The Queen Victoria, Sunday, 29 May 2016.

Why oh why do the taxi drivers so like talking to me? The moment I hailed a black cab I could see the face behind the wheel light up. This is the customer I have been waiting for, it said. Questions and more questions. You look very familiar to me.I know I have seen you in magazines. And on TV,yes? Yes, I lied. I so dislike the intrusion and never tell any questioning strangers the truth about myself. Waterloo station couldn't come fast enough. The train journey passed in a flash,an Upper Crust tuna sandwich never disappoints. And before I said how I would like a raisin twirly wirly from Pret-a-manger,I was sitting in a taxi taking me to the ship. What have I done to deserve this,I was thinking, as the driver started to talk and never stopped,not for a moment, until I handed him the £10 he asked for. Was he talking incessantly so that I will not notice and not object to the amount he charged for the short ride? Never have I paid more than £8 even for a longer journey. Did I pay without a protest? Yes. I was going on a wonderful cruise he may never be able to afford,not unless some lottery money comes his way,and it was a Sunday,not a day this amount warrants an argument. The priority check-in line was short and the security line even shorter and before I knew it I was in a cabin 4063. Obstructed view. And you know, it is not that bad at all. I have natural light and through the hanging lifeboats I can see the sea. Cannot sunbathe in the nude on the balcony,that's true,but it is a small price to pay for being able to be on this very popular cruise. There was a card in the cabin waiting informing me that the number of my table to dine at in the evening was 302. Went to check the size of the table. It was just for two. Just for me. Nothing could spoil the seven nights now. Nothing.