Food, glorious, food

We ‘ve started complaining about the food. There is just too much of it! Breakfast, lunch and an evening meal - acres of choice and calories by the bucket loads. Quite a few of us are already generously proportioned- putting on extra kilos risks being beached unable to climb aboard the homeward bound plane.

The thing is the Atlantic is not small. It takes two days to go from the Faroes to Jan Mayen and another three from there to Svalbard. There is just so much time and energy you can expend scanning the horizon for whales. The crew try their best with informative talks, Covid testing and making sure your gear isn’t harbouring deadly bugs etc. 

Some of my fellow prisoners passengers, in desperation, have resorted to using the gym, others are thinking of sweating off the blubber in the sauna. The image forming in front of my eyes is too terrible to contemplate. I will go on a starvation diet and have just one helping of the courses served at meal times. 

The sea is remarkably flat and boring. Not like Drake’s Passage of fond memory when we were tossed from side to side by interesting waves. Or the exciting evening meal going up the Norwegian coast in January when we were treated to the whole dining room being rearranged by a rogue wave. That was fun cruising.

But I mustn’t complain - by the way I need a haircut and my beard’s threatening to engulf my whole face. We’ll really have an adventure when we hit Svalbard are try to photograph a Polar Bear on two. In the meantime I’ll relax and wonder how I’ll get back from Heathrow on the 21st as the UK slips back into the early 70’s of strikes, inflation and  a totally inept Tory Government.