Travels with Charlwood: Just like Home

Day two in Quebec, new Captain, Ashley Cook, new seaweed, same problem inaccurate seaweed forecast, but are we downhearted, of course not, we are Brits on holiday we are used to it and made of sterner stuff, have we not voted for Brexit. Overnight we have had thick fog, the kind that the Phantom Raspberry Blower of Old London Town used to operate under. This has now given way to rain, the kind that has even grounded the seagulls. After taking my breakfast alfresco on the blunt end of the ship in the area that the smokers call home, I have seen and heard some marvellous banter. Why is it the male habit when it is raining and they first emerge into the open air and confirm it is raining that they feel the need to start a tuneless whistle? It's like Dad's doing the getting onto the dance floor dance. The female of the species is determined "to make the best of a bad job" they still insist in wearing shorts, white strapless top, open toed sandals, all topped off by a see through pac a Mac and clear "shower cap" it's the Daisy Duke meets Ena Sharples look. It also brings out those stock phrases " We have paid for it so enjoy it" "Worse things happen at sea" and my personal favourite that I heard my wife Barbara admonish many a person, including me, who hacked her off "Act your age, not your shoe size". So as people descend the gangway that has been christened the "Cresta Run" disappearing into the gloom, wind and cold of down town of Quebec I salute your indomitable spirit following in the footsteps of Captain Oates, hopefully not with the same outcome. I feel the urge to put on my shorts, muscle vest, argyle socks and flip flops, but then again NAH, Costa, a comfy chair and a skinny latte sound preferable. Give Captain Ash's seaweed a chance, it might perk up this afternoon.