Happy St George’s Day. And Shakespeare’s birthday and deathday (allegedly).

And welcome to Aruba. Or, as my phone has just told me, welcome to Jamaica… ?! Erm…

I have had three text messages today so far. One from one of my credit cards, saying my credit limit has been increased. The next saying, oops, no it hasn’t, sorry. And then one from my other credit card saying your statement is available for account ending ****. That’s not my card number. What’s going on?! Has the entire UK credit card system gone haywire? If so, quick, buy stuff now, they’ll never know.

Hot, sticky, sunny, stupid weather. 30 in the shade and air so moist you can almost drink it. Draining people like leeches. Apparently, so many people collapsed due to dehydration in the Canal that the Medical Centre could not cope.

We pootled along the front, with mum in her Luggie and us trying to find dipped kerbs for her to use – rather few and far between, thanks very much, Oranjestad – via the new purpose-built terminal, that sadly has replaced the lovely stalls we went past last time. We stopped for a drink in The Paddock, the bar that Mac and I drank in last time we were here – it still has a cow and a tyrannosaurus rex on the roof, and a lovely view of the marina. But now the music is so loud the waiting staff cannot hear you, even when you ask them to turn the music down, which caused much amusement all round. “Please could you turn the music down”. “Sorry?” “EXACTLY. Please could you turn the music down!”. They didn’t, so we left. Shame, because if they had, we might have stayed longer, spent more money and we even dallied with the concept of eating there. Well, it’s their own stupid fault.

We asked the World’s Most Unhelpful Person In A Tourist Information Booth (and believe me there is competition for this award) where the nearest hotels were. He (eventually) said fifteen minutes away in a taxi. Then we asked if the building opposite his booth was the Renaissance Hotel. Yes. WTF?! I know you are very put out at being interrupted in the middle of a text message, but really, is that your best attempt at doing your job?!

In fact, we all noticed that people here are not very welcoming and not very helpful, and they are all uniformly OBSESSED with their phones. You have to beg them to look up long enough to take your money. It’s bizarre. I think they have become so blasé at the amount of money they take very time a ship comes in  – probably several a day at high season – that it’s just routine to them now. They really, truly don’t even bother to look up any more. Very sad. I hope the Americans are more forgiving than we are, because we were very put out. If I want to be ignored, I don’t need to travel halfway around the world for that – I can get it much nearer home for much less expenditure, thank you very much. Don’t think we’ll bother coming to Aruba any more. Mind you, if you’re a massage therapist or a chiropractor, looking to branch out, I recommend moving here. Because their necks are going to really start to hurt soon, and their posture is going to go to pieces. Mucho dinero in someone’s future, methinks.

We went into the Renaissance Hotel for lunch, in their excellent buffet, in their blessedly enthusiastic air conditioning. Our matzahs had survived the journey relatively unscathed, so mum had cheese sandwiches. I had a salad. Dad just had a drink. There was something on offer called tempura sushi. It looks, essentially, like they made perfectly good sushi, dipped it in batter and fried it. It looks horrible. I cannot vouch for the taste, obviously, but it doesn’t sound good either, does it? The ordinary sushi looked good, but no rice for me this week. *sigh*

Then we used the fairly good hotel signal to Skype home.

Back on board by 3pm. We all needed a rest. The humidity is very hard to deal with, if you’re not used to it.

Wore the new white top, that I bought in Korea, to dinner, and promptly splashed brown salad dressing on it. Marvellous. Then helped Dad fill in the World Cruise Event survey. Then washed the white top. Then an early night.

Seder night. Very little happened today that wasn’t preparation for the dinner in the evening. Except I had my ceremonial Last Bowl of Pasta – quite an emotional moment.

We had 14 at the table, including the captain and his wife. I think it ended up 50:50 Jews and non-Jews. We did it mostly in English, so that everyone could participate and understand, and we explained bits as we went.

Dinner took three hours from start to finish – although we did cut some bits from the service, in order to make it a little shorter. Not really sure that the non-Jews at the table were particularly interested in the petty word games and arguments between medieval rabbis!

The catering staff were amazingly helpful, and our Seder plate looked very good indeed. We used the wine, grape juice, haroseth, matzah and gluten-free matzah that we bought in San Francisco. And they stuck a lamb shank bone from the night before last’s dinner and an egg under a special grill they call a Salamander, which makes things very hot very fast, so that was impressively perfect.

After the egg and salt water, we had vegetable soup, poached salmon with new potatoes and broccoli, and sliced fruit platters for dessert. Everyone ate and everyone seemed happy. Turns out the captain’s wife is allergic to eggs! The captain said that, in over 40 years at sea, he had never been invited to a Seder.

We ate by the Neptune Pool, with the roof partly open – enough for a breeze, but not enough to let the rain in. Very pleasant, but not quite as private as we might have liked, and definitely a bit too warm. Very odd, having people walk past in their swimsuits while we were eating!

During dinner, I asked some of the Jews what they felt about the change in the kitniot rules last November. They had never heard of a change. So being told that, officially, corn, hummus, rice and several other yummy things, are no longer considered chametz was revelatory to them. I don’t think anyone is planning on changing their habits, mind you.

The oddest thing was that, an article I read recently said that there are only actually five chametz products in the texts: wheat, barley, rye, oats and spelt. Which, as a coeliac, made me laugh out loud. Because we can’t eat: wheat, barley, rye, oats and spelt.  What puzzled me was that there was no mention whatsoever of yeast. Whether you allow pulses or rice or corn is one thing, but yeast only exists to make things rise, doesn’t it (marmite aside)?! So surely that would be forbidden? As usual, with any clarification in Jewish law, I am now more confused than I was before. Anyone care to clarify this for me?

Well, not really a sea day, technically. It’s Panama Canal day. Although I think it counts as a sea day, cos we can’t get off, so it’s not a Port Day either.

Awake at 6am, because we were still. You get a time slot because it is single alternate line traffic, so you have to all be lined up in a queue before you go. That’s why they have been building more (and much bigger) locks. And haven’t finished on time. Surprise, surprise. If anyone can find me an infrastructure project anywhere on Earth that came in on time (and prove it), I’ll buy you dinner. So it’s the old locks for us. Which is nice. Because it means if we ever come back, we will have a different experience to look forward to.

Canal Factoids:

I won’t bore you with the sizes and weights and lengths and numbers of rivets and tonnes of cement. If you want to know all that, you can Google it for yourselves. These are just the highlighty bits that struck me as the most interesting.

A visit to the building of the Panama Canal by Teddy Roosevelt in 1906 was the first time an American President had EVER visited a foreign country while in office. Wow, think about it.

It took the Americans seven years to build the Canal.

The French failed for thirty years first, because they failed to clear the area of malaria and yellow fever first, so their workers were too busy dying to get much done. They thought it would be easy, because they had already done the Suez Canal. 22,000 men lost their lives, most at Calebra.

Calebra is not really one mountain. It’s solid volcanic rock forming part of the Continental Divide.

At the time, yellow fever killed more than half the people it infected, in less than an eight days.

Four hundred men fumigated the area three times over, screened windows and closed sewers. They used 120 tonnes of sulphur-based pesticide, the same used in the whole United States in a year.

Dr William Gorgas, who eradicated yellow fever ENTIRELY from Panama (and Cuba before that), and reduced malaria in the Panama “Great Ditch” (as Roosevelt insisted on calling it) to below the levels then prevalent in North America, received a State funeral when he died. And well he deserved it, too. That’s quite a feat.

Stevens (the civil engineer in charge) called the supply railway built by the French, “two streaks of rust and a right of way”. He built a proper one. From scratch.

The dirt removed from the Calebra Cut filled enough trains to encircle the planet four times.

The workers ate 40,000 loaves of bread a day.

Twelve villages had to be evacuated to create the lake in the middle. They built a new town called Gatun, at higher altitude, for the villagers to move to. It then took five years to clear the area, by hand, of trees and obstacles.

The canal reduced the journey time between San Francisco and New York by over a MONTH.

All this was garnered from a documentary called “Panama Canal: The mountain and the mosquito”, produced by National Geographic in 1999, and shown on a loop on our in-cabin telly. Narrated with typical American hyperbole, it is, nevertheless a fascinating insight into how this thing was brought into existence. If you have the time and the patience, I recommend seeking it out. It’s quite riveting (if you’ll pardon the pun).

Lunch was the usual. I was late, because there was no noon announcement. The bloke doing the commentary on the canal was hogging the mike. Had an apple first, which I thought would be enough, due to my continuing lack of appetite, but the apple seemed to remind my system that it ought to eat, so I then found the appetite to eat the pasta.

Dinner was just avocado vinaigrette for starter and another avocado for main. Just couldn’t face anything else.

(No GF bread came on board, in case you were wondering).

Sad news: I have packed my first case – the big one.

There are only two formal nights left, so I have packed almost all the dresses and some of the t-shirts. Part of the problem with packing is that some of the dresses are in plastic protective sleeves, and it takes time to squeeze the air out, so by packing that one now, it can lie and settle, with the assistance of gravity, and then I can add more to the case later on. I have kept out the long-sleeved t-shirts, because I think the drop between 30+ degrees here and 15 degrees at home will be quite a shock. If you could perhaps work on raising the temperature a little over the next fortnight, prior to my return, that would be much appreciated, ta.

Fruit, Sudoku, pasta, massage. Oooh lovely. With a view of the ocean from my massage bed, which is so still, here in the Doldrums, it looks like a fitted carpet that has come away in one corner and rucked up a bit – rather like those in some of the corridors on board, in fact! Hot and sticky. Even the wind is so hot, it’s like when the nozzle swivels on your hand dryer and you get a unexpected faceful of hot air.

Then back to the cabin to finish the David Silva book I am reading (The Kill Artist). It’s a real page-turner. I was late for dinner, simply because I could not bear to leave it unfinished. Very enjoyable. So glad my San Francisco cousin recommended this author. I had never heard of him before, but I really enjoyed this. We actually bought the second in the series as well, but mum’s still hogging that one. Tsk.  In fact, now I come to think of it, both mum and dad are currently reading books that I paid for! There’s something wrong with this picture…

I am currently also reading one of the most fascinating non-fiction books I have ever read. It is called Rust. And it’s about… rust. It’s hypnotically interesting. I can’t break my gaze from it. It’s astonishing. Did you know, for example, that the USA spends more on anti-corrosion products and research per year than the entire GDP of Sweden? Feel free to read that again, if you need to. Yes, that much. Or that sea-based oil rigs have an extra number of feet added to the length of their legs, to compensate for the “rust layer” that will be eaten away over it’s lifetime?! I’m telling you, this book is un-put-down-able. It’s absolutely fascinating. I will never look at a flyover in the same way, never mind the Statue of Liberty. Or this ship, come to think of it…!

At dinner, had to send back the avocado, because the dressing they had covered it in was oil and mustard, with no hint of vinegar whatsoever, and then it was 70% oil. Olive oil, which I hate anyway. It was utterly inedible. The head waiter apparently stood over the chef while he made a fresh batch, which was better, but still not ideal. Still, the roast chicken and roast potatoes were very nice. The portion was enormous though. I only managed one potato, and that was overdoing it – they served me with two. Must remember to skip the potatoes altogether in future. I don’t normally have potatoes at all on board, but it’s hard to resist a nice roastie, now and then.

Tomorrow we traverse the Panama Canal – all day, and it’s the Queen’s 90^th birthday, which has been commemorated on board by? A crown on the front of tomorrow’s newspaper. That’s it, apparently. Pathetic, isn’t it? Ninety years of service and they can’t even summon up a bit of bloody bunting.

Recent rumours #1: There was a punch up in the Belvedere self-service restaurant yesterday. Apparently one passenger has the shiner to prove it. Whether it really was about who got the last portion of trifle, I doubt, but anything’s possible. People do get very grumpy in the Doldrums.

Recent rumours #2: TWO people got taken off at Huatulco, ostensibly to the  US Naval Hospital near the port. Allegedly both died. Caveat: This is third, maybe even fourth, -hand information, so perhaps don’t take it as gospel.  They don’t normally tell us when people die. We’re just supposed to marvel at their sudden disappearance and hope for the best.

Tomorrow is also a rather sad milestone. It marks 14 days to Southampton. That’s it, game over. No wonder we’re all so depressed and grumpy. This is day 101, only 14 left to go. Time to actually seriously start worrying about packing! Argh!

Ten hours’ sleep. Now THAT’s more like it.

I am still struggling with the fact that we are now behind the UK, having spent so much of the cruise in front. It’s very odd to wake up and realise you are all already heading home from work. And it makes deadlines very hard to keep! If I say happy birthday to you on the wrong day, be patient with me!

Formal lunch for Round The Worlders. Got the Galley Manager on our table. Difficult to hold a conversation with him, when he is solely responsible for cleaning and equipment! Don’t have any issues with those! I mentioned that they don’t sweep up after deck buffets, and bits get blown into the pool, and he said he would pass that on, but other than that, frankly, we mostly talked around him. The most entertaining thing about him is that he has the same name as our waiter, yet denies knowing who he is. You’re the Galley Manager and you don’t know the waiter with the same name as you?! Seriously?! And I don’t mean just the first name. I mean first AND surname the same. The same entire name. Very odd.

Debra and her husband didn’t go to the San Francisco dinner, so we told them all about that. Then the Captain made a speech about how lovely the San Francisco dinner was. We applauded the bit about the building, but not the mention of the food!

Apparently, the loyalty boy who has been lying in his letters to us, has also got a bit of an attitude in person, and Debra’s husband has had cause to say “I am the passenger. Don’t you ever speak to me like that”.  And yes, it did relate to the SF dinner, but BEFORE the event, not after!

Seriously, this is the LOYALTY desk. Talk about someone being in the wrong job! If you’re prepared to lie to the passengers in writing, AND be rude to their faces, you REALLY need to reconsider your career decisions, because inspiring loyalty and return custom is absolutely definitely NOT your thing.

Outside the dining room, I bumped into Helen, the Hotel Manager, who got off at Sydney and back on at San Francisco. She said that they had tried to source GF bread in Mexico, but to no avail, but were hoping to get some in Panama, which would be loaded at the first lock. Right, I’ll believe that when I see it!

I mentioned to her the thing with the laundry labels and she said she would have a word. In case I haven’t mentioned it (and apols if I have), whereas there used to be iron-on labels with your cabin number in each garment, that were quite easy to remove, they have now taken to writing your cabin number in permanent marker on the clothing label. Which is fine. FOR THE DURATION OF THIS CRUISE. When I get on another ship, and I am in a different cabin, is C188 going to be the recipient of all my clean underwear?! FFS. You fools.

Formal dinner. Sigh. So bored of food now. Don’t even recall what I ate. Nice chat with Scott and Etta and Janet. Cod, I think I had (GF) breaded cod. Anne and Pauline seem to be gone for good from our table. Not gutted, frankly.

I have now seen two Sherlock Holmes/Robert Downey Jnr films in the last week. Entertaining enough bubblegum for the soul, the highlight of the first being the half-built Tower Bridge (although it’s a way longer run from the House of Parliament than they suggested), and the highlight of the second being Stephen Fry with no clothes on.

But I’m afraid I was unable to get past RDJ’s appalling English accent in either instance. Clipped is one thing, positively gunfire-esque is quite another. Horrible sound. Especially next to Jude Law’s natural tones. I would put RDJ’s attempt in the top three Worst American Attempts At An English Accent Ever – second only to Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins and Angela Lansbury’s various attempts at Cockney in several episodes of Murder, She Wrote. If you have a more execrable offering to proffer by way of bumping RDJ down the rankings, I would be interested to hear it, because I can’t think of any that are nearly so awful.

Tonight I completed the Customer Satisfaction Survey for the Round the World Event at San Francisco. My reward for doing so will apparently be a free glass of champagne. One glass. Steady on. Don’t overdo it, now. Mind you, if you don’t know what went wrong at San Francisco by now, I can’t help you.

Weather forecast for tomorrow. 32 in the shade, with rain. Welcome to the Tropics. We are now only ten degrees north of the Equator, although we won’t cross it again on this trip. Tonight, we are crossing the Guatemala Basin, southwards, if you want to look us up on a map.

27 degrees in the shade at 06.30 hrs, according to the telly. This is going to be hot and sticky, Welcome back to the Tropics.

No internet. All day. Grrrr.

Huatulco (Wah-tool-ko) is not the town – it’s the area. Why P&O don’t call it Santa Cruz, I have no idea. There are about five Cartagenas in the world, so half a dozen or so Santa Cruzes wouldn’t kill us. Anyway, Huatulco is, in fact, nine bays (or is it eight?) of unspoiled sandy beaches, clear water and reefs, and the one we moor in is Santa Cruz. So there you have it.

There is a VERY long concrete quay, so that the ship can moor pointing into town. But I’m not sure it’s long enough for the really big ships, as it currently stands. Yet even now, they run an electric buggy service to get the less mobile from the gangplank to the shore. Lovely touch, that. It is a heck of a walk, mind you.

We were booked on an excursion to Las Brisas resort. We don’t often book excursions, and resorts, even less so, but we’ve been to this one before, and it is very pleasant indeed. It used to be Club Med 18-30, but changed hands in 1992.

At the hotel, they still insist on blaring out dance music by the main pool, whether or not anyone wants it, but it’s still otherwise very pleasant. We don’t use the three private beaches available, but those that did were very happy. We pretty much took over the town when we arrived, so there were other ship people to chat to. And lunch was basic but adequate. And free.

Our excursion brought us back to the port at 2.30, BOB was 4.30, but we did not slip our lines until 6.30, because someone was waiting for an ambulance. Oh dear.

I imagine the Captain will be a bit stressed by now. We have a time slot booked for the Panama Canal on Thursday (it is single alternate lane traffic, so you absolutely cannot miss your slot), and we’ve been chasing to catch up since San Francisco, I think. I am guessing we will be really pegging it overnight tonight.

When we arrived for the first time, in 2005, Santa Cruz was a lovely little town with very few shops or hotels. They were cutting a great scar through the rainforest to build a big road to connect them to the big city. Eleven years later? The scar remains, but now has paving and benches and flower pots. No road. It seems to be a park of some sort. Our tour guide, Jordan, who took excellent care of us all day, assured me the road would be built, but he’s only been here five years, so I knew more about it than he did!

Other than that, the place has barely changed at all. A few more hotels, perhaps, but that’s all, and they are quite in keeping with the area – not big, ugly, modern rubbish. And the bar with the balcony overlooking the square has closed in said balcony and become a nightclub called the Black Cherry. But, other than that, it is still a very beautiful, and remains a resolutely unspoiled, part of the world. I cannot recommend it highly enough. They have some sort of special status to protect the area and the beaches here, so, hopefully, it should stay this way. And they seem to understand the concept of disabled access, too, which is nice.

Try not to laugh out loud at the prices of the wares made from the local silver, though. They find it off-putting.  Although labelling something as 630 USD when I wouldn’t pay 630 MNP for it (there are about 20 pesos to the dollar at the moment, give or take)(AND it was broken!), is so overly-optimistic that your customer is a fool with more money than sense, that I have to give them credit for the sheer chutzpah.

Things I have learned today #1: There is some sort of plumber’s code, whereby they are not allowed to fix a problem in a customer’s bathroom without leaving a piece out when they put everything back together, neatly put on the side, for said customer to discover after the plumber is long gone. Happened in LP a few months ago, happened here today.

When I got back on board, I was hot and sticky and dusty and needed a shower. But this was the moment where my shower decided that I did not merit any cold water, for some reason, and so provided only two options – scalding or scalding. After two desperate calls to Reception, a plumber came, fixed the problem and then announced that my fluctuating temperature issue, that had me swaying in and out of the flow of water (remember?) was actually a faulty thermostat, so he changed it. And left me the apparently obligatory small circle of silver metal by the sink, that I have no idea what do to with. And a continuing fluctuation in temperature (didn’t have the heart to call him again). But at least cold is now an option. My sunburned shoulders were very grateful. It must have occurred when I was swimming, because that was the only time I stepped out of the shade all day.

My sarky email to Southampton about gluten-free bread appears to have hit home, because when I was chatting to the head waiter, Subodh, at dinner, and said I had sent the head of Diet Reservations an email, he said, “Yes, I’ve seen it!”. He told me to bide my time and see what transpires at Aruba. And then he winked.

Watch this space…

Friday 15^th April – Sea Day 1 of 3

Finished my book before bed. Woken by the noon announcement. “The time is now one o’clock”. Oh good, there goes another hour. So by the time I made it to lunch, it was nearly two (locked myself out of the cabin and had to go to reception for a new key on the way – Who? Me? Discombobulated? Nah). Fruit, pasta (very overcooked – had to eat it with a spoon because it just fell apart with a fork!), Sudoku. By the time I had realised I was feeling somewhat chilled – it may be 20 degrees and sunny, but there is quite a strong breeze – it was time to go back to the cabin and get ready for a formal night anyway. So that was the whole day done. Anne and Pauline did not come to dinner. They haven’t said anything positive about the food yet, so maybe they went to try somewhere else instead. Or maybe they just don’t like dressing up for dinner. Wore the teal Gib dress and the cz choker and bracelet. Daphne said the dress made my eyes look so amazingly green, she thought I was wearing coloured contacts. Which was very nice of her. No one else seemed as impressed, mind you.

There was a drinks do tonight. I asked the captain (Trevor Lane) why we are never dressed overall when we are in port. He says he doesn’t have the spare man hours necessary to put it all up and take it all down again. Not sure how satisfied I am with that answer, to be honest. Every other ship we have ever been on has managed. Particularly when we were in port overnight. But, hey, I asked. I think it’s about courtesy, respect to our host city and also pride in the ship and the P&O brand. It saddens me that none of that is considered important.

The captain is aware of the GF bread situation, and said he is trying to sort it out. I made my dig to both him and the Food and Beverages Manager, David Leys, about my 25k self-catering holiday. They both laughed, and promised me they would try and fix it. We will see, won’t we? I have written to the Special Diets lady at Southampton, who made so many promises to me before we boarded, anyway. Maybe she can bang some heads together. Although where you find gluten free bread products in Mexico or the Caribbean, I have no idea. Not really my problem, frankly.

Then accidentally found myself watching the film of Paul Potts’ story on the telly (One Chance) in the cabin. It’s rather a beautiful film, to be fair. Very enjoyable. Wonder what has happened to him since, though. I hope he is making it big somewhere, because I haven’t heard much of him recently. Don’t be too picky about James Corden’s slightly dodgy lip syncing. It’s not his fault he’s not an opera singer! Although any fan of Carpool Karaoke knows the man can actually hold a tune.

Saturday 16^th April 2016 – Sea Day 2 of 3

Not bad night’s kip. Not entirely unbroken, but not bad. Lunch, fruit, pasta, Sudoku. Siesta. Dinner. That’s a good sea day.

It has been eerily calm all day – the Pacific actually managing to live up to its name for a change. You really do have to look out the window to know that you’re moving, today. We have crossed into the Tropics now, so the temperature and humidity are both rising by the hour. It’s all rather pleasant. It’s like being on a cruise!

The Denton ladies failed to show again at dinner. I think they might have moved. Etta and Scott are good company, though, so that’s fine.

As we were leaving, we were treated to the most spectacular sunset. We don’t often manage to line up our meals with the best views, so it was a welcome change. The hours change so often, we can go from eating in daylight to eating in pitch darkness in a matter of days, so actually hitting sunset spot on doesn’t happen very often. I think there is another time change tomorrow, which is a shame.

According to this week’s Click, age and gender are no longer relevant demographics when pitching or planning televisual content. Interesting. Considering the amount of sexism and ageism that persists throughout most parts of our society, the idea that we are not much differentiated as regards tastes or entertainment needs is really rather thought-provoking…

Sunday – Sea Day 3 of 3

Woken by the noon announcement. Lost another hour. Sudoku, pasta, fruit. Pounding headache, so didn’t swim. Paracetamol. Rest. Dinner. Headache became a proper migraine, and spread to my teeth, so I couldn’t chew my food. Back in bed by 7.30. That was Sunday, that was.

Not a good night’s kip. Typical.

I managed to elicit a decent breakfast by ordering the fruit and yoghurt, and, when it was delivered, I gave the room service steward the loaf of bread I bought in San Francisco, and he took it away and got two slices toasted, and brought it all back again about 10 minutes later. Apparently they are allowed to cook it but not store it. *sigh*

Went ashore on time and without problem. Which was nice. Glorious warm and sunny weather. Stewart and Julie, our cousins (well, Stewart is Dad’s nephew, technically), drove down from LA to see us, and they were waiting at the gate. So good to see them.

They drove us to the Hotel Del Coronado. It’s very famous. Google it. I think they filmed Some Like It Hot there. They have an entire steampunk shop. In fact, they have lots of shops, all of which contained lovely stuff, but the prices were eye-watering, so I left empty-handed.

We went out to their café overlooking the beach. Are you serving? Not yet. Ten minutes. Do you serve coffee? No, you have to go into the bakery café for hot drinks. May I order a draught beer? No, the compressor is damaged, so we only have bottled. It was starting to sound a bit like the ship! Still, we had a cold drink and Skyped home. It’s nice to be in a time zone where that is becoming possible again. It’s about three weeks since that has been even conceivable. Interestingly, the wifi is not free here. Pretty cheap, but not free. Still the signal was decent enough. Ish.

Then we drove to the Waterfront area of town, to a restaurant called Seasons 52. This is where we all met up with Kris, Rich and Selena, who used to be my neighbours in Little Paxton, when Rich was stationed in the UK. They moved back to San Diego about six years ago, we reckoned, give or take. I have missed them. We chatted and ate really good food and then, at about half three, it was time to go back to the ship. It was far too short a time, and I really wished we had had longer together.

BOB 4.30pm – I managed to be the last passenger on, today! Never done that before. Nap before dinner. Took my own GF bread roll to dinner. This is what it has come down to. They have simply stopped bothering now. I am now on a self-catering holiday, for pity’s sake. Dinner was very nice, and everyone was cheerful, because absolutely everyone had had a nice day.

After dinner, one of the ladies who was at our table at the San Francisco dinner showed us the letter she had received following her formal complaint about the food. It said that the poor food was because everyone at the table had such complex dietary requirements.  No, you had more than THREE MONTHS to plan this. That’s no excuse! It also said that other people at table 21 had said how lovely the food was. Really? Because there was her and her man, who made the complaint, Gary and Kate – the starved vegan and his wife – who have also already registered a written complaint, the three of us, the P&O girl who ran away and abandoned her dessert uneaten when she realised how annoyed we were all getting, the guy next to me, who said his chicken was cold and dry, and a little old lady, whose name no one knows, but who complained bitterly about her food as well. So where exactly were these allegedly happy campers? If the crew are actually prepared to LIE to us, in response to genuine complaints, then a quiet note to those in charge on board is not going to cut it. Not by a long shot. This is going to have to be emails to Southampton, now. And it’s entirely their own fault.

Then helped Juliet unpack – she has moved cabins. She was going to disembark at San Francisco, but managed to do a deal so that she could stay on for the last leg – hence the move; her cabin had been sold to someone else! Her new cabin is very nice indeed, mind you, so she did quite well.

Three sea days now before Mexico. Time for a rest. Both for me, and my poor credit card, which has taken quite a hit since Hawaii. And maybe some playing on my new pooter. And some reading of my new books (including the sequel to The Assassin’s Apprentice that I read earlier in the cruise). Busy, busy, busy.

Slept. Woken by the noon announcement. Lunch. Back to bed. Utterly shattered.

At dinner, met the new tablemates. Anne and Pauline from Denton in Manchester, and Etta and Scott from Motherwell, via Bath, now living in Worksop. They all seem nice enough, so far.

Woke naturally, which is nice. Slept well, so obviously bought the right sleep aid product yesterday!

Off at 10. Fran met us and we drove to the mall to do the bits of shopping we all forgot yesterday, and post some cards and stuff.

Then we went to the Embarcadero, to a bookshop that we remembered from last time, that we loved. We all came out with armfuls of purchases, as I recall. Not any more. Never go back. They have taken out all the decent books, and filled their shelves with current fiction, children’s books and cookery books. All of which you can get cheaper in Walmart. That’s not what we go to a ‘proper’ bookstore for.

So we gave up and went into The Slanted Door for lunch. This is supposed to be an excellent restaurant. Presidents eat here. I say supposed to be. The noise level was quite high but we thought we had ordered quite easily. The waitress dealt with the no nuts, no gluten nonsense quite well. The lychee iced tea was, however, disgusting. I like lychee tea, so I was very disappointed with this. And she kept refilling my glass! Yuk!

Then the spring rolls arrived for mum. They were supposed to be vegetarian, but she took two bites and said they tasted funny, so I took a closer look. They were NOT vegetarian. They took them away pretty sharpish, and mum refused a replacement – she had soup instead. The waitress came over and apologised – saying she hadn’t heard the word vegetarian. Really? Cos I was pointing at it on the menu at the same time. So, don’t worry, you just probably fed pork and shellfish to a Jewish old lady with known food allergies. No issue there whatsoever. They really could not have cared less. She just said “We won’t charge you for those”. You’re damn bloody right you won’t, dear! Never mind that we didn’t order them, never mind that we didn’t eat them. If she had a fish allergy, which you might not mention when ordering the VEGETARIAN spring rolls, she’d be DEAD BY NOW, you incompetent cow.  They didn’t even bother to send over the manager. So much for the famous American customer service.  (NB. We have NOT told mum what she probably ate. We think she knows, but no one is saying it out loud, so please don’t mention it unless she does first).

So, if you want a recommendation for somewhere to eat in SF, I’m afraid I recommend that you go ANYWHERE BUT The Slanted Door at Embarcadero.

This did not put anyone in a very good mood, perhaps unsurprisingly, and after the bookshop fiasco next door, we decided to give up on Embarcadero and head elsewhere.  At which point, I went to the loo, and the cleaner unlocked the door from the outside while I was in there. Mood improvement quotient: -700,000%

So Fran took us to a proper book store on Van Ness and we all bought LOTS of books – I think mum got four and I got five. That’s more like it. Although, oddly, whilst you can buy absolutely everything Patricia Highsmith has ever written here, they have never even heard of Mary Higgins Clark. Don’t worry. Only one of the world’s top mystery writers. Very odd.

Then we went to the Jewish Community Centre, to see if they had anything nice in their shop. They didn’t, but at least their toilet doors were secure! Adriana Huffington is speaking there tonight. Seventy-five dollars a ticket. Yowzer. She has a book out about how to improve your sleep patterns. I’m not sure what qualifications she has on the subject, mind you… Apparently, she has also been acting as an Uber driver all day, here in SF. Odd, but interesting.

Then we went to City Lights, and I bought some more books. LOVE City Lights. Democracy is a participation sport.

The trouble with all these bookstores is that they are all in areas where there is only a half hour of parking. Have you ever tried to browse an entire bookstore in 30 minutes, including queuing and paying?! Can’t be done. Trust me, I tried. Twice. At both shops, I had to drop something I was considering and just leg it. Oh well, their loss. If they want more custom, they need to negotiate with their city planners. Nothing I can do.

Then Fran drove us around the city for a bit, showing us some of the cool architecture. There are some very pretty and some VERY large houses in some parts of town. And we drove the ‘Wiggle’ (down Lombard Street), because I could not remember doing it last time, although dad swears we did (we didn’t!). They are building a new ‘transport hub’ which will be under the (new) tallest building in SF. A transport hub that the new underground will not link up with. Buses and trains, but not the underground, for which they are currently digging up significant portions of the city streets. Not exactly joined up thinking…

Then we went to a lovely restaurant called Garibaldi’s, where we met up with Rachael and Blake for dinner (Rachael is Fran’s daughter and Blake is her new hubby). She is an architect, and he works for Google. We had a fantastic meal, although the portions were positively monumental in size. We had a great time, and it was sad when it had to end. Blake PROMISED me that Trump will not win the Presidency. You read it here first, folks.

Here endeth day two, with less foot pain, but much more shopping to somehow shoehorn into our luggage at some point. Tomorrow: a well-earned sea day before we get to San Diego. I’m pooped.

I think I was glutened at some point, which is a shame, but it didn’t hit me til after dinner, so it didn’t mar the day itself.