The ship of the damned
Day three aboard the QM2, and there’s bad news: my boss has been at sea for too long and gone mad.
Actually he was fairly mad to begin with. Ever since we got on board this godforsaken ship of the damned, he’s had us working EVERY SINGLE WAKING MINUTE. How he thinks I’m supposed to find the time to get off with a rich old lady I’ve no idea. But today his madness manifested itself in the most striking manner yet.
This morning we docked at Rotterdam. What’s surprised me on this trip is the amount of interest from the public - true, this is the biggest boat in the world still making its first stop in each of these countries, so I suppose some media coverage was to be expected, but it all seems like overkill to me. All week we’ve been tripping over TV crews exploring the bridge, and today there were hundreds, if not thousands, of onlookers lining the street, looking on in that way that onlookers are so good at. In a nearby office block a gaggle of young laydeez had procured a pair of binoculars and were studying our every move at close range.
One member of the bridge crew - we’ll call him Jerry for the usual reason - took up a pair of binoculars and watched them back. He waved. They waved. He put up a sign in the window that said “Fancy going for lunch?” They put a sign in their window with a phone number on. He rang it. They told him to bring friends. He asked if my boss and I cared to accompany him. My boss said we were too busy.
Too busy?! Now just a second here! We spent all of last week working late into the night to get this software ready. This week we’ve been working even later into the night - all the way through it on one occasion - to make sure it’s all installed and happy. We’re now pretty much there, with only minor niceties left to fill our time, and quite frankly at this point a break would not only make a refreshing change, but is probably an essential requirement if we’re to preserve anything approximating sanity. And yet here you are, given a choice between working even more and hot Dutch totty, and you choose the former? Are you completely and utterly bonkers, or do you have some bizarre fetish for bridge equipment?
Happily, our work is now over. We’ve left Rotterdam, to much waving from the assembled throng, and will arrive in Southampton at approximately 7am. I then get off, go home, and order a pizza. I think I’ve earnt it.
Comments
| Such a pity. I expect the ‘laydeez’ may well not have actually been ‘laydeez. Your boss would have had the time of his life. I bet they had liquorice butt-plugs too. Comment by Omally — July 22, 2004 at 6:47 AM |
| Sometimes I wonder whether these adventures actually happen, or Simon just makes them up. I mean honestly: who gets sent for a week on the QM2, complete with boss, excluding pants? But even Simon couldn’t bring himself to make up a Penthouse Letters story about the Dutch damsels. Or maybe that’s tomorrow’s installment. Comment by Qov — July 22, 2004 at 7:05 AM |
| shame it was a throng that was waving and not a thong. |
| It does make you a bit nervous, if the software Simon writes professionally works as well as his rubbish chatroom. “Captain Sir, we’re about to ram the dockhead and the navigation bundebangle has frozen” “That’s OK Number One, just keep pressing F5 until…” CRUNCH Comment by Paul G0TLG — July 22, 2004 at 9:11 AM |
| Haha! F5 indeed, Mr G0TLG. Hehehe. Comment by Stu — July 22, 2004 at 9:40 AM |
| LOL Paul! I agree about the odd people who turn out to see the tub. When we were on hols there was a news story about it arriving in Edinburgh - much exitement. Ho hum. Comment by Lisa — July 22, 2004 at 10:27 AM |
| OI! No slagging off of rubbish chatrooms until you’ve written on of your own! Back to the blog entry: surely THAT must be constructive dismissal! Comment by sweavo — July 22, 2004 at 10:33 AM |
| Hey Sweavo, I’ll have to remember and apply that rule of thumb. Never again shall I criticise Sunny Delight until I’ve successfully synthesised a soft drink of my own! Not surprised Simon’s boss snubbed the Rotterdam sirens - after all, he’s already sorted with his own knickerless cabin boy, isn’t he? Comment by prvincent — July 22, 2004 at 11:31 AM |
| Will Simon change his name to Roger? Southampton eh? A city full of discharged seamen if ever there was one. |
| He won’t be called Roger - just Nicholas! Ahahaha. Comment by JG — July 22, 2004 at 1:24 PM |
| I’m sure when he reads it, Simon will take my “rubbish chatroom” comment in the spirit it was intended ;-) And on another subject…Oi you lot, stop slagging Southampton! It may have a cr*p football team, high crime rate, roads like corrugated iron and a town centre which is a no-go zone to anyone over 21, but… Oh OK, then, slag Southampton. But remember, some of us have to live here :-( Comment by Paul G0TLG — July 22, 2004 at 3:55 PM |
| Well, that’s a situation, innit? I would be doubly nervous about sleeping in close proximity to a man who demonstrably doesn’t like girls. With our without pants. It’s ironic that this man (Simon’s boss, not Simon) is working on navigation software, since he clearly can’t find his own ostrich even using both hands and a flashlight. :) Comment by ScottJ — July 22, 2004 at 4:01 PM |
| Re: sunny d. Easy! Pour some orange juice in a glass. Get a heavy duty food-processor and blend 12 pounds of highlighter pens. Show the food processor’s contents the glass of orange juice then pour away the OJ and refill the glass with the pen juice, through a sieve. Comment by sweavo — July 22, 2004 at 4:14 PM |
| Re: Sunny D - nearly there with the recipe sweavo, but you forgot the ton of aspartame. :) Comment by Carol — July 22, 2004 at 5:27 PM |
| …and the gallon of rancid vegetable oil. Comment by prvincent — July 22, 2004 at 6:00 PM |
| Isn’t it amazing how similar Southampton is to P*rtsm**th? ;) Comment by Omally — July 22, 2004 at 6:07 PM |
| “Isn’t it amazing how similar Southampton is to P*rtsm**th? ;)” Yes…the only differences are that one has a brilliant footy team, and me and Onally live in the other! Comment by Paul G0TLG — July 28, 2004 at 8:27 AM |