Cruise Control
It was our waiter Darko’s handmade limoncello that did it. If we’d stuck to a glass or two of silky Italian red at the Tuscan Grille, we’d not have been dubbed “the girls in the second row” after our singing, arm-waving, vodka-and-lemon-fuelled response to the Buddy Holly show in the Solstice Theatre. In truth, we were one “Rave On” encore away from dancing in the aisle. Had “Buddy” Scot Robin not scarpered sweatily off-stage after his last piano-thumping number, we’d have been boogie-woogieing out of our seats, sea-legs and all.
It was Kate and Cola who were quizzed at breakfast next day by a couple of fellow cruisers. “Were you at the Buddy’s Back show last night?”
“Yes.”
“The 9pm show?’
“Yes...”
“In the second row?”
At this point, we knew we’d been sprung.
“You girls were as good as the show!”
We really weren’t. And as the oldest by far in our group, I left the land of girls many decades ago. But that’s the thing about cruising on a 122,000-tonnage pleasure-craft with 2500 other merry mariners – you fling yourself into things you wouldn’t dream of doing at home.
When you get back to your room after dinner, a show has nothing on these guys.
