Recursive Words

Returning to normal life

October 11, 2026

We finally got home from the holiday on Thursday. Ever since I have alternately been playing catch-up with email, cleaning the house, filling the rubbish bins outside, washing and drying clothes, and chasing my own tail relentlessly. Along the way I discovered a mountain of cardboard stacked in the kitchen, the lawn mower dumped in the garden with it’s extension cable (so it’s probably dead), and mountains of dirty clothes hidden in various places around the house.

I started counting yesterday – I ended up stood at the sink washing up at least six times. I cleaned the kitchen down three times. It just never stops. I think part of it is what the kids think of as “fine” is a million miles from what I think of as “fine”.

Anyway.

I need to empty the thoughts out of my head about “the holiday” while they are still relatively fresh. We saved for two years. It really was the holiday of a lifetime, but it also wasn’t what we expected at all. I’ll try to explain.

The last time we went on a cruise was twenty five years ago – for our honeymoon. We spent about 12 days visiting various ports around the Mediterranean.

At the time the P&O Cruise ships were very much a time portal to a long gone age – with a brass band playing on the dock-side at departure, streamers bedecking the ship, and champagne being handed out to all passengers. On-board, Philippine bar waitresses and Goan dinner waiters were ever-present. Three standards of dress were expected for dinner – “smart casual” (shirt and trousers), “formal”(suit), and “black tie” (dinner jacket). The staff were professional and fast – actively watching your drinks to predict when next to arrive at your table. Fellow passengers were a cross section of people from all ages and backgrounds that had worked hard to be on an aspirational holiday. It was very much a “moveable feast” – travelling from port to port, with “big name” entertainment acts playing in shows each night, and the most exclusive bar on the boat – the “Crows Nest” – had an under-lit dance floors alongside a stage for live music. Along the way, the ship’s newsletter was delivered each day with the on-board itinerary, and at the end of the cruise your cabin steward presented a folder of menus from the main dining restaurant during your time aboard as a keepsake.

That world has gone.

There is now no brass band, no send-off, no streamers, and no champagne. Instead the on-board theatre company do a holiday-camp style song and dance routine during departure. The Philippine waitresses have gone – replaced almost exclusively by East Asian male staff. The three levels of dress have dress have gone – replaced by just “smart casual”, and “black tie”. The dance-floor in the Crows Nest has gone – replaced by a lounge. Perhaps the biggest difference was the nature of the entire enterprise – it no longer felt aspirational at all – and was reflected in the age range of people on board.

The vast majority of passengers – and we’re talking perhaps nine out of ten – were of advanced age. Perhaps seventy years old, or older. In and of itself, that’s not a bad thing at all – but when you factor in that many of them were relatively infirm, and seemed to enjoy complaining about anything and everything over any sort of excitement about the countries we were visiting – because many of them had visited many of the places before – it took a fair amount of shine off everything. Given the advanced age of so many people, night life on the ship was pretty much non-existent too – after the second dinner sitting, the entire ship became a ghost town – the memories we had of dancing the night away on packed dance-floors in the various venues on-board simply didn’t happen this time.

A couple of evenings on-board really shone a light on the situation. During the first night on-board, after dinner we went and explored the ship a little – and discovered a dance club venue – with seating for several hundred people, professional lighting, a fully staffed bar, and a DJ playing a great set-list – for nobody. We threw ourselves onto the dance-floor – making our own fun for several numbers – but nobody else appeared – nobody even looked in or walked past. It wasn’t even that late – but it appeared almost everybody on-board had gone to bed. On another night, we wandered up to the most exclusive bar on-board for a drink – again, it wasn’t late – and were shocked to find the staff closing the bar down around us. We never saw more than a handful of people in that bar during the entire cruise at night-time.

Dinner in the main restaurant was another good example. We were in the second sitting – on purpose – sitting down at 8:15pm each evening with a small group we became fast friends with – which it turns out was luckier than we imagined. Perhaps half of the restaurant was empty every night – we were surrounded by empty tables. Our own table – seating eight – started out not being filled. We never saw the couple that should have filled the remaining two seats, so ended up inviting a couple sitting alone at a nearby table for eight to join us for the rest of the trip. It turned out they had originally been seated at a half-filled table for eight, and because they arrived for dinner together on the first night, the elderly couple already at the table presumed they were together, and were gay, so very obviously blanked them – not even acknowledging their presence. You can’t make it up.

On the final night – while being the loudest and last table to leave the restaurant – one of the ladies in question gave me a hug, and thanked me for saving her holiday. It’s funny really isn’t it – all it takes is to take an interest, and to enjoy people’s stories – no matter who they are, where they’re from, or how they choose to live their lives.

I’m probably making it sound worse than it was – but given the scale of the ship, and the quality and size of the venues on-board, it seemed like SUCH a missed opportunity – and I’m inclined to suggest it was caused entirely by the demographic of the majority of the passengers – not the cruise ship’s fault at all.

For a great number of the people aboard the ship, the cruise was not special at all – it was one of a number of cruises they would be doing this year – with many more booked over the years ahead. Each port was no more than a mild curiosity for them – or a hindrance even, given that many never left the ship. I think that really strikes at the heart of the change in the experience – for me at least. Going on a cruise – for me – was aspirational – a life experience. For the vast majority on-board, it wasn’t. Cruises that only cater to adult passengers during term-time have very much become floating retirement communities – with many passengers knowing each other from past cruises, and spending time in the various lounges aboard debating the pros and cons of the various cruise lines, ships, and destinations they had “done”.

The thing I will take away from the experience – that I will remember – will be the destinations we visited – not the ship, or it’s passengers.

The destinations were incredible. I guess I’m easily pleased because I generally find anywhere or anybody interesting. Here’s the funny thing though – while talking to others over dinner, or listening to conversations at breakfast in the buffet restaurant – I discovered the older passengers had the almost diametrically opposed view than I had about almost all of the destinations.

I loved the likes of Bodrum, Athens, Alexandria, Kusadasi, and Tunis – where we were afforded the chance to explore on foot – to visit the bazaars – to see the “real” cities. We were surrounded by so much life – sometimes a little intimidating, smelly, complicated, or messy – but wonderful none the less. Those are the places I will remember. Many fellow passengers seemed to either deliberately join coach trips – avoiding any real experiences at all – or didn’t leave the ship, having “been there, done that”, or “not interested”.

I wish we could have stayed for longer in each city. One day is not enough to even scratch the surface of a city, it’s people, cultures, history, or customs. Saying that, a month would not have been long enough for the likes of Athens or Alexandria.
Homeward Bound

October 6, 2026

Today you find me somewhere off the coast of Portugal, heading north towards northern Spain, France, and the English Channel. We’re scheduled to arrive in Southampton, southern England, in the early hours of Thursday morning.

We stayed up late last night. We had planned on going for a night-cap in one of the quieter bars on the ship that shouldstay open late, but found the staff clearing the bar down around us. I downloaded the movie “Rocketman” onto my iPad, and wired it up to the TV – completely forgetting that it’s nearly three hours long.

I finally fell asleep at about 2:30am. Oops. I’ve been humming Elton John’s music all day.

The seas have been kind to us throughout the entire journey (so far) – but I have no illusions that the Bay of Biscay is going to be more fun on the return journey – I checked the forecast. This afternoon the bow has started to rise and fall through the rolling sea around us – it’s only gentle, but it seems to have cleared a lot of the more fragile travellers from the various decks.

You would think we are sailing into the arctic, judging by the amount of layers the older passengers have put on today – this morning I sat in the Crows Nest bar for an hour, and was surrounded by people wearing sweaters and coats. I had a short-sleeve shirt and shorts on, and eventually left because it was too warm.

During the day we got itchy feat and went for a wander around the boat – eventually settling in the “pub” in the middle of the boat – called “Champions”. Shortly after arriving some friends from dinner arrived, and asked if we were there for the music quiz – they laughed when we both said “What music quiz?”. We nearly won. If not for one question, we would have tied with two other tables for first place.

I started writing this while sitting mid-ships – alongside one of the pools. The loungers were slowly clearing of older people as the time ticked on – they are almost all on the earlier sitting in the restaurants each night, and invariably seem to be in bed by the time we finish dinner on the second sitting. Given that the majority of the boat’s passengers are significantly older than us, you can imagine the ghost-town the ship becomes late in the evening.

Tonight is the final “formal night”, so it’s back on with the clown suit (read: dinner jacket, waistcoat, pocket watch, wing collar shirt, bow tie, etc). One last hurrah.

Tomorrow is “smart casual”, in order to allow us to start lining our bags up in the corridors for the crew to take them down into the bowels of the ship ready to disembark.

Tomorrow is going to be a strange day – almost like watching a clockwork toy wind down around us.
Gibraltar

October 5, 2026

When we woke this morning, the lights of southern Spain were slowly scrolling past the cabin window, heralding our arrival in Gibraltar – one of the more curious British territories that still somehow exist around the world – supported in this case seemingly only by tourism trade. The big question is why anybody would bother stopping here (I’ll get to that later).

We finally drew-up alongside the port in Gibraltar – that sits between Spain and Morocco – at about 8:30am – which scuppered the various shore excursions planned for the vast majority that weren’t about to walk anywhere if they could fight over filing onto tour busses, or taxis (and then complain about it afterwards). Looking out of the ship windows, we saw low cloud hanging over “The Rock”, and began joking with one another about the complaints that were probably being written.

We decided to hang back a bit, and let the majority of the complainers leave the boat first. I snuck off for breakfast in the (hopefully deserted) buffet restaurant – and ran straight into lots of them.

Twenty minutes later I was back in our cabin, having necked a coffee and scoffed some yoghurt and cereals after being surrounded by quite the most humourous army of bitter, agitated, furious people you can possibly imagine (if you can imagine a lot, imagine more).

The woman on the table to the left was ripping into her long suffering husband about some three times divorced blonde “hussy” that had been swimming in one of the pools the day before. A couple to my right were sitting opposite each other in absolute silence while trying to win the longest face competition (there’s stiff competition for it on-board).

So yes – back in the cabin we grabbed a few things, and headed for the gang-planks to disembark for a few hours – passing endless long lines waiting for buses and taxis. The walk from the port into town took about fifteen minutes – dodging people as we went. For quite some time we happily walked in the road – which was apparently “cheating” judging by the faces of those we overtook along the way.

It’s worth noting – we visited Gibraltar twenty five years ago. We did the tourist stuff then – and there’s really only two things of note to do – explore the caves dug during the war, and go up “the rock” to visit the monkeys. They’re not the sort of thing you might ever do again, so we didn’t – especially as the rock was covered in cloud. Instead we walked the length of the “Main Street” several times.

The major attraction of the “Main Street” in Gibraltar has historically been lower prices on alcohol, tobacco, perfume and aftershave. I’m not quite sure what has happened, but the majority of items we looked at were either the same price or more expensive than at home. Also, granted it was a rainy day, but we both noticed the same thing; we could have been transported to any city street in the UK, and wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference – apart from perhaps the cities at home being better looked after, and having more chains, and more choice.

Gibraltar has become a very strange place. Perhaps it always was – it’s hard to say. When we visited years ago I told my other half it was like “Swindon with canons in the street” (I had visited before), and that still holds true to a certain extent – although I only spotted two canons these days. A bald headed man covered in tattoos, wearing a national front vest was taking a photo of them as we passed by.

We ended up picking up some scent for our daughters at the same price as at home, mostly to have *something* to take back for them.

By late morning – having bought a fridge magnet, and posted some postcards (we’ve sent postcards from every destination), we were back on the boat.

It’s heading towards 2pm at the time of writing – I’m half tempted to go and watch the last shore-goers lumbering back aboard with their supposedly tax free goods (that were marked up by almost exactly the same as the tax). I wonder how long it will take them to figure that out?

We depart within the hour – then set off towards home. It will take the better part of two days to round Portugal, then head north past Spain, France and into the English Channel.

Suddenly thoughts are turning to home, and the pieces we’ll have to pick up when we get there.
Cartagena, Spain

October 4, 2026

After all manner of family drama disrupting dinner last night, and resulting in us spending several hours on the phone and then eating dinner in the buffet restaurant, today has been somewhat more calm. There were still phone calls throughout the day, and the prospect of all sorts of mayhem when we get home, but at least we got to walk around Cartagena together – so there’s that.

I’m going to be entirely honest – I had never heard of Cartagena before our arrival early this morning, and was quite surprised following the most bizarre dream in recent memory to wake up, gaze through the window, and see a huge port surrounding us.

Before heading out I made my way to breakfast alone, and found myself sitting among several tables having almost the same conversation as each other – essentially playing top-trumps with the places around the world they had “done”, and the cruise lines they had used to “do them”. How on earth you can learn anything about a place, it’s people, culture, history, or customs while hopping ashore for half a day is beyond me. I left just as they were pivoting towards everything that was wrong with the ship and cruise line we were on – wondering quite how narrow their view of the world had become.

Back in the real world, the predicted differences between North Africa, and mainland Europe were as stark as I had imagined – with the Bazaars replaced by paved streets, chain stores, cafes, restaurants, no children trying their luck, and no moustachioed store owners standing in the street trying out every language they could to entice you in.

Cartagena was beautiful.

After disembarking, while rounding a harbour filled with sailing boats, a military submarine, and an impressive obelisk bedecked with statues, we were passed by all manner of people out for their morning run, walking dogs, buying newspapers, or whatever else it is Spanish people do early on a Sunday morning. It was nice to just relax and just wander quietly – without being sold to, escorted, or followed. We also managed to avoid a number of tour groups by exercising a simple super-power – walking fairly quickly.

The main street extends throughout the city, flanked by all manner of shops – no doubt opening earlier than normal for the sudden influx of potential customers (three cruise ships had arrived in the night – I’m pretty sure one of them was filled with Americans – not sure about the other one). We bought presents for the kids, explored a Roman amphitheatre, and went a little “off the beaten track” to find a recommended vegetarian tapas bar.

Later in the day we amused ourselves greatly sitting at a bar opposite a huge church which was obviously hosting a family wedding. Their arrival outside the church was foretold by two twenty-something young men in suits – obviously from each side of the family – planted to direct family members into and out of the church. During the minutes before everybody arrived they disappeared for some time – re-appearing with beers from the bar opposite – strategically hidden behind the stone columns of the church exterior.

Some time later the families and friends began pouring from the church into the street – surrounding a Bentley waiting in the street – young men in sharp suits, young women in incredible dresses, and the aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, friends, and so on. The sun broke through the cloudy morning for them, and I couldn’t help smiling. I love weddings. We spent some time guessing who each group leaving the church might be – who might meet, and whose weddings might follow.

We eventually made our way back aboard the boat, dropped our things in the room, and headed for the pool – taking our chance to have a dip before the masses returned. It was kind of lovely – but also comical. Cruise ship pools are perhaps only five or six metres long. I probably thirty lengths before retreating for a lemonade, and a catch up on email.

Tomorrow we arrive in Gibraltar before setting out on the long journey home. We’ve visited Gibraltar before – twenty five years ago. We’ve climbed to the top of the rock, taken photos with the monkeys, and descended into the war caves. I can’t imagine any of those things will have changed – so we’ll probably just go for a wander.

I like wandering, rather than being led. You never know what you’ll find, or what adventures you might have until you step outside the door. I think somebody rather famous started a book with almost those words.
Heading North

October 3, 2026

Overnight the Aurora has been heading steadily north towards Cartagena in south eastern Spain – crossing from La Goulette, Tunisia. We arrive in the early hours tomorrow morning, and have no trips planned. We are looking forward to exploring a little of the city on foot – probably guided by an AI authored plan (we’ve been using Gemini throughout the holiday – it’s remarkably good at figuring out places to visit, and suggesting hacks to make life easier).

I suspect the contrast between North Africa and southern Europe is going to be stark, even though they are separated by a comparatively short distance.

This morning you find me holed up next to one of the mid-ships pools – hiding from the sun. The number of lobsters laying on sun-loungers around the pool is pretty frightening at the best of times. I’m half listening to their conversations – the amount of gossiping and back-stabbing going on is pretty amusing.

After dinner yesterday evening we mentioned which bar we were headed towards for a night-cap, and one of the members of our group stage whispered “you don’t want to go in there – people die in there!”

Yesterday evening was interesting in its own way. Half of our table – the original half – had made other plans, so didn’t go to the main restaurant – affording us the opportunity to get to know the newer members of our table a little better (two ladies joined our table a couple of nights ago, after spending much of the cruise on their own). We ended up being the last table to leave the restaurant – which probably speaks volumes.
La Goulette and Tunis

October 2, 2026

Having wound our clocks back twice in two days as we travelled west across North Africa towards Tunisia, it was perhaps no surprise that I woke at 6am this morning to find my other half sitting on a chair on the balcony of our cabin, watching our arrival into La Goulette, Tunisia.

An hour later we found ourselves sipping the horrific processed orange juice in the buffet before gathering up our passports, paperwork, and wallets before setting out – on foot – towards the nearest train station. I couldn’t help noticing aboard the ship that those going ashore had taken no notice at all of the guidance we had all been given about suitable attire when visiting Tunisia – long trousers, shirts with sleeves, and so on – with the word “respect” underlined. I remember exactly the same thing happening when we visited Tunisia years ago – always being careful to cover up when entering the hotel restaurants to fit in with their culture and customs – and coming face to face with wilfully ignorant holiday makers in swimming costumes at breakfast and lunch.

Really?

Anyway…

Having taken the utmost care in filling out our temporary visitor visas, I was somewhat surprised when a bored looking port clerk ripped it in half without really looking, stamped it, and handed it back. I’m guessing a cruise ship mostly filled with sixty, seventy, and eighty somethings isn’t likely to have many international master criminals aboard.

Having left the relative safety of the ship behind, we were pitched head-long into a wall of competing taxi-drivers – still within the bounds of the port. Each in turn attempted to stand in front of us, and offer lower and lower rates to visit nearby cities and resorts – despite each of them seeing us refuse all of their competitors, and our very clear instruction that we didn’t need the – we were going to the train station.

The biscuit was probably taken by the first taxi driver we encountered *outside* the port walls, that menacingly confronted us – telling us it was very dangerous for western tourists to walk anywhere in La Goulette or Tunis – and that we should get in his cab immediately. We ignored him while shaking our head and smiling, and carried on walking.

I should have taken his photo and made him famous – perhaps linked in the Tunisian tourist board across all of the social platforms – with words to the effect of “don’t be this guy”.

Over the next half a mile towards the train station we encountered more and more taxi drivers – and policemen sitting on plastic garden furniture at the road side. Wherever policemen sit – typically in the shade – you often find ferrel cats curled up too – I wonder if there’s a deal going on between them? Or if the police are a soft-touch to get food from?

While walking we kept an eye out for a cash machine, and ended up searching on our phones – lucking into a Western Union bank near the railway station – and drew enough Tunisian Dinars to get us through the day. It was a bit of a gamble, because it’s a “closed currency” – meaning you’re not allowed to take it into or out of the country.

It’s worth noting – while walking towards the train station – the entire population of flies in La Goulette seemed to zero in on me. While my other half laughed, they landed on my face, in my ears, up my nose… For a good few minutes I must have looked like an erratic morris dancer – swatting them away.

We finally found the railway station – after a couple of wrong turns. A white shack near a raised kerb next to the railway lines. The shack had a “ticket office” window, and an open door. A friendly, albeit scruffy man tried out several languages on us before explaining that the train tickets were about 20 pence each – and he had no change for even the smallest note we had. Luckily another couple from the boat had tagged along with us – while completely lost – so we bought their train tickets too, and made the transaction slightly less complicated. The ticket stall man still had to borrow change from another “official” (perhaps a friend that happened to be walking past? Who knows…).

So. We ended up sitting, waiting for the train with the other couple from the ship, and wondered if it might ever appear. It did. Two small carriages. Broken windows, lights, and air conditioning. Covered in graffiti. But it worked – and it transported us, and a rag-tag group of Tunisians from La Goulette across a brakewater and directly into Tunis.

The walk from the station into the centre of Tunis was… interesting. We thought it best to keep to the central avenue through the city, which had wide walk-ways either side of it, and in the centre. The roads down each side were teeming with traffic which seemed to obey no traffic lights, crossings, or policemen who continually blew their whistles and waved their arms this way and that.

After observing fellow pedestrians with a mixture of shock and awe as they walked straight out into the traffic, we gained all sorts of pretend bravery and started doing the same thing. The fact that I’m still here to write this proves that we weren’t mown down by a taxi or errant motorcyclist, but there were a few close shaves.

After reaching the centre of Tunis, we passed the gate and fountains that mark the division between the modern city, and the old city – the maze of alleyways that make up the bazaar.

It was *wonderful*. Yes, the stall holders in the endless narrow alleys stood outside, trying out every language on you to try to prompt a reaction, but they were respectful. No meant no, and they didn’t push it. Perhaps the most entertainingly sneaky trader we came across pretended to be a tourist in the passing crowd. After pretending to be held up by two old women ahead in full traditional dress, he struck up conversation, and pretty much replicated the patter of social media scammers – only in the real world – trying to get us to visit his store within the bazaar. I had to admire him for his attempt, but a firm “no” was responded to with a smile and a shrug, and he set off towards his next opportunity.

While walking through the bazaar, I couldn’t help noticing a division between the generations of native people in Tunis. Any women older than perhaps 40 tended to dress in traditional clothes – covering their entire body, with head-scarves covering their hair. Most younger women were dressed in western clothes – figure hugging trousers or jeans, skinny fit shirts, and loose hair. It struck me that most older men were dressed nowhere near as smartly as the older women, and most younger men wore tracksuit bottoms and t-shirts. It was an odd thing to notice, but almost universal across the city.

While wandering through the bazaar we happened upon a beautiful tea room in-between the various stalls – and decided to give it a chance. At first I wasn’t sure if it even *was* a tea room, but then spotted a group of female American tourists around a low circular table in a far corner with small glass cups of tea and coffee. The tea house seemed to extend over several winding floors, and was decorated in the most beautiful painted patterns – I want to say mandalas, but they really weren’t – it was almost a continual mural that stretched across walls, ceilings, and stairways.

While sitting, sipping my coffee, a mother cat and her kitten timidly made their way through the cafe. The kitten had a broken tail, and was interested in everything (probably how its tail got broken). I couldn’t help smiling at its antics as it ran this way and that – hiding from tourists, but always keeping up with mum.

Before settling our bill and leaving, I took a few photos of the upper levels of the tea room – which you could see through from the atrium where we were sitting. High above, I spotted the group of Americans once more – this time taking turns to take photos of themselves against the artwork. It beggared belief really – that anybody could be in such a beautiful place, and yet think first of taking a picture of themself, rather than the building and its art.

I’ll never make it as an influencer. I would much rather be behind the camera, saying “isn’t this great”, than being in front of it, saying “look at me”. Perhaps having a face for radio explains a lot of that though (the influencers were all very pretty).

After exploring the bazaar a bit further we decided it was probably time to grab something to eat – and set off to find a restaurant my other half had researched online. We nearly missed it. A winding staircase with Tunisian writing above it lead to a pretty restaurant two stories above the street, overlooking the bazaar – with clean decor, polished wooden tables, and attentive staff quietly making their way from table to table in traditional dress.

It was fantastic.

We both ordered light brunch dishes, and were amazed when they arrived – with french bread, figs, croissants, tea, and coffee.

The trip back across Tunis was interesting in its own way. Once you’ve been somewhere for a while you stop looking up so much, and start to look down. I started to notice the general level of disrepair and neglect along the side-streets – even close to the parliament buildings.

During the train ride back I read about the many and varied causes of the neglect, and discovered the usual reasons – a newly democratic country beset by decades of corruption, and internal infrastructure that cannot support democracy in the same way that developed countries somehow can. It seems to be the same in most places in this part of the world – it’s not so much that they want to be better (whatever better is) – more that they’ve settled for how things are.

If anything, experiencing so many countries during this holiday has opened my eyes to just how ignorant those who complain about problems at home are to *real* problems. It’s certainly made me appreciate what we have – the services we take for granted – the infrastructure we have that mostly works – when you compare it to other places around the world.

After catching the train for the return ride to the port, we met the same taxi drivers again, and they again tried to sell us trips to the end of the known world. Their heart didn’t seem to be in it as much any more – and there were no threats about what might happen to us either.

The port security almost had an apoplectic fit when I walked straight past him. Granted – he didn’t have full uniform on, and was lazing on a patio chair in the shade behind a tree with a machine gun leaning against the wall – but still – I should perhaps have noticed him. Rather than get up, he leaned forwards in his plastic patio chair to take a look at my passport, then sat back again – satisfied with doing a good job.

We’re now back on the boat. After returning I had a glass of lemonade on one of the decks at the back, and watched the world going by in the port for half an hour or so. Another cruise liner scrolled slowly past after disembarking – its passengers waved to us. It struck me how strange this world is we inhabit at the moment – this bubble, travelling the world – and what the people we have encountered in some of the cities would make either of it, or of our normal lives (because lets face it – this is NOT normal).

While talking to the couple we bought train tickets for earlier, they mentioned that they are already booked on a *seventy five night* cruise next year. I found myself wondering if they even know what normal is any more – let alone how anybody might afford that – until my other half reminded me that cruising the world non-stop is significantly cheaper than a retirement home.
North of Libya

October 1, 2026

This morning you find me holed up alongside one of the mid-ships pools, watching the world go by, and seeing a few familiar faces wander past. The clocks went back last night – the second time in two days as we travel west, north of Libya. We will arrive off the coast of Tunisia overnight.

Yesterday evening was unexpectedly entertaining.

For the most part, the voyage so far has traversed calm seas – but late yesterday whoever is in charge of the weather decided “enough of this nonsense”, and turned the wind and waves up a bit. It finally felt like we were in the open ocean – and was kind of glorious.

I pulled on a thin coat to act as a windbreak, and made my way to the top deck of the ship – which was completely and utterly deserted. I walked several laps – taking photos of the sunset, and watching the ship corkscrew as it punched its way into a pretty stiff headwind, and rolling waves. The swimming pools were all shut down, and were slamming their contents high into the air in time with the slow rise and fall of the ship’s bow.

After wondering if the crew were watching my antics on the numerous cameras around the decks, I wandered back to our cabin and pulled the full clown suit – white dinner jacket, waistcoat, pocket watch, formal trousers, and shiny black policeman shoes – from the wardrobe.

Dinner would be formal.

Our table of eight places is finally complete after we invited a couple eating alone to join us – two ladies that had thus far had a giant table to themselves. It’s a mystery to all of us why there are so many empty tables in the restaurant – a huge number of people have never appeared.

So last night was a little bit strange – changing the dynamic of a group that have come to know one-another well. We’re often the first table in, and the last table out. Although there have been a few bumps along the way, we’ve more or less bonded with each other – and grown to know each other quite well.

I hit it off with one of the new ladies straight away, and bonded over the books we have read, the smell of second-hand bookshops, science fiction (I know, right?), why on earth we have pet cats given they don’t care if we live or die, and numerous other subjects.

Today I have nothing to do. Nowhere to be. Nothing planned. It still feels very, very strange indeed. I’ve never been on holiday for this long before. We’ve met a retired couple several times in bars during the cruise, and they always ask after me – if I’ve slowed down yet. They have listened to my struggles with “letting go” with smiles on their faces – they had been in a similar situation earlier in life – with busy jobs and family lives.

The one common refrain from everybody I’ve talked to – that I’ve heard countless times before – is that the stress bound up with most jobs really isn’t worth it. If you were run over by a truck tomorrow, you would be replaced in days – and the bigger the company, the more insignificant you become – so you really shouldn’t worry about focusing on yourself rather than others.

I suppose the fundamental truth about any company – no matter how friendly the culture or how vital your role feels – is that it is an entity built to endure without you. It doesn’t stay awake at night worrying about your health, your family, or your future. When you trade your peace of mind for corporate emergencies, you are spending currency you can never earn back. A company buys a specific number of hours and a particular set of skills; it doesn’t buy your health, your longevity, or your sanity.

Learning to leave the work at the desk – or even to walk away from it entirely – shouldn’t so much feel like a lack of commitment – more an act of self-preservation.

I think the main bar by the nearby pool opens in 10 minutes. I foresee a cappuccino in my near future. And a book. I’ve given up on the on-board shop’s selection of books – unless you want to read Jurassic Park (I’ve read it, twice), or one of the Jack Reacher books, they really don’t seem to have much. Thankfully I have the Kindle app on my iPad, and an endless stream of blog posts to read at Substack, WordPress, and Tumblr.

Guilty admission – I’ve found myself reading blog posts more than books in recent months. There’s something about the unvarnished real world that appeals more than invented characters and situations. The real world is often complicated, messy, and choatic – and sometimes you find the most gifted writers emptying it directly into their keyboards. It’s kind of wonderful.
Alpha and Omega

September 30, 2026

We are at sea again today – somewhere in-between Egypt and Tunisia. We arrive in La Goulette near Tunis the day after tomorrow.

While noodling around on the internet over the last few days – on a voyage of discovery across all manner of platforms – I somehow found myself going full circle back to Tumblr – where my blog lived for a long time – and wondered if my account still existed. Apparently it did, but I had to request it be resurrected – so I made the request and forgot all about it – until this morning when the email arrived telling me the request had been processed, and I could once more begin polluting Tumblr with my idiot blog posts.

With nothing to do today, I thought “what better way to while away the morning than back-fill Tumblr with everything posted in the recent past”. I know how to amuse myself.

Along the way I asked Google Gemini if there was anything I should know about Tumblr that I might have missed over the last year or so – and was genuinely shocked at the response.

Apparently Tumblr is for all intents and purposes on “life support”. An email was leaked from Automattic a couple of years ago that outlined the colossal losses the platform was generating every month – literally millions of dollars a month. Automattic stemmed most of it by gutting staff, and re-architecting it’s back end – but it’s still loss making, and there doesn’t appear to be a way out – every time Automattic tries to implement any way or generating revenue from the platform, the users revolt spectacularly.

It’s a shame. I’ve been a member of Tumblr since the beginning, and can’t help feeling I should be there once again – at the end.

I suppose as with all these things, Tumblr won’t be shuttered – it will eventually be sold – but what might then become of it is anybody’s guess.

Anyway.

My blog now co-exists once again at Tumblr, WordPress and Substack – for now – powered almost entirely by nostalgia. Three horcruxes.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve done quite enough noodling for today, and should probably go find something to eat before the army of eating machines completely empty the buffet. I wonder if they realise the chefs can actually cook more, and there’s no actual hurry? When the mid-day bells rang out around the ship today, there was a slow stampede of sorts towards mid-ships.
Alexandria, Egypt

September 29, 2026

I woke in the early hours this morning as bright lights scrolled past our cabin window, and looked at the clock – 3:30am. We were arriving in the port of Alexandria, Egypt. I woke again at 7am, looked out again, and saw all manner of industrial buildings and cranes stretching in all directions.

After scraping ourselves out of bed and grabbing a quick breakfast we gathered up our passports, boarding cards, and tour tickets, and disembarked the ship. We were booked on a “Walking Tour of Alexandria”.

It’s difficult to put the rest of the day into words. Perhaps if I explain that we had to surrender our passports three days ago, you might see where the rest of the day was heading.

While filing onto our tour bus, a properly frightening looking man in a suit stood and kept watch over us. Six feet five tall, three feet wide, slicked back hair, a sharp suit, and a total absence of humour. Throughout the rest of the morning we worked out he was our security detail. Our armed security detail.

Leaving the port took quite some time while officials and military personnel checked the passenger sheets several times. Eventaually – half an hour after we should have departed – we left.

Thankfully the various delays throughout the day were glossed over by perhaps the best tour guide I’ve encountered so far – a female Egyptologist / historian / professor (I didn’t get to ask what her day job was – suffice to say she knew a LOT). She told us about the history of Alexandria, the various cultures in play, the religions, the migratory people that had settled there over the years. Like I said – she was good.

Once we did get going, we drove to several sites around Alexandria where we were allowed off the coach to take photos – only they weren’t the places you might expect – and we grew increasingly disgruntled as terrifically interesting looking places scrolled past the coach windows – such as the building where E M Forster and Laurence Durrell had once written books, and the cafe that John Mills sat in at the end of “Ice Cold in Alex”.

After parking near the modern castle at the end of the breakwater where the Pharos Lighthouse once stood (the castle is partly built from the recovered remains of the lighthouse), we were shepherded into a harbour-side building for pre-prepared coffee and cakes. We were not surprised in the least to discover dissension growing among those we sat with either – all wondering how a walking tour had somehow become a coach tour.

Thankfully the next few hours somewhat saved the day.

Perhaps the next hour of the tour involved a walk through the older part of Alexandria – on foot at last – following our tour guide, bluetooth earpieces hanging over our ears like some kind of secret-agent school trip. As we snaked through the back-streets of Alexandria, the security detail was never far away – more than once blocking entire roads for our passage.

Perhaps the highlight of the on-foot part of the tour was a stop at an old “hanging mosque” deep in the back-streets – with a row of shops at ground level, and the mosque towering over them. With a beaming smile the tour guide informed us her great great great grandfather was the original owner.

The final part of the walking tour – that must have turned the security detail inside out – was a walk through the old street markets – with barely enough room for two people to pass between the stalls. It’s also worth noting that we arrived early – for most people in Alexandria, the day starts at lunchtime, and ends at midnight. I can’t imagine what the street markets would have been like a couple of hours later.

I took hundreds of photos both from the coach window, and while on-foot – a small selection are shared on Instagram. I couldn’t help being reminded of the scene in Marigold Hotel where the Bill Nighy character snaps at his wife about abundance of life being right in front of her, if only she opened her eyes.

Alexandria was filled with life. It was chaotic, noisy, occasionally smelly – but also filled with wonder, smiles, and curiosity. Our group must have seemed quite the unusual spectacle for those setting out their stalls for the day.

I will admit to a flash of anger at one of our party when a young boy approached selling souvenirs. He walked with our party for some time – trying his luck. He was about nine years old, wearing only a pair of shorts, and no shoes. One of the elderly women in our group berated him to his face – “you should be in SCHOOL!”. I wondered how ignorant she was – or how ridiculous her words were. I’m willing to bet he had no parents and no home.

While walking, I thought about giving my cash to each of them – a note each (worth about £1.50 per note) – but then caught myself. They were almost certainly working for a handler or boss – and wouldn’t see the cash themselves.

After returning to the ship, a number of stalls had setup shop along the port approach – and rushed towards us with toothy grins. They seemed a little caught between preying on the older members of our group (read: everybody else), or going after myself and my other half. You should have seen them gravitate towards us when we started buying things (for our children), and they realised we had cash.

One of the stall holders started talking non-stop at me, and I retorted with “we are just looking – we will talk to you if we want something”. He then launched into an accidentally comedic routine;

“Yes sir – you are free to look. Thank you sir. Do you like Manchester United sir? Newcastle United? Liverpool? What about these scarves sir? You are free to look – I will not pressure you. Look in your own time. I show you wonderful things sir. No pressure sir. How about a souvenir sir? Fridge magnets? Children’s toys? No pressure. I am letting you look. I am not following you (he was).”

Unbeknown to him, my other half was quietly buying things while I walked slowly forwards, listening to the monologue.

A few shops further on, we bought some shawls – which again was accompanied by a comical sales routine that reminded me of the scene in Life of Brian where Eric Idle’s character insists on bartering. Having secured a sale against an original offer, the store owner realised we had money, and kept on denigrating the sale he had already secured – offering better and better deals on supposedly more valuable items (just more shawls, in different colours). There was a part of me that wanted to place a gentle hand on his shoulder and tell him to stop working so hard – we are both educated people – we could see straight through what he was trying to do – we just wanted to buy the shawls. He eventually smiled and gave in – obviously hoping to make more from those following behind us.

I’m still not sure what to make of Alexandria. I think we would have been far happier walking the streets on our own – and perhaps we might return to do that in the future. I’m not entirely sure we would be allowed to though – given that our group had armed security wherever we went, and that free passage through the city is not a given. It almost seemed like a performance was being put on for us – a heavily sanitised sales pitch for a city and people that desperately want to be more – that want to be accepted, but know they have problems to conquer first.

The guide opened many of the parties eyes to the ancient history of Alexandria – dating back to before Alexanders arrival and expansion of the city several millennia ago – and its turbulent past. She also talked at length about the search for Alexander and Cleopatra’s tombs – neither of which have been found. We passed the park I had seen in a documentary some time ago where they have dug perhaps 12 metres below the modern ground level towards the level where Alexander’s city still exists – far below the modern city.

The interesting thing? When any building collapses, or is destroyed in the modern city, nobody is allowed to build anything new until archaeologists have surveyed the site – because everybody knows the ancient cities – yes plural – still exist below modern Alexandria.
North of Alexandria

September 28, 2026

This morning you find me somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean sea between Cyprus and Egypt – heading south towards Alexandria. We will arrive in the early hours of tomorrow morning – with perhaps half the boat getting on coaches before the sun comes up to visit Cairo and the pyramids. We’re going to explore Alexandria itself – probably on our own.

My other half visited the pyramids many years ago – and I’ve read about them over the years – I think it you’re going to do it, a cruise is NOT the way – I would want to spend several days there – visit the Cairo museum for several days, visit the pyramids for at least an entire day (not sit on a coach for several hours each way, then get talked at by a guide for an hour).

I remember reading all manner of conspiracy theories about the pyramids years ago – about their positioning, their size, their relationship to the stars of Orion’s Belt – all manner of fanciful rubbish. As with so many other things, story tellers tend to conveniently ignore anything that doesn’t fit their narrative, or present selective facts to re-frame context to fit their agenda. It drives me potty.

I’m holed up in a lounge area at the front of the ship again. When I arrived an hour or so ago I was the only person here. Glorious peace and quiet. Now perhaps half the tables have filled with people of a certain age – reading books, doing crosswords, or talking non-stop at each other.

Thank the maker for noise cancelling headphones.

Although I brought a kindle with me, a certain person discovered hers no longer worked, so guess who de-registered his, and gave it to her? I didn’t bring any paperback books with me, because I figured the kindle would be easier to carry. Do I go visit the shop on-board and buy a forgettable book or two?

To be honest, I’ve been having all sorts of fun during the quiet moments on-board exploring Substack – where you’re probably reading this. Having the time to invest in reading other’s stories has been unexpectedly wonderful.

This break has been important really. I knew it would be. A chance to re-set and re-evaluate. It’s so easy to to become swamped with the every-day avalanche that you lose sight of yourself completely – I know I did.

Right. Maybe a visit to the shop to look at those books. Or maybe a cup of tea. Or maybe a walk around the decks.

More later.
Limassol, Cyprus

September 27, 2026

We arrived in the port of Limassol, Cyprus in the early hours this morning, receiving notification at perhaps 7:30 that the gang planks were down, and we were free to go ashore. The new port is perhaps fifteen minutes by car from the “old town” without much in the way of interest between the two, so a shuttle bus service was laid on for passengers to travel back and forth.

After a shower, and wandering down to take part in the daily buffet table fight, we disembarked and jumped on the first in a row of waiting shuttle buses. I guess when you’re dealing with 2,000 passengers – the majority of which seem to enjoy complaining rather a lot – you try to remove as many reasons as possible.

Let’s just say the old town in Limassol looks bigger on a map than it is in reality. Within a couple of hours we have visited the impressively ancient castle, wandered all of the labyrinthine streets of the old town, stopped for a coffee, written postcards, posted them, and were struggling to find something to do.

Perhaps I’m not being entirely fair. The castle was really quite wonderful – and made my other half’s holiday because it had been “yarn bombed” (she’s a knitter). She took hundreds of photos – not of the Castle itself, but of the crochet displays wrapped around many of its walls – both inside and out.

Walking around the chambers below Limassol Castle I couldn’t help humming the music from the third Indiana Jones movie – where Indiana discovers the Grail in Petra (or rather, “the Canyon of the Crescent Moon”). There was a magic about the 1500 year old tombstones below the castle – engraved with knights in armour.

It turns out exploring ancient castles is thirsty (and hungry) work.

After a quick google search we found a nice restaurant in the middle of town that was about to start their lunch service, and ordered perhaps the best two meals of the journey so far. I had a traditional meatball dish served with rice and salad, and my other half went for a halloumi salad. Cyprus is famous for halloumi – and the product you buy on the island is very different (read: much better) than anything you might find exported to the rest of the world. It didn’t disappoint.

After lunch – still with time to kill – we walked the length of the board-walk along the sea-front of Limassol – a couple of kilometres each way – and stopped at a quiet sea-front bar for a drink before returning to the ship.

It’s difficult to know what to make of Limassol, having only spent a day here. There’s little that stands out as a destination that would make you want to come back. After reading the opinions of others online, they broadly align with our own – while it might serve as a good base to visit elsewhere, in and of itself it’s a little bit soul-less. I guess it doesn’t help that much of Limassol is now modern – with high rise hotels and tower blocks appearing along the coast, surrounding the old town on all sides.

The history on display in the castle was its saviour really – along with the many cats found wandering the city – but beyond that, we came away feeling a little bit flat. Perhaps we’re getting a bit blase after visiting port after port throughout the last week – or perhaps we’ve been spoiled by the likes of Cadiz, Palermo, Athens, and Ephesus.

I thought it was interesting – making conversation with an older visitor while boarding the bus back – that those older than us seemed to like it far more than we did. I wondered if it’s because of the familiarity with home – a lot of British services personnel have historically lived on the island, and undoubtedly had an influence (RAF Akrotiri is still a British enclave). Perhaps they don’t understand that today the British population is less than 1% of the native population – who are mostly Greek and Turkish… I don’t know – I’m just guessing.

Anyway.

Limassol was nice. Different. An interesting, and it turns out ancient, city. I’m glad we visited Limassol, and not one of the resort towns – I remember visiting Tenerife with the kids a few years ago, and coming away learning nothing about the place, its people, its history, or traditions.

Tomorrow is another sea day. Before that happens, apparently the ship is calibrating its Doplar systems this evening – we’re going to navigate through 6 turns once we leave port – if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go watch.
At sea (again)

September 26, 2026

We departed Bodrum in Turkey late yesterday evening and set out for the open ocean once again – watching the twinkling lights of the coast slowly disappear over the horizon as we ate dinner.

After scraping myself out of bed and into the shower this morning, I wandered down to breakfast alone while my other half intentionally slowed down. On a normal day our weekend mornings are filled with washing up, washing clothes, picking up after others, putting things away, cutting grass, sorting recycling – all the usual things that go with a busy household.

I’m not as good at slowing down.

You find me holed up in the crows nest bar once more – watching the ocean slowly scroll past as we travel towards Cyprus. I’ve found a quiet corner, and have Kacey Musgraves filling my ears – I finally remembered to bring my AirPods with me, which do a pretty good job of noise cancellation (read: surrounding passenger conversation cancellation).

I think today marks the half-way point of the holiday so far – we’re 12 days in, and have so far visited Cadiz, Palermo, Valletta, Athens, Kusadasi, and Bodrum. Ahead of us lie Limassol, Alexandria, Tunis, Cartagena, and Gibraltar.

It’s a strange experience – only visiting each place for one day. Your sense of each place becomes unavoidably superficial – I don’t like it. There’s value (in my opinion) in staying somewhere for a while, learning some of the language, immersing yourself, and experiencing “normal” – or at least trying to. None of those things happen in a day, and when they are happening day after day after day, each destination becomes strangely homogenous.

Maybe the difference between me and so many others became more stark yesterday. I carried nothing from the ship apart from my boarding card and wallet – with no intention of buying any junk to cart home (that will inevitably end up on display for a year or two, then rot in a corner of the attic). I was there to see, read, and experience as best I could. The cat that chose me in Bodrum Castle “saw” me. It didn’t just hop onto my lap – it curled up, and fell properly asleep. When it came time to leave, it resisted – almost telling me “no – you’re good here for the moment – stop rushing”.

At dinner we listen to all manner of stories from fellow passengers that have travelled the world – this being far from their first cruise – visiting endless countries and ports. I wonder how much they ever come to know of the people, cultures, and customs along the way – or if they even want to. It’s a strange way to experience the world.

I’ve always seen the world a little differently than most. Where others so often seem to see where they might go, what they might do, or what they might acquire, I tend to see who I might cross paths with, where they are from, what their day entails, and how they deal with the world around them.

A young girl served us at a cafe in Valletta and we noticed her decorated nails. She was SO proud, and held her hands out to show us – explaining in broken English about the design, and its meaning. Her toothy smile for those few moments spoke volumes.

The tour guide that took us to Athens face crinkled into the best smile when I made the point of breaking ranks with the stream of passengers leaving the tour bus – I shook his hand warmly, and thanked him for the stories he shared along the way. “No – thank YOU for listening”.

There are more stories. More people. More lives we have crossed paths with along the way. Each of them making their way the best way they know how. It’s kind of inspiring to spend a few moments with them – in their world – and to find out that good will is pretty much universal to everybody, everywhere – all you need to do is look for it.