And so our annual holiday to France begins. This year, for reasons to do with coincidence and meeting up, we are going to Burgundy.
We were driven to the ferry by Carole’s husband who told us his version of their family history. We have only ever heard Carole’s version before so it was quite refreshing hearing it from his point of view.
After only one slight navigational hiccough, we successfully pulled up outside the ferry terminal with the perfect amount of time to spare. We went to the counter to check-in, served immediately and then walking away just as a massive crowd of other passengers turned up to check in. With a sign of relief, we went upstairs to enjoy the appalling and inadequate service that only a branch of Costas can achieve, before sitting down and reading, waiting for boarding.
This year our cabin was on level 2. This is below the level for the cars and the amazing amount of caravans. Really, there were more caravans this year than I think we’ve ever seen in all our trips added together. It looked like a caravan car yard.
Anyway, I headed down to our cabin with the bags, leaving Mirinda to roam around the more accessible parts of the ferry. Level 2 is a long way down and even further coming back up, particularly when climbing the stairs.
Eventually (read: after much searching) reunited, we had a lovely wander around, admiring the container ship and tugs, among other things…
…before heading for Les Abers for dinner. As usual the food was lovely, the wine perfect and the Liverot divine. Though Mirinda may disagree about that last bit.
For a change (Mirinda’s idea) we decided to go and watch the cabaret before retiring. Tonight it was Steve Zeb, comedian magician, or magic comic, one of the two. His magic was very good, his comedy okay. At one stage he went searching for an assistant. Obviously he usually gets kids to help but tonight his only option was Olivia. She was about three and not very good. Steve did his best but at three, you really have no idea what’s going on.
Before the magic, we had a singer who I felt very sorry for. She stood on the small stage singing to a room that was largely ignoring her. Little kids, rather than dancing, ran around the dance floor not in time with her singing.
And of course, we can’t forget the baby who decided it would be a good idea to climb up onto the stage as well. This is in direct contravention of the sign above the stage (in French AND English) which states quite emphatically, that no-one is to climb onto the stage.
The singer managed to get through her set without swearing or swatting, something I reckon she should be quite proud of.
Eventually we went back to our cabin and fell asleep. Sort of.