Cruisin’ Part 2 - Buffet, The Waistline Splayer

Continuing the story that commenced in Cruisin' Part 1

I have a weakness for buffets.  They call to me.  I have mentioned before that I don’t seem to be equipped with a ‘STOP’ button like everyone else, which can be a fairly serious problem when it comes to buffets (see Enough is as Good as a Feast).

For new readers, I am on a cruise.  More accurately, for anyone thinking that this article is an open invitation to lay waste to Whiteland Towers, I was on a cruise at the time of writing.  Broadly speaking, breakfast on cruise ships is mostly served in a buffet style, likewise lunch, but dinner can be formal dining or a buffet again.  I did say broadly speaking (and you can get pretty broad however the food is served).  I’m sure that many of you are shaking your heads sadly, reflecting on the sad decline in standards and recalling the good old days when your personal manservant would serve you elegant morsels on exquisite china as you climbed into your First Class lifeboat and he returned, with a winsome smile, to play ‘Nearer My God To Thee’ with the Ship’s Orchestra, the waves lapping around his ankles.  They don’t make cruises like that anymore.

My problem with buffets is that I want everything, and large portions of it.  If I’m served my meal, I’m usually reasonably content with the choice and quantity.  I might look askance at the quantity of vegetables hiding under the principal item (having usually been drizzled, tossed or embraced by something else) but I’m usually perfectly satisfied at the end.  But a buffet invites, no, positively encourages you to excess.  You know full well that one scoop of anything is probably sufficient, but then you decide to have another, just for luck.  Ideally, having selected the focus of the meal (roast meat, fish, curry or whatever), plus a form of carbohydrate (potato, rice, pasta and so on) and some vegetables, that should be the end of it.  It never is. 

If you’re like me, you can’t resist having a look at what else is on offer, and then you see something you really would have liked instead of your first choice.  Of course, you can’t put it back now and to abandon it would be wasteful, so instead you add the alternative choice to your existing meal, which then requires another form of carbohydrate and perhaps those vegetables and some sauce?  You know you’ve overdone it if you’re struggling to carry your plate back to the table.  After all, in 30 minutes or so, all of that weight is going to be inside you.

I’m even worse with finger buffets.  The problem here is that each of the items on offer does not, in itself, represent anything very substantial.  After all, one sausage roll is not going to weigh anyone down.  So there is a temptation to have just one of these, oh and perhaps another one as they’re very small, and, of course, one or two of those and a bit of that, and so on.  The end result is a mound of pastried, battered and breadcrumbed morsels that would provide enough calories to keep a typical family well fed for a week.

I’m just glad that I packed the trousers with expandable waistlines.

Find out how the cruise nearly didn't happen at all (complete with pictures) at Cruisin' Part 3 - Piped Aboard?

You can find this, and many other stories, in the third collection of 'nostalgedy' tales 'A Kick at the Pantry Door' available now at Amazon UK and Amazon.com

Cruisin' - Part 1

 At the time of writing, I am on a cruise.  By the time that you read this, however, I will be back at home, sulking fit to bust.  You may say, with some truth, that this hardly makes for a contemporary account and I would have to agree.  However, I do take the view that advertising my absence from home via the internet would, perhaps, be a little unwise and a boon to the criminal fraternity.

This is my fourth cruise to date.  The notion of cruising seems to divide people quite markedly.  There are those who would happily spend the rest of their lives on a cruise ship (and, indeed, if you have the necessary funds you can now do so) and there are those who regard cruising as a sort of perversion.  I once mentioned, in an unguarded moment, that I quite liked cruising to a client of mine and he treated me as if I had gone over to the dark side.  Cruising used to be the preserve of the idle rich, now it’s more the preserve of the idle retired, although there is quite a range of ages present these days.

The principal focus of cruising is food.  Lots of it.  The single-minded devotion to this cause came as quite a shock to me on my first cruise.  I like a bite to eat with the next man, but I felt positively anorexic in comparison with my fellow travellers.  On a cruise, you can eat 24 hours a day, and many regard this not so much as an opportunity, as a challenge.  The other day, I heard a passenger recount how, when her husband refused to get up at 4.00 am to get her a slice of pizza, she ate everything in the mini-bar as an act of revenge.

 

Gordon Gecko’s observation that “Greed is Good”, could usefully be adopted as a motto by a cruise line.  Unfortunately, this tendency toward self-indulgence can manifest itself in other ways that can be less than socially desirable, always assuming that you believe that eating enough to keep a small impoverished nation going for a month or so is socially acceptable in the first place. 

An army of very polite and attentive people, of all nationalities, are permanently on hand to attend to your every whim.  The outcome of this is a ship-load of people who have become used to being treated as adored children by over-indulgent parents, and who therefore react petulantly when their wishes are thwarted in any way.  This can be a rather unattractive trait.  Moreover, being waited on hand and foot by people who have a tendency to call you “Mister Philip” (in my case) can bring on a touch of the ‘Old Colonials’, particularly in those who suspect that this should always have been the natural order of things.

Please don’t misunderstand me, I quite accept that not all cruise passengers are like this (before the complaining comments start arriving thick and fast).  I have, on my travels, met many charming, interesting people and have been happy to share a drink or a meal with them.  Unfortunately, I have also had more than my share of the other sort, including one pernicious old git, on my first cruise, who delighted in reducing the waiting staff to tears.  He was accompanied by an equally rude young lady who was his paid travelling companion (presumably because no-one else in their right mind would willingly have spent time in the same hemisphere as him, let alone the same ship).  One evening even she had clearly had enough of him and gave him a higher dose than normal of his tranquilisers so that she could go out dancing whilst he slumbered.  Regrettably, the dose was not sufficient to do humanity a great favour and he was back at his arrogant best the following day.

In addition to those who find getting into a lift, side by side, something of a challenge, there are those who are sleek and purposeful.  Not the fitness fanatics (although anyone prepared to climb two flights of stairs could reasonably be described as a fitness fanatic in this company) but the smokers.  On either side of one open deck, a game band of sad-eyed individuals brave the prevailing wind and flecks of foam to consume their duty-free nicotine.  I’ve come to think of this area as ‘Death’s Waiting Room’.

In some ways, I have a certain admiration for this group.  You really do need to be made of sterling stuff to be a smoker these days.  No more the cushioned comfort of the ‘smoking room’ with brandy and fine cigars.  Today, you’re lucky to have a half-constructed shed in which to enjoy your roll-up.  In answer to those who say “well, if the conditions are that bad, why do they do it?”, I can only say, as an ex-smoker with a long history of tobacco-related products behind me, because they enjoy it.  This is something that the anti-smoking brigade refuses to acknowledge, often seeing smokers as obdurate fools bent on self-destruction, which may well be partially true.  Nevertheless, I can honestly say that I enjoyed most, if not all, of the thousands upon thousands of cigarettes I consumed and the habit is, of course, tremendously addictive.

I can, however, clearly remember one cigarette that I did not enjoy.  Way back in the early 1970s, when Spanish tourism was just beginning to flower and General Franco was still in charge, it was theoretically impossible to buy tobacco products from anywhere other than a state-licensed tobacconist.  In reality, there was a thriving black market in UK and US cigarettes and most bars could provide you with a limited range from underneath the counter.  However, if the police had been showing an interest, or if the bar-tender just didn’t like the look of you, then this source could dry up and, with the duty-frees long since consigned to the ashtray, you were forced to the State Tobacconist.  I seem to remember that these kept very restricted opening hours and imported cigarettes were quite expensive.  However, the native Spanish brands could be had for a song (presumably in an effort to protect Spanish businesses).  I had bought a couple of packets of these domestic brands as a sort of emergency buffer if all else failed.  Sure enough, the morning came when the Benson & Hedges had run out and the only thing available to provide that first rush of nicotine was the Spanish brand.  I ripped open the packet and placed the odd-smelling tube in my mouth.  Not ideal, but beggars can’t be choosers, I thought.  I lit up and took the deep drag of the truly addicted.

I honestly thought that my chest was going to implode.  My lungs seemed to go into shock and my chest walls tried to gang up with my spine to make a break for it via my throat.  I clutched at my chest and had to sit down.  I began to wonder if I would ever breathe again and, for a while, that did not look like a safe bet.  Eventually, the evil effects of Franco’s Revenge subsided and I was able to crawl out on the balcony and whimper a little.  Of course, anyone other than a dyed in the wool smoker, such as myself, would have stubbed the offending article out and thrown the rest of the packet into the nearest waste bin.  I, on the other hand, regarded this as a minor setback and a major challenge.  The Spanish Gaspers came back with me to the UK as a sort of bulwark against ever being fag-less and, in due course, were consumed on those occasions when there was more week than wage.  So you see, if you’re prepared to tolerate that sort of discomfort in order to satisfy your addiction, a little hypothermia is nothing.

There's more about the cruise and cruising at Cruisin' Part 2 - Buffet, The Waistline Splayer

The first collection of stories - "Steady Past Your Granny's" is now available in Kindle e-book format at all Amazon sites, and you can find a version of this post in the new collection, 'A Kick at the Pantry Door' also available on all Amazon sites.

There but for the...

Two weeks ago today we were docked in Gibraltar on the Independence of the Seas at the beginning of a 2 week Mediterranean Cruise.  I was going to post some observations about our holiday, and will do so soon, but the news from Gib today re the explosion alongside the Independence has made me decide to leave a decent interval.  I really hope that this turns out to be just a tragic accident and not something more sinister and I sincerely hope that those injured make a full recovery.

Slim Pickings

This is the continuing story of how Steady Past Your Granny's found its way into print, and eventually an e-book format - Steady Past Your Granny's - Kindle Edition (UK) or Steady Past Your Granny's - Kindle Edition (USA) - that commenced in Booked Up!

Before I could get my 'expanded booklets' printed there was one further river to cross - the ISBN number needed to be converted into a bar code format.  This proved tricky unless I was willing to part with a considerable amount of money.  As my foray into self-publishing had already cost quite a bit more than I anticipated and showed no signs of generating any income in the foreseeable future, I was not inclined to sink any more funds into what was rapidly becoming something of a money pit.


However, diligent searching of the internet finally threw up an altruistic computer buff who offered conversion of ISBNs into bar codes for a limited period under licence for a modest sum.  Regrettably, because I am a dyed in the wool idiot, I only converted the one ISBN number I needed there and then into a bar code in the paid-for period, instead of taking the opportunity to convert the whole set of ten for future use.  It's at times like that, that I wonder how I manage to breathe without the aid of instructions.


So, with the cover sorted and the bar code obtained, my friend set to with a will and supplied me with my initial (and probably hopelessly optimistic) order of 50 copies.  In conjunction with the local Ottaker's a book-signing event was arranged and a friend of mine who was then the Deputy Editor of a local newspaper kindly ran a story plugging this.  Looking at the picture they ran with the article (see below) you may be amazed that anyone dared to turn up!  I always  think it looks like someone who is attempting to breed chins for a living.

Slim Chance

This is the continuing story of how Steady Past Your Granny's found its way into print, and eventually an e-book format - Steady Past Your Granny's - Kindle Edition (UK) or Steady Past Your Granny's - Kindle Edition (USA) - that commenced in Booked Up!

There is nothing quite so frustrating as waiting for something that you have eagerly anticipated, to arrive through the post.  Each day I irrationally expected my parcel to appear, and each day I was disappointed.  Days turned into weeks and then months.  Christmas (which was when I hoped to have them) came and went.  I chased the marketing company responsible for the promotion and was fobbed off with vague promises of the books arriving shortly.  I even found a discussion forum in which hordes of other prospective authors were venting their spleen about their missing books.  Eventually, in April, 2006, the books finally arrived.

I have to admit that the books were impressive.  They looked the business (see Booked Up!) and were reassuringly weighty.  Even the pictures had transferred successfully.  The only downside was that I had been forced to choose between single or double spaced lines and had opted for double spacing in a desperate attempt to make the book look better value than it actually was.  The end result was something like those Janet and John books of my childhood.  Nevertheless, I now had a book of my own in my hot little hands.  After foisting a number onto my friends and relatives, I naturally began to think about selling the remainder.  However, I soon came up against a snag in that the major bookshop in our town (whilst quite supportive of my attempts) could not stock the book without an ISBN.

I seemed to be back to square one again, until a friend of ours in the same village said that he could help me to self-publish the book.  The only problem would be that it could not be in a conventional book format, with a spine.  As a home published effort, it would be more like an expanded booklet.  To keep the number of pages down to a level that could be realistically stapled, it was no longer possible for each chapter to start on a new page.  Nevertheless, the book could be published and printed (after a fashion) and I hurriedly applied for my set of ISBN numbers.

Casting around for a suitable photo for the cover, I remembered that the urinal that featured in the final title story had just been rescued, refurbished and granted pride of place in what was then the Bass Museum of Brewing.  It was too good a chance to miss.  Armed with a camera and a ticket to the museum, my long-suffering wife captured a picture of me striding purposefully toward the Convenience, thus creating a picture that would baffle and perplex potential readers for years to come!

More in the same vein in the next instalment - Slim Pickings

Completely Booked

This is the continuing story of how Steady Past Your Granny's found its way into print, and eventually an e-book format - Steady Past Your Granny's - Kindle Edition (UK) or Steady Past Your Granny's - Kindle Edition (USA) - that commenced in Booked Up!


In a desperate search for material to fill the book, I started to cast around for anything else that I had written.  I became increasingly aware that, despite the fact that I had always thought of myself as a writer, I hadn't actually written much at all for years.  It was quite a sobering realisation.  Apart from something of a flurry in my teenage years,  most of my writing since that time had been limited to funny doggerel in birthday cards (see Occasional Showers), and the occasional attempt at a novel that had never survived longer than half a dozen pages.


The only reason that there was anything to put in the book at all was as a consequence of a competition run by a local bookshop for stories about growing up in Burton upon Trent.  My effort, "The Wreck", didn't trouble the judges much but did make it into the compilation book.  Inspired by this limited success, I submitted an article to a nostalgia magazine published by the local newspaper which was favourably received and I was given the opportunity to have an article included in the bi-monthly publication on a regular basis.  So, with a handful of articles published and one or two more in preparation I had the basis of a book but by no means enough to fill it.  


I found one or two pieces that I had written whilst on holiday, contemporary observational humour which I thought might amuse people.  I also had a story written to amuse my friends the previous Christmas (A Stable Upbringing).  It was a bit of a mish-mash but it got me above the required word count.  I was aware that the book might work better if it was focused solely on nostalgia but  I was concerned that I might just be seen as a 'one trick pony' and never again get the chance to show what else I could do.  


I sent the lot to the Daily Mail, with my batch of clipped out vouchers, and awaited my books anxiously.


More in the same vein in the next instalment - Slim Chance

Booked Up - Part 2

This is the story of how Steady Past Your Granny's found its way into print, and eventually an e-book format - Steady Past Your Granny's - Kindle Edition (UK) or Steady Past Your Granny's - Kindle Edition (USA)


I thought this customer review on Amazon.com beautifully summarised the content of the book and I'll explain how it came about in the next post:


"Side effects of reading this book may include frequent chuckling and occasional guffawing - at least that's the effect it had on me. I do like a book that actually makes me physically laugh.

The book is a collection of reminiscences of English boyhood during the fifties/sixties, one or two amusing short stories and some curmudgeonly reflections on growing older and modern life. The book doesn't really have a point, mainly it's an enjoyable meandering memoir of a different time and place with some sharp observations thrown in. The stories have an English sensibility (that gentle British humour I alluded to) but I think that the stories will have universal appeal to anyone of the baby boomer generation.

If you are waiting to see the dentist this would be the ideal book to cheer you up."


Find out more about how the book came about at Completely Booked