchairs.And the wind, freezing cold wind biting harder than a mangy vicious dog.What have I done to deserve this? Back to the gangway I went ready to return.We in the waiting room were the lucky ones, the queue stretched for good hundred meters outside in the freezing winds.Some two hours later a vessel that a word dump is too good for, took us back to the ship.How can something that had promised so much end in such a fiasco, an absolute nightmare.In fact the celebration of 175 years of existence of Cunard turned out to be too much ado about nothing, a damp squib, a great disappointment.The food didn't come up to scratch either, the desserts a real let down.Where have all the simple,old fashioned pastries gone? The fancier they look, the less I fancy them.

14/04/2016, A grandmother was crushed to death during a cruise on the Queen Elzabeth

as she was stepping from the tender on to the liner's floating boarding platform, in Cambodia, on a Cunard world cruise in April 2015. The tender is a boat used to ferry the passengers on and off the big ship in ports, where the big ship cannot dock,because the water is too shallow. I was not present when Mrs Atherton had died.I do not know who was at fault. What I do know is, that any person, who is disabled,old,or infirm,should never use a tender.Any-one belonging to this category will take umbrage with me,I know. But having been on so many ships and tenders,I can clearly see what is right and what is wrong. If you cannot get on the ship and off the ship by yourself, and if you do not have your own family and carers to help you, you have no business to be cruising. The staff are expected to lift,and push and even carry passengers sitting in wheelchairs! Yes, carry the wheelchairs with grossly overweight men and women sitting in them,who are not ill,just so fat from overeating,that their legs cannot carry the weight. Often I look in disbelief what the employees are expected to do. On Ventura four men had to push up the steps, yes, UP THE STEPS an elephant of a woman, weighing a ton. And not even a word of thanks,just moans and groans and orders from her and her husband. Her plate always overflowing with the fattest food,she was wheeled around the ship like a barrel of lard. Why should any-one have to carry this greedy person, when she cannot carry herself?

14/04/2016, Some years ago, seven,eight maybe, an Italian pizzeria opened in the neighbourhood.

A perfect position, a minute or so walk from the Notting Hill tube,spacious, on two levels, outside a canopy covered terrace. There were many restaurants there before,they came and they went ,the last being Greek,the owner living in the rooms above.But they could not make it work.Food was inedible.Then a young Italian took over.Quietly,without fanfare. I was one of the first customers.The Sea food pizza my favourite.The kitchen area totally visible on one side,you could see the hive of activity, all pasta cooked on premises ,the cooks,the waiters spotlessly clean, as was everything else. I told the owner-the food is first class,if you keep it up, you will be very successful. He has, and he is.To my shame I never took my husband there.I wanted just one place where I could sit in peace and have a little ME time.I knew if he went with me just once, it would very likely be the first and the last time.Almost everywhere we went I was told not to bring him back again,as he UPSET THE CUSTOMERS. Among the exceptions was one of the best restaurants in London,in Kensington Church Street,owned by the delightful Sally Clarke.I could not take a chance with this pizzeria,it offered proximity and food beyond reproach. I met the owner the other day,he had his two children with him.A girl and a boy.The last time I saw her she was a delightful dumpling,smiling, content,happy little dumpling,who has blossomed into a young beauty,as delightful,content and happy as before, but dumpling no more,long glossy hair,stylish clothes.A little lady.The boy-tall and slim, the looks of a model,beaming smile.The father said - my son is fifteen today.The boy extended his hand and said-i is such a pleasure to meet you, head slightly bowed. What manners,what grace.I was enchanted by these lovely young people, such a credit to their parents. I hope your dad has something special planned for you,I said. The boy smiled at his father,the smile reciprocated. Two people who understand each other so well.

First dates, a TV program

Nice, handsome Ben, who years ago suffered a life changing motor-bike accident,that left him severely brain-damaged,with all my heart I hope the lovely Charlotte is the one for you. Would you have remained the same decent,likeable human being that you are now, had your life taken you in a different direction ever he past 12 years? Would you have become a gang member and stick a knife into another boy without a flicker of a remorse,would you have burnt a helpless child with a cigarette, would robbing an older person to feed drug addiction have been on daily agenda? Feral monsters are being churned out from families, as if it was the order of the day. Little Ayeesha,her tiny body tramped on by her own mother so hard, her heart was ripped off. What this innocent mite must have gone through in her short life, is for any decent person unbearable to even contemplate. Own mother. The boyfriend did not stop this cruelty. Very likely he had participated. There was no-one to protect the baby. Where was her own father, her grand-parents,the doctors she should have been taken to as an infant for inoculation,for check-ups,the social services she should have been referred to by these professionals, who must have seen the child with cuts and bruises. No-one cared. Social services. Whom is it they serve? Little Polish boy Pelka starved to death.Starved to death.Looking through bins for scraps of food other children discarded. And the teachers believed mother, that the boy was suffering from an illness, making him eat and eat,when his emaciated little body was hungry day in day out.Going to sleep hungry in a damp cold cupboard under the stairs,waking up hungry. Teachers. Not one of them cared enough,or had the common sense to realize, that something was so desperately wrong. Life has come to mean so very little in this country.

Mr Jeremy Paxman thinks the French language is superfluous,useless,unnecessary.

I disagree.It is a beautiful language,expressive,melodious.I understand some,speak a little.One day I would like to spend several months in France to improve my command of the language.Had Mr Paxman said the French PEOPLE were superfluous,useless,unnecessary, I would have agreed. Never in my professional life have I met a nationality less honourable than the French.At present time I am having dealings with at least three people,who in spite of their education and a position in society, are lying pygmies.One is a banker,the second an owner of a company,both arrogant,self-serving. The third person is a woman,a bad tempered shrew,she screams like a hyena at her own children and at her English husband, so you can imagine how she treats others. Even the dog hovers when she shouts its name.If the family lived in a council property and were on benefits, the kids would be under the protection of the social services. Not that this would help them. The social services in this country are not fit to look after a dog, let alone a child. So if Mr Paxman had raised objections to the French, I would concur wholeheartedly. Mr Paxman lives only a stone throw away from me and I see him frequently.I know from the gossip columns his partner lives somewhere in the country,she is blonde and beautiful. But why live separately? Mr Paxman thinks M & S boxer shorts wear out too soon. Mr P, you are a man after my heart.I expect everything to last until the day I die. My lovely about 15 years old Nokia had cost me an arm and a leg,It will probably outlive me.When I pull it out, people look in disbelief.Do these old contraptions still exist, their look says. I have tried the new fancy footwork,but my old faithful allows me to send and receive texts, to make and receive phone calls, I can turn it off, keep it on silent,even take photographs,so what more could a girl want? Like Mr P I am quite unsettled when elastic on my knickers frays after six months!Does this woman have one pair of knickers only, I hear you ask.I have never counted them,but I think 90 pairs would be an understatement.No woman should be without "support-wear,"it gives a more defined shape,clothes glide on easier. Do you remember the photos of Gwyneth Paltrow and the long spanx underpants sticking from underneath her dress? Well, if  they are  good enough for the consciously uncoupled one, it is good enough for me!

Haribo.

Is there an uglier,more awful advertisement on TV, than this, trying to entice us to eat this unpalatable chemical nastiness?Adults talking like children.who on earth would authorise airing this on national television? Have they all had a haribo too many? Then there is the woman dancing while singing something like -I see you baby,chicken madras, chicken madras. What?! Is it just me or has the world gone nuts? What on earth is she selling? Where are all the creative minds? Witty,original? Mr Saatchi and Saatchi, aren't you in the business any longer?

Train ride to Waterloo from Southampton

started so well, I caught the 7.30 connection,the Quiet zone was almost empty,I had two lovely polite men across the isle, an equally nice boy came at the last minute to sit opposite me,we exchanged smiles, he settled to his Apple notebook,I to my Daily Mail. And then crash bang wollop.Two women in their thirties came and plonked their great big bums on the seats next to the young men across the isle.One woman seemed more of a follower, than a leader,innocuous, and had she been alone, her behaviour would have been beyond reproach,I feel.But her companion was a harridan,you know the type, the hair of a trollop,the face of a boozer,the voice of a shrew. And then the nightmare began. Not even on Ventura amongst hundreds of women had I heard uglier,more shrieking voices.Then one of them made a phone call,soon a man joined them and sat directly behind me.One of the men across the isle got up and left,the trio did not get the message and continued in loud voices,laughing, joking,making phone calls.The second man decided to leave,I caught his eye,I knew just how he was feeling. And I had another over an hour of this to look forward to.I had a comfortable seat,a suitcase under the table,I knew I would not find a better place for it on the train.I turned round to the trio and said in the nicest possible way- you know, they both left because of you.It shouldn't have been them to go, if you three want to talk it is you who should move to another carriage. I really have absolutely no intention or desire to listen to your voices for the next hour, this is a Quiet Zone. They looked at me in a shock,they certainly were not expecting this. But it did the trick. They did continue to talk, but quietly.And to their credit, they didn't even call me a bitch or any other name, when they got up and left the train in Waterloo. Then taxi home and at 9.30 I was already feeding the birds. There really is no place like home.

11/04/2016, Post- mortem on the Ventura cruise.

It is the second worst ship I have been on,beaten to the pole position by the Silversea Cloud.Taking into consideration the 6 star rating of the Cloud, the astronomical prices they charge and a second rate accomodation they provide, Ventura in comparison is a palace. But compared with another P & O ship, Oceana, my absolute favourite of all cruisers - first class food no other ship equals, delightful and correct service, facilities second to none, the layout of the ship excellent and best ever for people travelling alone - Ventura was a great disappointment. Dull,gloomy,in need of a total refurbishment and in great need of a complete overhaul technically-leaky pipes, water dripping in the main theatre,in front of the Cinnamon restaurant and in several other places,the hygiene poor,stained carpets, the area around the terrace pool was dirty when we left Southampton,in the coming days more dirt gathered,nothing swept, nothing washed.The two levels directly above the pool equally dirty.I did point this out to an officer about five days into the cruise,it did not make the slightest difference.Any establishment is only as good as the management. Ventura needs to replace the couldn't care less people in charge for people who know and love their job.Because if you know what you are doing, a job on a cruise ship can be wonderful.If the people at the top are lousy,everything is lousy,except when the sun shines,and when the sun does not come out and day after day it is gloomy,windy and rainy,it all makes for a miserable time. When on the first day I discovered the Library was closed, my heart sank.It was a turn out for the book I never expected! And the waiters had completely forgotten you serve from the right.Always.These are not little things.These are things that matter in a supposedly four star restaurant.Their table manners are just as important as the passengers'table manners, if not more. In various leaflets we were given,the travellers were accused of bringing on board Norovirus. No,Ventura, I did not bring any virus on you, you breed your own.You are not a cared for ship.You are not a loved ship. And in a state you are in now, I would not sail on you again. There were some pleasant moments on the ship, of course,I always make the most of every situation. When the Library was finally opened and I had access to the books and dictionaries, my heart jumped with joy and every day seemed so much nicer, when Mr Clem Curtis came on board to perform,all the unpleasantness was somehow pushed into the background.He did not disappoint,at 76 still quite a smoother,not the best voice anymore,true, but who cares! He really is in a class of his own. Even Badness [ taking on Madness} a band I had never heard of before,brought fun and joy,full of energy,they all could play musical instruments and even sing in tune.I boogied with the best of them! But it all could have been so,so much better.

Clothes maketh a man,

said William of Wykeham. And true to this sentiment-I love clothes.There,I admit it.I love simplicity itself clothes,elegant,stylish but with oomph.My eye is always drawn to the unusual,to the different,slightly quirky,but never fashionable for the fashion's sake. Every-one who knows me thinks I spend a fortune on clothes.I do not.I have no conscience to be spending thousands, even hundreds on big name designer dresses,I would much rather give money to others, or spend it on other people-presents, holiday,meals out.I am generous to a fault,yet frugal and sensible.I neither drink, nor smoke.I do not waste money,I am not a shopaholic. I would not even dream of taking a taxi, if a bus goes to my destination, or I could walk there.But I love clothes.I love bags, I love shoes.I never forget how fortunate I am to be able to afford the things I like. When on a cruise, I indulge.On La Palma there is a tiny little boutique called Carmel on a A Perez de Brito 54.This is the main street on a small compact, never could get lost on, island.Blink and you miss the shop when you pass by.But once inside,you are in heaven.Packed to the brink with quirky bags,jewellery,scarves,adorable tops and never seen anywhere else dresses. And the prices? Even a scrooge would love shopping here! On Madeira there is Yellowbaron on Rua Do Janeiro 105 I love.This establishment is harder to find ,but well worth the effort.If you come to the main church, the name of which escapes me, but come to it you will,it is in the centre of town.Stand facing the main entrance to the church and walk baring left, until you cross a bridge and past the bridge I think second shop on the left is this, what appears to be a second hand marvel, but only when inside you will realize how glad you were to have found it.Truth be told,the clothes there are not to every woman's taste.They are more hippy,shabby chic, but if you like that sort of thing ,you will be in your element. When the shop-owner showed me a midi milk- coffee coloured dress with cut outs on the sleeves and at the front,and these front cut outs under-lined with black,I knew I had to have it. Wore it the same evening and felt a million dollars, holes and all! The ship also had some nice items on sale and bargains to be had, especially in the leather goods department.When I saw a large GUESS red patterned shopper reduced by half,I could not not buy it.It had a matching small bag/purse at half price or so. My family loves DESIGUAL. Tenerife has a very big branch,a pair of my favourite sneakers three years old now but almost as good as new, yet worn constantly, comes from there,it shows the quality is second to none. This time they did not have my size sneakers in the colour I wanted. But on Lanzarote I found exactly the pair I liked.They also had adorable, but horror expensive t-shirts for my two little 7 and 10 year old god-sons.

Isaac Mizrahi snd The QVC.

From the moment I was aware he was selling through this shopping channel, I have made an effort to watch the shows, hoping to see a breath-taking must have item of his,knowing he is a much respected designer in the US.To date,including today's lunchtime show,I have seen clothes I wouldn't be seen dead in.Dreadful t-shirts reduced from £28 to £24.96. Old fashioned and hum-drum sweaters and tops,voluminous shapeless multicolour-broadcast skirts.Who would want to put on any such abomination? Mr Mizrahi may be big in America,but to me he is very small on the small screen.Selling his clothes is like flogging a dead horse,but the QVC sales team must sell, as they must sell so many other garments, that in shops would remain on rails until heavily reduced.And the female staff are made to wear the gormless and shapeless tops and whatever else they would never put on in real life. Some presenters seem to diet to extinction,one has a face so pinched and drawn I fear one day she will pass out in front of our very eyes.And she is so irritable and bad tempered.Why doesn't a producer tell her - go home,eat,put on at least a stone in weight and then come back.

Wild Patagonia.

Three part TV programme,three hours of bliss.Nowhere else on earth is further South,except Antarctica.Active volcanoes,forest buried alive under five meters of ash and gurgling,spitting into the heavens,lava.Monkey puzzle trees providing refuge for the miniature animals."Building a small body is a smart solution to limited resources" says the commentator.And what a speaker he is! His pronunciation of some words in Spanish made it a joy and a pleasure to listen to. The tone of the voice,the understanding of the written word in Spanish and English.And what a written word,clever,expressive.And the patience of the cameramen-impressive, admirable.A puma crouching for forty minutes,waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting grazing gazelle-like animal.And the cameramen waiting patiently with the puma in readiness to capture the moment, when the fight for life begins.And there it was,one beautiful creature sprinting so that it could kill,the other sprinting so that it could live.This time the four legged dinner got away.In the morning the puma was feasting.The night kill successful.When three puma cubs showed their little faces,I was enthralled and ready to forgive their killer instinct they grow up to acquire. Breathtaking,immeasurably enchanting - that is Patagonia. The Cape Horn,the meeting place of the Atlantic and the Pacific,a graveyard for 10 000 sailors. I long to see it all.From the safety of a cruise ship and under the guidance of experienced sailors everything is possible. And Panama Canal,built by the US in 1904-1914,stopped the Cape Horn being a grave for 10 000 more men.I cannot wait to sail through it.The world is waiting to be discovered. Australia.Why would any Ozzie ever want to live anywhere else?! New Zealand-cold and hot and rainy and dry. Oh,to live there for six months, to travel in luxury trains across the country to my heart's content. And Canada.Who wouldn't want to discover what life is like in Vancouver, where the happiest people on earth live? And Canadians seem so civilized,so fair and just. USA,so much to discover and admire. The Yanks are the kindest and the most generous people on earth.My husband respected and loved them for it.On my far too brief visits to the States I learnt how right he was. And ever the Enigma - Russia.My heart goes out to those beautiful people.Fucked by the Tzars, fucked by the Communists,still being fucked,[as my Russian professor had said] I know,I know, the language.You would never HEAR me swear,but in this case no word expresses my feelings better.So "publish and be damned". Cuba. Must go there before the tourists reduce it to a run of the mill place and before the developers do their utmost to ruin the charm and simplicity of the island. And Zanzibar. The word conjured up magic to my husband,he would repeat it and say can we go to Zanzibar today? He so wanted to go and I so couldn't take him. I couldn't take him to Jersey, either.I will go for him.And tell him all about it. Tell him how beautiful the island is,tell him how I miss him so. Tell him how I wish he was with me. And I will ask him again for forgiveness. I always promised he would die in my arms.I did not keep the promise. If only I could forgive myself. Maybe then the nights would become nights and the days would be days again.

08/04/2016, Mrs Miniver.

I couldnt have wished for a nicer welcome home today.Mrs Miniver was on TV in the afternoon,just as I was ready to have lunch.It is a 1942 black and white film with Oscar-winning Greer Garson in the title role.It is a kind of gentle propaganda about a day to day life of a middle class English family during the Second world war. Greer Garson is one of my favourite actresses.Not a classic beauty,but unconventionally lovely with a kind of mouth you either like or don't like.She is classy and elegant in an understated,nonthreatening way.She played the heroine in Pride and Prejudice to Lawrence Olivier's Mr Darcy,who,by the way,didn't want her as Elizabeth.The black and white version of Pride and Prejudice with Greer Garson is my absolute favourite film.I know,I know,The Godfather and such like are at the top of the tree for most of us ....but I am not most of us. And Mrs Miniver is certainly in the top ten films so utterly charming and enjoyable to watch, when one just wants to curl up and think of nothing ugly or bad or complicated.And by the way,Mr Churchill,yes,that Mr Churchill,thought very highly of Mrs Miniver. And I think most highly of Mr Churchill. Ruth Wilson ,an actress,who exploded on the small screen in LUTHER, also has fascinating mouth, it seems to have a life of its own,when watching her I am transfixed! And the actress is proving to be quite a classy act,with accolades in Hollywood.

08/04/2016, Home,I am home!

Oh,how I love it,the garden with the little birds twittering.There is a tiny thing with red belly, that follows me when I work. I throw it all the worms I dig out.And the little mite knows I wouldn't hurt it, it has become used to my presence and does not feel threatened. But there are predators lurking at every corner,the most predatory of them all a cat.I don't like cats.There is nothing anyone can say that would make me feel any different.I have been told the horses sense if a woman is menstruating and the cats feel if a person does not like them.I don't know how true it is Re the horses,I know it is not true Re the cats.I don't like cats,but cats like me.Tried and tested.One of my neighbours had a spoilt over-fed moggie.Luckily she discovered me and my garden only about a year before the house was sold and they left,[they moved into the country just over two years ago].The cat would follow me whenever I was outside,she would climb the garden wall at the back,then sit by the french windows and call out to me until I talked to her.And talk I did,I would tell her to go and not come back.Did she go? No.I was like Maleficent shooing the little beastie away but the little beastie just would not go.So a kind of truce was declared and I had to grit my teeth and bare it.And that is how I know there is not a word of truth in saying the cats feel if you do not like them. The first thing I do when I come home in the colder months from October to April is feed the birds.I have boiled some eggs for them,mixed worms with milk,mashed a ball of suet. Unfortunately, there are some big bleeders in the garden, and they get to it first!They look like crows to me, experts may disagree.But all creatures must eat to live,and I wait for them to get their fill and then go and check what, if anything is left and I refill the feeding bowls.I always wait impatiently for the squirrels to pop round,there was a family of 2 adults and 2 babies,after the birth they had disappeared for a while, but two or so weeks ago they came back,all 4 of them, running up and down the massive trees at the back of the garden.I love to see them there,I think they found a safer home when the mother was pregnant and the babies tiny, in fear of the cats. But now the babies can kind of take care of themselves and run fast from any danger, they may make the trees their home again. Peanuts are waiting. Hurricane Katie had done quite a job in the garden,it is covered with twigs from the trees.And the weeds are popping out.As soon as I get my paperwork sorted [haven't counted the letters yet,but there are more than enough of them to keep me busy for a week!] will start digging. It is so cold outside.The central heating is on,the boiler burbling merrily. How I love it here.

I would like to be more harum-scarum,devil-may-care sort of a person,

but it is not in my nature.At least I would like to be more footloose and fancy free,be able to pack and depart for pastures new on the spur of the moment, and decamp where my size 3 and a half feet take me.But my obligations and responsibilities won't let me. Not yet. The world is waiting to be discovered. So much to see. The wonder of it all. The beauty. I cant wait.

The order of published writing is as followes

First IF A CRUISE CAN BE ONE THING..... followed by WHAT HAD THE LITTLE MITE DONE.... I am sorry about this, lost the signal and internet connection,on a ship this can happen without warning.So could not publish when I wanted to.

If a cruise can be one thing,it is educational.

On March 2011, my sister and I, on The Independence of the Seas to Canaries, had a seating in the dining room opposite a couple with a teenage son.Independence had only offered set seating time then,this means you dine at the same time and at the same table every evening for the duration of the cruise. Some companies now offer freedom dining, when you eat at the time preferred.Set times and tables have some advantages, you know you will always have a table without having to wait for one, so if you come at 6,you can leisurely dine til 8,and can indulge every morsel, every sip. And the couple certainly did sip.A new bottle of red and white was opened every evening,the woman didn't even wait for the waiter to pour,she served herself,often polishing off a bottle long before she had finished the main course.The boy, about 15, was adorable,handsome,shy,well-mannered. When one evening he didn't come I joked- I hope  he hasn't jumped the ship. He has made some friends,I am a little worried,he lives a sheltered life,replied the mother. Let him be with boys his own age,you have a lovely son,well brought up,so polite and charming,he will never give you a cause for concern,just let off the rains,I said. They were a nice couple,they looked and talked like country bumpkins.Very likely farmers.It can be a hard life making a living from farming,a lonely life.I don't think they were even aware others may consider them to be drinking to excess. At lunch the other day a young couple with two boys under five were seated opposite me.Drinks were ordered,cokes for all,white wine for the mother.From a distance they were such a nice family,good-looking parents,adorable children.Then slowly cracks began to appear.The older boy seated next to the father,kept turning to him and saying dad,dad,his voice, his eyes begging for attention. Not once had the "dad" replied, not once had he turned towards the child.

Still the food.

The side salads are excellent,varied choice of dressing, the blue cheese my favourite, Lisbon : PAUL coffee shop.The best croissant ever,it equals and out-tastes those from the five star hotel Bauer, in Venice,and I never thought I would say that in a hurry!A Portuguese tart-always far too sweet for my not very sweet tooth,but never am I able to resist it-flaky melt in the mouth pastry, and the custard filling,oh la la. Chicken sandwich, sooo good,made with freshly baked bread,two cups of coffee, milk served separately.Yes,two cups,greedy, but who could resist the deliciousness of the aromatic brew? And served with such charm,with smile,in immaculate white overalls.And Lisbon is full of little wonders like PAUL. Bought a cabin suitcase for 30 euros,as light as a feather,to give to my little god-son to carry in July on a plane when we all go to cruise on Britannia for a week. Couldn't resist a lovely blue/red/white cross body bag, and a plastic beauty bag with the most adorable birds of paradise,together about 33 euros.A bargain. I have never bought a thing in this capital I hadn't adored.I cant wait to be back over Christmas. Yes, if all goes as planned, I will be sailing on Oceana over Christmas and the New Year to Canary Islands again. My fears Re Britannia have been allayed by a couple, who had travelled on this largest cruiser ever built for the British market,several times last year.Discerning travelers,they loved it.All bodes well for the week's family holiday.I so want every-one to be happy and content and well rested. Dinner last evening - schnitzel with some spatzle.Now the schnitzel was a disappointment, not the melt in the mouth variety,as it should be, if it is to be savoured in all its super duperdness.But it was presented enticingly. Spatzle,whatever it is,must look it up in the dictionary,was lovely,the cabbage mash looked rather strange but was delicious.What more can a girl want? And all this preceded by the best soup ever, the main ingredient being a pear.The meal finished with cranachan, again a bit sweet, but perfection itself.Cranberry tea to wash it all down .Can life be any better? Oh yes,looked up the word spatzle,it is noodles from Southern Germany.And for those who do not know what cranachan is - it is a Scottish desert made from oats, cream and sugar are added, I think I also detected some ground nuts.Rather lovely it was. The regional dishes can be quite something,normally invented by poor masses, they do use their imagination. I absolutely adore Victoria sponge. I have a simple Cordon Bleu recipe for it.Once I just put together a freshly baked sponge, when a plumber arrived.As he was to work in the kitchen and the cake was on the table ,I asked him if he would like a slice.Yes, please,he said. I left him there. He finished,I paid him, said good-bye, tidied up,put the kettle on and then it hit me, the cake was gone. Yes,he had it all. No time to bake another for my husband,who was looking forward to it.[he had a very sweet tooth.] I told him what happened. You sure you made it?, he asked in disbelief. I gave him one of my special looks,you know, the type every wife saves for a special occasion. You did,he said.

What had the little mite done that warranted this treatment of him ?

Was he from the mother's previous relationship? Was he the result of an affair? All the father's attention was directed at his younger son sitting opposite. The mother downed the glass of wine before the order for lunch was taken.The man leaned over and hissed something to her.She bowed her head and never looked up again,no life in her,no joy. Was he a bully,did he beat her or emotionally ran her to the ground? Money obviously was not a problem. Everything else was. I found it unbearable watching this young family,each of them , other than the youngest child, in own private hell. What will become of them? Tears swelling up in my eyes I left the dining room.

04/04/2016, The food again.

There are some shortcomings, but as far as meals are concerned, Ventura has come up trumps. Breakfast served in one of the two main dining rooms is a pleasant affair,there is a set menu, but the choice is wide.I stick to orange juice,grapefruit and orange segments, porridge and not even a half a cup of coffee.On Fridays they offer devilled kidneys,I had some,not much devil in them, but they were pink and tender,delicious.Sundays scrambled eggs and smoked salmon,had some, lovely.Hot toast,hot eggs,hot plate.Always a hot plate,that is the way meals should be served in all restaurants on any ship, anywhere. Different things are on offer other mornings-kedgeree,minute steaks,e.g. and the full English breakfast every morning,a massive plate piled up to the brim. And people do eat,my goodness do they eat.As if there was no tomorrow.There was a young couple,mid thirties,sitting next to me this morning.She overweight, he grossly overweight .His feet swollen,overflowing from the bedroom slippers.Yes, bedroom slippers in a waiter served restaurant on a four star ship. What on earth does he put on when he goes to work? Or is he on benefits,claiming disability? They both ordered full English. While waiting, coffee was refilled several times,toast was brought twice, they asked for more butter. They did not touch the little screw -jar jam. This particular brand is one thing I take home. Here, I admit it, I raise my hand, I steal jam! Would I be able to buy it in a shop? Of course, but not in these adorable tiny pots.I particularly love the orange marmalade. Had some at 11 last night,two teaspoons and it was gone,but sooo good. Ventura serves this brand in the main restaurant only,not in the self-service. As I never have it for breakfast,I take one or two tiddlers to my cabin and off to the suitcase they go! The fat lady returned my smile and a hello, he mumbled something with a mouth-full. Why do people do this to themselves? So grossly obese,so never saying no to a massive quantity of food. Killing themselves. Why are some people in a hurry to die?

04/04/2016, Blame it on boogie.

Headliners theatre company has neither the best dancers,nor the best singers,but they always put on a lovely show, colourful, spirited. Rendition of Suzy Quatro' "Devil Gate Dive" left a lot to be desired,but who cares if the high notes are not quite high enough and the low notes not quite low. And Mr Clem Curtis is back. You know-the Foundations lead singer, whose 1967 hit "Now that I found you" is still boogied to in discos. And what a smoothie he is! In a class of his own,nattily dressed in a slightly shiny [slightly,but still too shiny for me], beautifully fitted suit,76 now, and getting married for the sixth time,a glutton for punishment,as he said himself.I wish him all the best.He is the high spot for me on Ventura,he was a high spot for me on Oceana. Rietta Austin,a STRICTLY back up singer,has started the cruise rounds.I wish her well,she is a very accomplished singer and can she belt them out high and low!But needs to get her act together, polish it.This may come in time.

Tenerife, 02/04/2016

The food. So far so good. There have been some unexpected disappointments and usually when there should be none as more often than not the dish in question is the simplest of the simplest.Take lunch today.A fish pie-the best ingredients of salmon, cod, muscles,mashed potatoes. What could be easier to cook? Looked beautiful and would have tasted delicious, had it not been too salty.Little bit more salt and the pie would have been unpalatable to me.Desert-roly-poly with custard. Wow, couldn't even remember when I had it last.What was I served? A bit of dough plonked on a plate with a blob of jam on top. Tasted of nothing, even the custard couldn't salvage it.Nouvelle cousine?! You can keep it.I want me roly-poly as I know it and love-rolled dough filled with jam to the brim! Oh,Oceana, these are the moments when I miss you so.Dinner was an alltogether excellent affair,mousseline of salmon,divine,Gressingham duck breasts, so pinky and succulent melt in the mouth tenderness.Followed by a baked apple executed to perfection,with various predicaments around it and on the top of it! FA-BU-LOUS! And Oceana had served this kind of food lunch in ,dinner out. And finally today the weather has been glorious and I have even got a bit of tan. TENERIFE. Walked to town at 10, free shuttle service had been provided, but I have been to Tenerife several times and always prefer to walk. Going back,however, was overjoyed to let the bus take the strain as I was sooo tired after almost four hours on my feet. And I had bought nothing, except The Mail and a pair of hand-made earrings for 29 euro.The asking price was 35, and I wanted them so,but had not enough cash on me and did not want to pay with a credit card,so I had emptied the purse on the counter and with pleading eyes let the shop-assistant count off the money.She was lovely and the ear-rings were mine. I was left with a euro and a little, for some coffee. Americano was 1 euro, but they also had luscious looking croissants, and as I could not have both, walked out with the pastry,lovely, even though a bit sticky,some bakers glaze the croissants,I prefer them the Marks & Spencer way - big,plump,crispy, without any fancy footwork. There were some sandals and a bag I loved, and Desequal had tennis shoes I adored,but my wardrobes are overflowing and I know when enough is enough.I am not a shopaholic.I just love nice clothes and I like to look good. And I adore shoes and bags,but have enough to last me a lifetime. Well, at least until the next cruise to Canaries! I did go to Carmel, my favourite shop on my favourite Canary island, La Palma,and was overjoyed to find a glorious evening see-through striped coat,a knitted top with 2 massive roses printed at the front, and a dress I could not resist the moment I lay my eyes on,too short, but adorable, and will either give it to someone as a present, or may wear it with leggings.I found there ear-rings with feathers to match the evening coat, and a necklace-long,gold-plated with 3 leather red poppies on one side,very simple,yet quite spectacular.And I must not forget a black largish tote bag with a brown trim.A lady who noticed it as I was going through security made me take it out of the paper bag and was enthralled ,then she wanted to see the clothes I had bought and having looked at everything,said I had impeccable taste and she wished she had my eye for clothes. I thanked her for her kind words. That was the day that was.Thank you Ventura. Thank you Tenerife. Thank you lovely gracious people, who help make some moments memorable and thus life so much more pleasant and joyful.

Piers Morgan.

The self=proclaimed transatlantic TV superstar,who in reality was not even good enough to remain an editor of a newspaper Daily Mirror, or some such,and whose ratings of his TV show in the States went down to nothingness, so he was booted out and eating a humble pie returned to Britain,considers himself fit to run down the Prime Minister David Cameron as a snivelling little weasel,just because he didn't send a search and rescue party to Argentina to bring home the over-fed boozer and womanizer Jeremy Clarkson and 40 members of the Top Gear team. [Forty?!Is this what I am paying an astronomical TV licence for? Forty men who bring their country in a foreign land into disrepute so much, that the hosts find them unacceptable and ask them to leave?} To bring Clarkson home? My goodness,Mr transatlantic superstar, who on earth would miss your pal ? His wife,whom he abuses mentally? His work colleagues,whom he abuses physically? Only big nothings full of self-importance like yourself,Mr Morgan,want him in GB. Birds of a feather. Who needs enemies with friends like Jeremy Clarkson? The PM would do well to stay clear from him,and you, you obnoxious toad,sitting like a puffed up turkey on the sofa,be it on the right or on the left,you still are a big nothing.