The cruise

What happens on board, stays on board. And in my blog.

Sunday: Chester
Picked up from the station by Terry Terry and Mrs Terry. In the car on the way back to Terry Towers (northern branch) they ask what trips I’m looking forward to. “I’m quite up for swimming with dolphins,” I venture. Terry Terry looks askance. “Very unpredictable dolphins,” he states, sternly.
A little voice pipes up from the back of the car, “I’d like to swim with dolphins,” says Mrs Terry. Words we will both come to regret.

Monday: Manchester airport
The queue to check in is like the queue to God’s waiting room, it seems Philly and I will be bringing down the average age on the cruise by about 20 years. While waiting I ask Terry Terry if I can have my passport. He blanches, searches his pockets and starts to turn a funny colour. Actually, I know I have my passport and have known it all the time. Japes! Terry Terry does not find it funny and later confiscates my passport.

Mrs Terry causes a minor security alert with her medication, resulting in a very thorough pat down (including private lady parts) by a security person with no sense of humour. This is not the only goosing Mrs Terry will receive on the holiday. Later, we’re sitting, bleary eyed, waiting for our flight to be called when Terry Terry rumbles into action.

“Where does Bob Marley buy drugs?” he asks.  We shrug our shoulders. “WH Spiff”.

It’s at this point we hit the bar. It’s 7.55am

Monday: Barbados
I don’t think I like cruising much. The boat rocks so much in the night I think it’s going to keel over and I will die a watery death.

Tuesday: Tobago
Will has requested that I bring him back a comedy bottle of booze from my travels to add to his comedy booze cabinet (a cabinet I tend to avoid until even the WKD has run out). For some reason this occurs to Mrs Terry when we’re leaning on the ship rails, gazing out at the Caribbean sunset. “Ooh,” she says, “You should pick up a bottle of that Knob End for Will.”
Terry Terry laughs so hard I think he may pee his Bermudas. Mrs Terry fails to see the joke.

Wednesday: Grenada
Philly Terry has decided that she and I are going tubing today, even though last time we tried any holiday water sports I nearly drowned (not an exaggeration/”joke”). I’m nervous but there are lots of people in their 60s and even 70s going tubing so despite having to sign an “if I die I won’t blame anyone and certainly not ‘Doctor Sunshine’ who is smoking a big spiff but nevertheless seems to be in charge of safety” waiver, I reason it must be pretty safe.

As it turns out, I only have three near-death experiences: getting stuck between two rocks, getting stuck in the path of other tubers and going down the wrong rapids backwards, so it was okay. It’s at this point it occurs to me: maybe older people are keen to go on waiver-trips as they have less to lose. Hmm.

Later on in the day my love affair with vodka martinis begins. You only need one and you’re squiffy! I have three and decide to retire for the night and leave the Terrys to it. After all, how much fun will I be missing?

Thursday: At Sea
They only went to a blinking magic show. They only went to a blinking magic show and the magician got Philly and Mrs Terry up on stage as his assistants. Bloody hell.

Friday: Bonaire
Spend the day on the beach. A lens falls out of Terry Terry’s Ray Bans, lending him a rakish look. Later he and I poke around a market and I’m offered some free rocks of salt when I buy a shampoo and conditioner. “What are these for?” I ask the stall holder. She looks at me as though I’m deranged. “Cooking”.

Saturday: Aruba
Philly and I set out on another waiver-trip, this time horse riding. My beast is Ringo and I’m told that he’s quite slow so will require a bit of whipping to make him keep up with the other horses. The whip I’m handed is a switch, broken off from a tree. As soon as we leave the stables, Ringo turns his head and casually eats the whip. Still, we get on just fine, although when the other horses are cantering gracefully along the beach Ringo manages nothing more than a power walk.

Later we meet up with Terry Terry looking very pleased with himself. He’s just spent so much on a watch and sunglasses the shop owner threw in a free sapphire. Sapphire! Being a man of means is suiting Terry.

Sun: At sea
Watch an old lady in a tiger print swimsuit dancing to reggae in the pool side shower and know that, one day, I will be that old lady. NB. She wasn’t the entertainment; she was just a passenger who knew how to have a good time.

Monday: Grand Cayman
Today will forever be known, in Terry circles, as the day Mrs Terry MADE A SHOW OF HERSELF IN THE DOLPHIN ENCLOSURE.

Elsewhere, in George Town, I’m accosted by three American ladies who ask me to take their picture. When they find out I live in London they ask me if I’m going to the royal wedding. I say I have a front row seat (obvs). They then ask to touch me. Possibly a lesson here.

Tuesday: Jamaica
Today I have one of the best experiences of my life: climbing a waterfall (even though I have to be helped by two ladies in their 70s), and one of the worst: a chairlift up a mountain. Why do I always forget I’m afraid of (falling from) heights until I’m up them?

Wednesday: At sea
Nothing to report.

Thursday: Tortola
Just before dinner, Mrs Terry reveals that before Sam had his balls off she used to find his wank (her word) all over the carpet. She requests that we don’t tell Terry.

Friday: Antigua
Take Terry Terry, my 65-year-old father, zip wiring after Philly refuses to go. I’m quite queen of the wires, unlike Terry who swings about like a grumpy gorilla.

Saturday: St Kitts
Philly Terry takes Terry Terry on a rainforest trek so Mrs Terry and I go out alone. We venture off the beaten track and get the sudden fear that we’re going to be attacked with a machete (this happened to two ladies from our cruise in Grenada) so scuttle back to the ship and have a soothing cocktail.

Sunday: Dominica
Rain, Banagrams and last day sadness on deck.

Monday: Manchester
It’s one frickkin’ degree! All my freckles fall off the minute the plane touches down and all I’m left with from the holiday is hazy memories and my notebook which smells rather of Malibu. Hello England.


About terryterryandtheterriers

Journalist, cheese fancier, dog adoration magnet. Contact: georgina dot terry at gmail dot com Twitter: @georginaterry
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