Month: September 2025

Fjord Escort #1

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So we’re on the boat now – the Emerald  Princess. It’s significantly bigger than anything we’ve been on before which has its pros and cons – more bars but more people. Queuing up to go through security it appears to be the same crowd as Azamara (our previous cruise line) attracts. I’ve also seen this crowd at Rolling Stones and Eagles concerts so hanging round the pool for a perve will be a waste of time. Fortunately it’s nothing like the crowd that invades another cruise line when operating out of Miami because my fighting days are well and truly behind me. Check out the videos which regularly appear on X and no doubt there’s a YouTube channel devoted to the violent twerking and food throwing (not to mention punching and hair pulling) that appears de rigeur on these ships. That is, unless the scolds who previously censored what has now been proven to be sound Covid advice, are still in charge of that channel.

We’re currently traversing the North Sea which will take two days. Back to X and I’ve seen some horrendous clips of weather all but ripping oil and gas rigs off the sea floor in this part of the world. Fortunately it’s relatively calm right now but we’ve got the rest of today and all of tomorrow before we reach the safety of the fjords. I’m not yet pining for them like the Norwegian Blue (if you are unaware of this reference you should be ashamed of yourself) but weather can be fickle. And we’ve passed plenty of rigs none of which appear to be drifting wrecks.

It’s 16 degrees with 33km/hr wind gusts so feels like 12 degrees. We’re sitting at the outside bar at the back of the ship and contemplating going inside because it’s bloody cold. So how do you explain the woman of a certain age sunning herself in a swimsuit. She’ll only get half a tan because of the shadows being thrown by the goose bumps. As there are a few pools on this ship, after moving we inevitably found ourselves sitting near to another one, each of us sipping a gin and tonic. There are actually people in this pool. WTF is wrong with these people. There are lots of things to do on this ship but joining the local chapter of the Icebergs club or whatever winter swimming is called round here, doesn’t appear to be one of them. They should be doing what we’re doing.

We’re now skirting the Norwegian coast, on the lookout for maraudering long ships. The CB is sharpening her axe (a metaphor for tongue) and preparing to repel boarders. I’ll have to get her even more pissed tonight. Unfortunately the weather appears to be a bit more North Sea-ish with rougher seas so that plan may be problematic. I’ll let you know how this pans out in #2.

Fjord Escort Prologue

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The bag-drop/check-in guy has just told us we have the honeymoon suite. This has never happened to me in a hotel so imagine my surprise when told we had it on an aeroplane. Apparently seats 5E and 5F combine to form a double bed on this particular plane (a Qatar Airways Boeing 777) with this particular seat configuration. So the child bride and I can join the mile high club without dislocating hips and shoulders (not to mention more sensitive parts) in the biz class dunny. The biz class dunny admittedly is much more palatial than the gorilla class hole in the ground but really…. And no one’s going to be hammering on the door threatening life-time bans and putting the film from the secret camera on YouTube or more appropriately Pornhub. No, I made that last bit up…although you can never be too sure. To think that when I first flew business class with work back in 1986 it was like today’s premium economy which is why premium economy is a good deal, incidentally. Now you get a double bed. Insane.

It’s not all been champagne and rose petalled beds so far however even though we haven’t left Brisbane yet. Edgar, our cat, is in the pet hotel which he has been in many times before but this is only his second time alone since Kaos decided to sleep 24 hours a day rather than the standard 23 hours for cats. So we were just getting through customs and the child bride’s phone rang. Ed’s playing up and hasn’t crapped in two days. The resentful little bugger is conspiring to make our lives as miserable as he can while we are away and he is slumming it at his place of incarceration with a bunch of young ladies who adore him. Well Ed, we got the honeymoon suite. Stick that in your tuna casserole and lick it.

We’re now in Doha which is like many new airports – an up-market shopping mall with a plane station outside. This one’s the Hermitage, the Buckingham Palace, the Versailles of plane station shopping malls which just goes to show what you can do if you utilise the gas deposits at your disposal – looking at you every Labour/Labor/lefty government in the world. I don’t think the Qataris give a shit about net zero nonsense and neither should they.

It took 14 hours to get here. It all feels a bit arse-up actually. Usually when one flies to Europe, the short leg (to Singers or Honkers) is at the front so you get off after a 7 of 8 hour flight, still awake and reasonably “with-it”, albeit half pissed but ready to confront the 14 hour overnight section to finish the journey. This is the other way round. So the CB and I, after funnelling champagne for the first few hours of the journey followed by a few hours sleep, are sitting here waiting for our connection feeling half fucked and let go. Notwithstanding, I’m having another Lanson (it may be 6.30am in Brisbane but it’s 11.30pm here) but the sensible one is on the water.

Many people are similarly afflicted at this time of night in airports, so it’s like the Walking Dead in here as people wander aimlessly about, regularly stepping in front of those of us on a mission. Combine that with one of my teeth grinding pet hates which is people who walk along public thoroughfares staring at their phones expecting me to get out of their way (occasionally I don’t), and I’m trying to hold it together on the 5 mile hike to our gate. London, April 2023 will not be repeated here. I fear that if I go down, my kidneys may finish up in a Hamas terrorist although as we are led to believe they are non-drinkers, my organs may be unsuitable.

We’ve now arrived in the second worst airport in the world – Heathrow – which comes a close second to Sydney which appears to have been designed by a five year old using Lego. Sadly we have a few hours to wait before our bus down to Southampton arrives. We board our cruise tomorrow and at this rate tomorrow is a week away. This Costa coffee place can’t become a distant memory fast enough.

I’ll be into Fjord Escort proper from tomorrow. Actually, it’ll be the next day because we can’t work out how the wifi operates in our Airbnb, and the owner hasn’t left instructions.