Raindrops

The rain in Spain is most definitely not falling on the plain, it would appear to be dumping it on Vigo with a vengeance. After another tumultuous night transit around Cape Finistare where the winds reached Force 9, I am reassured this was not as a result of the Indian Buffet but the tail end of a tropical storm. So we got into port an hour later than scheduled which threw the OCD passengers into complete disarray. So after a leisurely breakfast I positioned myself in Costa (skinny latte Lisa) to do some serious people watching, now remember it is tipping it down, misty and the temperature has dropped quicker than the Greek Economy, the Brits abroad will still dress as if it is 90 in the shade, so there is a fine display of Bermuda Shirts, shorts of every type and length imaginable, one pair that are little more than a posing pouch to others that resemble de-mob shorts from 1945, the one common factor is they all have a fine display of goose bumps and in many cases accompanied by varicose veins looking like maps of the London Underground (and that's the women). Socks with sandals and trainers are on display everywhere, nothing says Brit on holiday more, it has become the quintessential sign of Britishness more so than the bowler hat or the pin striped suit. We have just had an announcement that the emergency power system is about to be tested and please do not use the lifts for the next half hour, now if I were a betting man what odds do you think I could get. Got the mobile got the number for Bet Fred, talk later peeps.

The central Atrium