Holy Saturday, April 11th 2009 – The Lord of the Dance

44°04'N, 35°43'W, 1500 miles (about half way).

 

 

There is, now, an extra hour; every day; I could manage 25-hour days forever.  I think that makes me a night owl.  But I can still manage to rise, as ever, with the lark.  Except, of course, the lark sensibly turned for home some days ago.  I just imagine it.  There are, unsurprisingly, no birds at all; no gliding gulls, no darting dolphins, no wallowing whales, no … oh, stop it.

I can now do an hour in the gym, a turn round the deck, and get this out of the way in the library while I cool-off, and still be scrubbed up before breakfast starts.

My companion is not so accommodating of the extra hour, and is constantly demanding more sleep.  I explain the basics of the Mediterranean life-style to him: it's nothing to do with sun-dried tomatoes and cibbatti; it's about  getting up early, working hard, eating and drinking too much at lunch time, sleeping the afternoon away, and being refreshed to start the second half of the day, which is about fun; that's how to live long and prosper.  He wants to go to bed early, with cocoa, and the epilogue.  Actually he's still got to choose:it's cocoa OR the epilogue.  He can't have both, not unless he adopts a Mediterranean life-style.

Come to think of it, since the extra hour every day makes for the perfect ML, and it only happens when you sweep majestically west on this huge ocean liner, we should rename it, appropriately, the Queen Mary life-style.  We'll quietly drop the "2".  I'll have a word the next time I see the Captain.  Tell him there's no need for the sun-dried tomatoes any more; he's always grateful for my advice.

I learned to waltz yesterday while limbering-up for lunch.  The teachers are a young Spanish (I think) couple.  They are a simply wonderful piece of theatre.  I would not be surprised to see this ballroom dancing stuff turn into peak-time television.  They will be stars.  She has the glossed-back hair do of the underwater dancers at the Olympic Games, and is so delicate I would be afraid to touch her in case she broke.  He is tall and, I have to say, because that's the way our culture puts it, dago-looking.  And he explains the steps to us in a stage Spanish accent.  But he gestures with perfect hauteur, smiling as he brushes aside our difficulties.  He makes it all seem so easy, and he takes us gallumping through the steps repeatedly before he lets us loose, so to speak, on each other (a herd of men at one end of the ballroom, and a herd of women at the other, just like school dances).  But just for a moment, before we get to do it, he and his partner melt into each other's arms, and transform into a flowing, willowy living sculpture.  We can see that we can never be them.  They have taught us some steps; we have seen their animal authority; everyone is happy.  The QM2 has a very grand theatre, with RADA doing its stuff every night.  But I like my theatre just a bit nearer the door.  These dancers are my theatre for the week.  Today, we jive.