Postscripts

Not much I can usefully add this Hogmanay: domestic politics have followed the chaotic course that inevitably and predictably began in 2016, and Russian foreign policy has gone back centuries.  

But I must post a postscript about the Post.  Our lovely postie Marcin knocked on the door yesterday to say that he’d brought our mail to us after work the day before it was due, so as to get our mail to us before Christmas and get in before the strikes.  He’s such a nice fellow, and politely tolerates my three or four mangled words of Polish.  So I called the Royal Mail yesterday and told them to discontinue the complaint I’d put in, apologising and explaining that we had in fact had exceptional service in the circumstances.

It has been very wet this week, yet one day was fine enough to get laundry dry outside on the line, and as I mentioned, the garden bin is getting rather full.  The severe frosts earlier in the month have really hammered the penstemons - the drought followed by rain led to a late burgeoning of tender foliage - so I’ll need to get them chopped down next time we have a good day.  The apple tree needs pruning too, so maybe I’ll get a bit of fresh air and exercise if we get a decent day or two.  The bin will be full and supplemented by black bags when the toon cooncil finally resumes collections.

Talking of bins, the local fauna are taking an interest in the food waste bin.  Before we went away, I’d had to throw out some rotting apples, and a couple of mornings came down to find them scattered across the paving at the back door.  The other day in the small hours I heard sounds of plastic boxes on the move.  This is not unusual when it’s windy, but as it was pretty still, I took a look out.  When the security light came on, I saw a huge badger having a stroll round the garden, then crawling through the fence to Annie’s next door.  It hadn’t managed to get the food bin open, so I didn’t have to sweep up this time.

We’ve been well entertained this week: lunch with Claire and Richard and their son David, and supper yesterday with Martyn’s niece Fiona and her partner and son: both Alexanders.  A brief visit to the scales last night confirmed the worst: twelve days of Cunardry followed by festive meals at home and away have taken their toll.  I had to lean forward to see the readout.

Gluttony

Far from tapering down from the Cunard induced excesses in the run-up to Christmas, we haven’t exactly been missing at mealtimes since we got back.  We enjoyed our chicken on Christmas Day, and made inroads into a leg of lamb on Boxing Day.  I’d spotted said joint in Fortnums, short-dated hence greatly reduced in price, and couldn’t resist it - it was delicious, and will set us up for a couple of shepherd’s pies.  I’ll gloss over the Mary Berry mince pies, and the sausage rolls made from leftover cipollatas…. We’re behaving ourselves today: soup for lunch, and a chicken Caesar salad for supper.  

The weather is fine off and on today (though quite chilly) so I’ve done a spot of gardening.  The hellebores are pruned back, revealing lots of healthy buds.  The bitter cold while we were away finished off the geraniums and fuchsias in sundry containers, so they are now in the garden waste bin ready for when collections resume.  I’ve hacked down some extremely leggy rudbeckias and made a start on the hardy fuchsia at the front.  So all in all, we’re looking a bit tidier out there.  There isn’t a whole lot of colour, but the winter jasmine has plenty of buds, the polyanthus are showing a few timid flowers, and the bulbs are coming through in places.  This time of year the cornus are at their best.  All the colour is from this year’s growth, of course.  I didn’t massacre the orange one in the back garden last spring, preferring to give it a chance to get established: John had given it to us us a cutting the year before.  It has therefore been a bit dull this year, but I’ll prune it properly in the spring and hope for better results.

Home

A pleasant last evening in the floating care home.  We didn’t win any more quizzes, but had won enough to qualify for another picture frame and a 4-way USB adaptor.  Dinner was up to scratch, and we had a quick chat afterwards with pianist Matthew before heading down for an early night.  

Disembarking was a little better than in previous trips: we didn’t have to gather in the theatre, but were just told to head out from our cabins at a given hour.  There was a bit of a queue at the gangway, and we’ll enquire why the airbridge wasn’t in operation: as on boarding, we had to brave the elements along the quay.  From there on, it was the usual hunt for the bags, and quite a long schlepp to the car.  The drive home was pretty wet, but we got here safely.  

It was disappointing to find that the Royal Mail had failed to keep back our mail, as per contract, so we shall be looking to get our £19 back.  If they can be persuaded to answer their phones without a long delay.  [Later: they did, and we’re expecting a refund]  As it was, a lot of cards were squashed into the box, and a neighbour had to take in a small parcel.

After lunch, we collected the Christmas chicken and things from the farm shop, which was a bit of a scrum.  Fortnums, on the other hand, wasn’t too bad, so we’re reasonably well set up for the holidays.  Once again, we shall be Darby and Darby at home.  

Much laundry yesterday and today, so we’re pretty well up to date.  The chicken is stuffed, the piggies are blanketed, and I’ve even dared to prepare some sprouts: not that I expect enthusiasm in this respect. 

Heading for home again

The forecast for our last day in Lisbon was pretty dire: indeed, I’d had a flood warning message on my phone.  It was dry but dreich when we started out, so we thought a mooch round the shops might be best.  We went up to the Amoreiras mall, wandered around for a while and bought nothing.  But we did make a trip to the 18th storey roof terrace, which must be spectacular on a fine day.  Since we were on the necessary bus route, we took a ride across the bridge, then a tram down to Cacilhas and a ferry back across.  At this point, the weather took a turn for the better, and later in the afternoon it was warm enough for us to sit out on the balcony for a while.  Not bad for 20 December.  

Lunch at the Mercado da Ribeira was interesting if expensive.  You place your order, and find somewhere to sit, armed with a pager that buzzes and flashes when your order is ready.  Interesting place, and very  busy, I gather, in the small hours with clubbers in search of a midnight snack.  That’s probably why the music is so loud.

I won’t bore you with the details, but our travels were rather expensive.  I clearly haven’t grasped the details of ticket purchase hereabouts - and it didn’t help that the machine at the tram stop gave me 55c change when I bought an 85c fare with a tenner!  Still, we’ve now left Euroland with a little left and enough for tips for the steward and waiters.

Two sea days now, and on the first we’ve heard the third of Matthew McCombie’s piano recitals. Excellent as always, though the piano is in grave need of tuning.  We got a couple more stickers on our quiz card yesterday, thanks to an inspired guess that the original home of the Cirque du Soleil was Canada, so we ought to qualify for a key ring or something.  

Back in wonderful Lisbon

We didn’t disembark in Gibraltar: we hadn’t signed up to go there in the first place, and were a bit fed up when it was substituted for Cartagena, which we were looking forward to.  True, the view from the rock is fantastic, but having seen it in summer, there was little point in visiting in December, particularly since the summit was in cloud for much of the afternoon.  So we spent a bit of the late morning up in the Commodore Club, watching the few aircraft movements at the airport.  The road to the border crossing at La Linea crosses the runway, so has to be closed to allow arrivals and departures.  It was fun to see the flood of traffic - cars, trucks, motorbikes, buses, cyclists and pedestrians - each time the gates were opened.  

On leaving Gibraltar we had fine views of the African coast for a long time after we sailed.  At one point I counted fifteen other vessels in view as we headed out: this is one extremely busy sea lane.  The sea got a bit lively at times in the night, but was calm as we came into the Tagus this morning, and it was mild enough for us to stand on the balcony as we passed under the roaring bridge.  As we came through, a train was also coming over, so we were reminded of how grateful we are not to live near it.

The sunrise was spectacular.  (Unfortunately, the rest of the day didn’t live up to it, and we learn that tomorrow’s forecast threatens a repeat of last week’s flooding.  We may just stay afloat.)

Buying a day tourist ticket is no longer the simple matter it once was.  We went to Sta Apolónia station as before, and bought a 1-day tourist pass apiece, only to find that it was valid only on trains.  By the time we discovered this we were under way towards the Cais do Sodre in a bus, which fortunately lacked an inspector.  The CdS metro station sold us the more versatile ticket we were used to, so we took the N°15 tram along to Algés and hopped on a train to Cascais, enjoying views of a lively sea breaking on the rocks and beaches.  It was chilly and windy, so we didn’t hang around, and instead returned to Belém for lunch in the Pastéis de Belém shop.  After some dialogue with the waiter, it turned out that we had to read the menu by getting our phones to read a QR code on the dispenser of silly little napkins.  The sandwiches and pastéis were fine, but we didn’t linger.  The next table was occupied by a couple with small children, one of whom, though shrieking and running around for much of the time, could still be pacified - briefly -  by a session at the breast.  When a school party arrived to fill three or four other tables nearby, we decided it was time to pay up and push off.

I won’t detail the rest of the day’s adventures: suffice to say that we failed to realise a plan to catch the bus across the river, and eventually came back to the ship by metro from Pombal to Sta Apolónia, a new line that I hadn’t realised existed.  All of this shows that I hadn‘t researched the public transport network sufficiently.  I used to be good at this kind of thing, dammit!  We were joint runners up in the afternoon quiz, and had dinner in very pleasant company.  

It only took a few bars of the evening show to establish that it would be grotesquely over-amplified (as was the solo flautist’s show a couple of nights ago), so this time we we didn’t even warm our seats.  Such a shame: the accompaniment of last night’s amazing acrobatics show was much more restrained. 

Málaga, eventually

 On our second day in Cádiz, we thought we’d take the tourist bus for a final look round, so went out and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  When the rain came on, we gave up, and went back on board for tea.  Earlier, we’d watched one of the divers being winched out of the water, while the new propeller blade continued to sulk on the quayside.  It turned out that the old one wouldn’t budge, so after two days of work, they just had to tighten up the bolts again and carry on unrepaired.  We left shortly after midnight (instead of 18:30-ish), but made good enough time to Málaga to allow a decent day ashore.  

It’s a handsome, prosperous city with many fine buildings and lots of well-tended green space.  The pedestrian streets in the centre were full of interest (and fancy designer-label shops), but paved in very slippery, shiny marble or ceramics.  I managed to stay vertical, but it was a nervous business.  The tourist bus was no more reliable than that in Cádiz, but there was at least someone there with a walkie-talkie to tell us there would be a 40-minute wait (this after three had passed in quick succession while we were eating nearby - so it isn’t just London where this happens).  But it’s a good way to see a lot of the city in a short time.

Our cabin is on the port side, so as we run into Gibraltar, I imagine the lights I see are in Tetuan, or perhaps one or other of the Spanish exclaves on the Moroccan coast.  I’ve also seen the lights of several vessels passing in the opposite direction.  Busy stretch of water, this.  As we curve round to the right to enter the harbour, Orion is just visible above the bright lights of La Linea.  And there’s a new moon.

Fings ain’t quite wot they used to be

The ride down from A Corunha was pretty sporting for much of the two nights and a day that it takes, but we fortunately have decent sea legs.  Matthew McCombie’s recital yesterday was excellent (though he deserves a better-tuned piano): we were delighted that his programme included the Grieg Wedding Day at Trollhaugen that we heard him play once before in the same place.  

We went to a rather disorganised basic Spanish lesson yesterday afternoon: I have extremely basic Spanish, and picked up a few tips: Martyn (who doesn’t) found the pace far too hurried.  OK, it’s over 40 years since I did a little Spanish at school, but I was surprised to hear no reference to the formal second-person pronouns usted and ustedes, with only tú and vosotros in evidence.  I read that in Colombia and Venezuela, the polite forms are now wholly archaic.  I think the same is happening in Portuguese, with você/s replacing the over-formal o Senhor/a Senhora formulas, though tu still raises eyebrows except in close relationships - and social media.

The ship is comfortable, we hear no mechanical noise in the cabin, the linen is good and the steward service impeccable as always.  But there are signs of cost cutting here and there, which is hardly a surprise, given the hit the industry took during the worst of the pandemic.  More worrying is a bit of a slide in the restaurant service.  We’ve no complaint about the food, but our stated preference for a fixed table assignment (so that we can get to know the neighbours) was not honoured until we stamped our little feet, and then with surprisingly poor grace.  Our waiters are rather surly, and reluctant to accommodate requests for anything slightly out of the ordinary, eg bread rather than biscuits with cheese.  I think there’s a morale issue: I can’t imagine the waiters like the snotty Maître d’ any more than we do.

Whereas on our earlier cruises we were provided with stationery and imitation Mont Blanc pens, we now get a pencil and an A6 note pad.  Complimentary slippers are a thing of the past.  And our itinerary has been curtailed: we are no longer visiting Cartagena, going no further than Málaga.  This has partly to do with the need to replace a propeller blade on one of the Azipods, hence an overnight stay in Cádiz, where there’s the necessary expertise and infrastructure.  But I think it may also be relevant that much fuel oil will be saved….

But here we are in Cádiz, with a thin drizzle and thunderstorms rattling round in the distance.  We have decided against our planned rail trip to Seville: as Martyn puts it, we’ve already had one soaking this year, and aren’t up for another.  We narrowly avoided one during our stroll in Cádiz this morning: the heavens opened just as we’d sat down in a café.  We’re a bit footsore, so shall probably just do another quiz with old and new friends (we won both quizzes yesterday, and the first one today).