Thursday, 9th April, 2009 – First Time on the Atlantic

Roughly 8 west, 49 north, 315 miles from S'oton. It says the water is 15C, which seems very unlikely.

The QM2 seems to consist of Food, Bars, and Bands. There is a proper dance hall, imported, no doubt at great expense, from my memories of the late '50s. There are jaded gentlemen, in blazers and their 80s, dancing properly with ladies who like to move gracefully.

Well, what about that? One of the rules I wrote for myself was that I wasn't going to do that standard road-trip thing, much favoured by Bill Bryson, but others do it as well, of lightly observing my fellow man then making a fool of them. And I've broken it already. Let that be a lesson to me, to us. (Feel free to criticise any obvious recidivism in future).

But the ship seemed very quiet. We formed a view that people were tired after their journey to Southampton. But it might be that they were all tucked up with cocoa and the Epilogue (and, no doubt, each other), and we are doomed to walk these empty corridors, dragging our albatross behind us. There seem to be more staff than passengers.

The Atlantic is grey and white-flecked, as far as the eye can see, which is, I would guess, about two miles. It is, in Scots, a Gie dreech day (I'm sure that's not the right spelling, but with internet access on board at $0.75/minute, I'll leave you to check it).

Now it's food time again: big decisions: where to have breakfast. I'm for silver service, if I can find it.