I have friends who ‘cruise’. I admit it. People I know and consider ‘close’ are among those who like to spend two weeks a year trapped in an immense floating city with about 5000 like-mindeds. Though I’m not sure there is too much mind involvement at all. And whilst there they will be given 9 square meals a day, plus snacks, obviously, in case you get peckish, and have ‘all the entertainment you can eat’, just like at Butlins. And every day this floating palace pulls up to some port or other and literally vomits out 5000 people into some small, quaint local environment to clog up the streets, fill the shops and restaurants and get set upon by the locals. Who lie in wait with endless supplies of virtually everything the cruisers don’t really need but aren’t bright enough to realise. Its part of the rather horrible elitism of cruisers that they know they’re going to be ripped off but simply can’t help themselves. They’re put on this bit of land to spend and by George that’s what they’re going to do.

The gorgeous northern Colombian port city of Cartagena lies on the Caribbean. And hence is ‘on the route’ for the hundreds of cruises that pootle round that part of the world every Christmas. So the cute little ex-colonial streets started filling up really early with hawkers and sellers of everything from bottles of water to hats, more hats and even more hats. I don’t know how many heads people on cruises have but it must be at least 4 each judging by the number of hats currently available round here. Unquestionably, you need a hat; its freakin’ hot. But the question comes as to why you need 8 hats. And food. Why offer food to people who’ve eaten 3 full meals before breakfast? Better to sell them a diet plan or exercise program. Why they all want to buy emeralds is another issue altogether.

A few years ago we were in Venice for a weekend. And as our waterbus pulled round a ‘bend’ (can you call it a ‘bend’ on the water??) we saw about 10 fucking humungous cruise ships, each one about 20 stories high. But every one was empty. Because the normal cruisers who occupied them had temporarily suspended their eating to be unceremoniously dumped, en masse, into St Mark’s Square. Which became, when we strolled casually in there an hour later, the most horribly congested place in all of Europe. We managed to escape down an alley whilst they were buying their hats and found lovely quiet streets filled with art and cafes and even Venetians, who don’t wear hats.

We used to joke, Mel & I, that we’ll go on a cruise ‘when we’re old’. But in fact I think euthanasia is preferable. The old dilemma; heaven or hell. Because the more I see of cruises, the more like ‘hell’ it seems to be.

I’m hoping the boats are calling their people back for the next meal by now. So it’ll be safe to once more venture out into the lovely streets here and have a drink in a piazza to celebrate Spurs victory at Burnley. I’m declaring it a national holiday.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx