18th January 2014

Another storm rolled in overnight, rattling us awake with the ship’s newfound enthusiasm for rocking and rolling. By the time we properly surfaced in the morning, however, the sea had calmed down entirely. No evidence remained of the overnight drama, other than a suspiciously soggy balcony.

Breakfast in the Britannia restaurant was followed by a constitutional around the deck, which quickly turned competitive when we paused for a game of shuffleboard (first to 100 points, naturally). On the way back, I demonstrated my golfing prowess in the practice nets, though Sue seemed far less impressed when I managed to miss the ball more often than I hit it. Tiger Woods, I am not.

Next on Sue’s meticulously curated itinerary was a lecture entitled The Orca. Yes, another talk on whales.

As soon as it finished, we hurried back to Britannia for a guided tour of the kitchens. Immaculately clean, buzzing with chefs and as vast as a small town, it was frankly rather intimidating. What we saw was only a fraction of the whole operation, yet it felt big enough to feed a small nation.

From there, we dashed to the theatre for a lecture on Grand Central Station. It was genuinely fascinating, or so I gather, since I nodded off somewhere between slide three and slide ninety-seven, only to wake up with a start as the applause began. After that came a “Virtual Bridge Tour” with two ship’s officers. They were enthusiastic, but once the talk veered into heavy nautical jargon, most of the audience (myself included) began mentally planning lunch. We lasted until 1 pm before making our escape.

Post-lunch, Sue headed to a film (The Way, Way Back), while I did the noble work of completing disembarkation papers and researching attractions for our arrival. Just as Mr Pillow was trying to tempt me into an early afternoon rendezvous, Sue returned. She nipped off again for a coffee while I stayed online, only for us both to reconvene for a windswept deck stroll. Braving a biting northerly gale (the ship ploughing directly into it at 25 knots), we discovered the very top deck had finally reopened. Hidden up there was a charming patio restaurant with glorious panoramic views. The sky was clear, the sun obliging, and my camera captured what I’m convinced could be a National Geographic cover shot.

Dinner that evening was, how shall I put it, private. Our fellow tablemates abandoned us, which meant service was brisk and we were in and out before anyone else had so much as buttered a roll. The silver lining? We could head back early to pack, our cases set to be whisked away by 11 pm ahead of docking at 9:30 am tomorrow.

Returning to our cabin, we found Jennifer, our indefatigable chambermaid, still hard at work. She has kept our room spotless all week with the kind of cheerfulness that would shame Elon Musk, so we brightened her evening with a generous tip. “Thank you, Mr David and Mrs Sue,” she beamed. Heart-melting stuff.

Suitcases packed, we rounded off the evening with the final theatre show, before I attended a particularly intimate late-night seminar entitled Mr Pillow and I.