Cruise control

I am so very, very, very glad I told Husband he couldn’t come on my Mum’s 69th birthday celebratory cruise* to Hawaii. I banned him because he’d moan and complain and hang shit on it. Like he did when we went to Las Vegas and he christened it Sodom. Or when we stayed at the all-inclusive resort in Mexico that made him twitch and mutter. The Sprogs and I were in heaven – all-you-can-eat buffets, free ice-cream parlour, lazy river. Husband was in hell. Couldn’t wait to escape. He likes his holidays challenging and a bit grotty. While the cruise would be challenging for him, it’d be in all the wrong ways. This was confirmed yesterday when I read a stack of cruise bumf. Mum took a test cruise on her birthday ship a few weeks ago. As you do. She collected every brochure and activity timetable she could lay her hands on. I’m not thinking The World’s Sexiest Man Competition (Poolside) would float Husband’s boat, or the Vegetable Carving Demonstration (Windjammer Room), or the mandatory rehearsal for the Guest Talent Show (Colony Club), or Puppet Boy Mark Merchant’s show (hosted by cruise director Bobby in the Aurora Theatre). Me? I’m all fizzy with excitement about the on-board cinema, Adventure Ocean kids’ club (though shuffling the Sprogs off from 7am to 10pm might be a little extreme), quesadillas at Rita’s Cantina, the all-day squirt-your-own soft-serve ice-cream bar, DJ Rob’s The Very Best Of The 60s, 70s and 80s night in the Starquest Disco, Fab Abs classes in the Radiance Fitness Center and the Non-Surgical Face Lift in the Schooner Bar (oooh, botox in a bar, what a fabulous idea!). Plus, Mum says the Macho, Macho Men doing their The Village People routine in the glass lift is an absolute must-see. I am counting down the days …

* I got the year wrong, thought it was her 70th. Very distressing mistake, but I’d already paid our deposit when Mum pointed out my error. Ooops.