Day seven: Groundhog Day

Oh yeah, I say, life goes on. Long after the thrill of living is gone … So, it’s Tuesday again. Yes, that’s right. Tuesday. Again. Something about some international date line thingy. On First Tuesday I went to brutal boot camp with Sister, sweated a lot, staggered stinky to breakfast, played mini golf, played table tennis (played being a very loose term when your opponent is an unco six-year-old; chased a ping-pong ball all over deck 11 would be a more accurate description), backed up for lunch (scrummy tandoori chicken and kidney bean curry from the boo-fey), threw the Sprogs into kids’ club for three hours, blogged, watched The Help on the big screen, blubbered while simultaneously thinking they would’ve so been lynched, took the Sprogs back to the cabin for a quickie TV break while I read an extremely amusing chapter of Bossypants by Tina Fey about her honeymoon on a cruise ship (bulk empathetic snickering over towel animals on beds wearing sunglasses), dropped the Sprogs with Nonna and Pop, went to dinner at the Japanese restaurant with Sister, was annoyed to be refused admission at 5.50pm (what is wrong with you people?), was forced to drink cocktails poolside for 15 minutes, inhaled Japanese dinner in 45 minutes, laid claim to prime seats at The Colony Club for big band hour – before bar staff had even arrived – begged for off-the-menu Cocksucking cocktails, procured Cocksucking cocktails, danced around to Louis Armstrong songs with little people, convinced Sprog 2 to keep me company in the cabin while the rest of the gang went to see a comedic hypnotist (spare me) and retired to my bunk to welcome my hangover headache while Sprog 2 clagged into snores above me. And today I get to do it all over again. Because it’s Tuesday. All over again. And I am Bill Murray (with PMT and longer hair).PS Not sure why I keep breaking into song lyrics at the start of blogs, maybe I’m being inspired by the easy-listening trios and duos that warble all over the ship.