The first full day of the honeymoon has been spent at sea. We got up relatively early, so we could head for the breakfast buffet. Madness. It was like the people there hadn’t eaten for weeks and The Red Cross had made a food delivery. We eventually found somewhere to sit, before finding something to eat ourselves. I must commend the chefs on-board – the P&O all you can eat breakfast is certainly better than the Harvester one. I could actually tell my sausage and bacon had come from a pig.
In the afternoon we had a couples massage. It was a very tranquil and relaxing experience, until it came to the end of the “treatment”, as our massaur called it. She wanted us to sign up for loads more massages across the course of our honeymoon.We were pressured into booking a second, but I put my foot down when they suggested a third. We’re going to cancel the second one anyway.
We caught a stowaway this morning. No, not a person – a frickin’ pigeon. He was sitting bold as brass on the deck. I suppose it saves flying across the Atlantic to hotter countries, like those stupid swifts.
This evening, we met the captain. His name is Simon Terry. I didn’t ask him if he had a brother called John, but was very tempted. I didn’t mention the stowaway pigeon – I’m not a grass.
We finished the evening with a cocktail. We both had Cosmopolitans. Until today, I thought Cosmopolitan was a nudy book read by Rik May all in Bottom. I liked it very much.
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About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
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