The everyday blog of Richard Bartle.
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4:54pm on Sunday, 2nd July, 2017:
I've just awoken from the safety drill on the Arcadia (I nodded off when, in a grindingly monotonous voice, the captain started telling us not to use the lifts). We were supposed to bring warm clothing and a hat, plus any essential medication. I don't even possess a hat. Maybe it's required because most of the passengers have thinning or no hair. I estimate that I'm well in the lower quartile for age. I'm also one of the three passengers in four who can walk without the aid of a stick, zimmer frame, wheelchair or mobility scooter.
I think the ship may be moving now. We set off good and early to get here, which is just as well because I missed a turn (strictly speaking, I missed what I didn't think was our turn but the satnav wasn't clear). I intended to enter Southampton on the M27 but wound up on the A33 instead. This would have been fine but there was a Race For Life in the middle of the city and the A33 was blocked. I had to take a random side road, work my way round to join the M27 again, then head back until I got to the turn-off for the port. We arrived only 45 minutes before we were supposed to.
We have a cabin, er, stateroom at the back of the ship, so it has an enormous balcony. It could house a snooker table, although the balls wouldn't stay still once the sea got to work. It has one British plug socket, one European plug socket and two American plug sockets. Having been told it had British sockets, I didn't bring any convertors. That'll teach me to make reasonable assumptions.
It's incredible how slow-moving people on the staircases manage to be two people wide so you can't overtake them. It's also beyond belief that people are trying to walk up the stairs when everyone else is walking down them to the muster station. If the captain of this ship has any pals on nearby islands and runs us aground trying to wave to them, we're all going to drown.
The food is good, though!
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