Totally spewing

I felt faintly queasy when I woke up yesterday. I blamed it on the free champagne at the Captain’s welcome party … Until I emerged from the inky confines of my internal cabin and saw the ship was tossing about in a three-metre swell.

Blerghl-erghl …

Fortunately I have a fairly iron stomach, so I headed to brekkie with my greenish eight-year-old in tow for a few churros to sustain me through our 9am Zumba class.

The eight-year-old was totally LOVING Zumba until a teenager staggered past, vomited copiously on the carpet and collapsed beside it.

Various elderly relatives tottered blithely through the vomit to minister ineffectively to her and the instructor was forced to shut the class down 20 minutes early as a precaution against noro virus.

Noro virus is the scourge of the seas. There are hand sanitiser units every three paces on the ship and the cheery wait staff chant “washy washy!” at the entrance to all the restaurants.

The virus is spread by germy hands touching serving utensils/handrails/door handles etc.

But, going by the violent lurching of the ship, I reckon the kid just had garden-variety sea sickness. Damn her. I’d been counting on a full 50 minutes of Zumba to offset my guilt when I laid waste to the buffet lunch.

And surely sea vomit doesn’t rise suddenly in your throat … Wouldn’t it give you some sort of warning that vigorous samba-ing isn’t such a fabbo idea?

The tossing of the ship got progressively worse after Zumba was cancelled. Sick bags were hung from all the staircases, vast swathes of the ship were cordoned off for spew clean-ups and the faint smell of vomit wafted around the restaurant.

My belly remained undaunted and grumbled “wot-EVAH … Who wants to grab some seafood paella for lunch?”

The kids shook their heads mournfully at the mention of food. Wusses.

And their eyes were all glazed and dull during an interminable game of Scrabble featuring 20 “e” tiles and two “z”s but no “k”, “x” or “q”.

The dining room was half empty last night, lurch, hurl, lurch, but I powered my way through a pretty decent medium-rare steak and a couple of glasses of Italian Pinot Grigio, while my eldest nibbled a bread roll and sipped potato soup.

I have no idea how the Neil Diamond impersonator stayed on his feet during the evening show at the Aurora theatre (Sweeeeeeeet Caroline ba-da-da …) Things were getting pretty wobbly at that point.

He must be like my stomach … Indomitable …

Do you get sea sick?

PS Inserting photos in the blog is still proving problematic as I’ve forgotten the password for the app … Not that there was anything to take photos of yesterday other than people wobbling around with their hands on their stomachs or over their mouths.

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