CRUISING

The Intrepids are off to Norway soon - on a cruise of the fjords.

That's nice.

I know I called it a 'floating Butlins' the other day, but there is something about life on a ship that rather appeals. The steady lilt from side-to-side, the kind of old-fashioned sense of adventure, out there, adrift on the oceans of the world - maybe even the ready-made community of passengers who wander from deck-to-deck, peering out across the impenetrable blue sea.

It's a curious thing though, when you think about it - a mode of transport that is predominantly accommodation...

You don't get flying hotels, and you'd only go to sleep on a train out of real necessity. Yet it's extremely popular (and luxuriant) to climb aboard a large sea-faring bus, unpack your things into a windowless cupboard that rocks from port to starboard, sink a few travel-sickness pills, and call the whole thing home for a few weeks.

Despite my cynicism, I've often said I'd do it - as a musician of course. I imagine myself with a wardrobe full of tuxedos, ready to tinkle the ivories every night in a jazz and blues combo for the delight of the blue-rinse club.

I think you have to be very good though to get to do that kind of thing.

Anyway, the Intrepids are sailing back into the Arctic Circle, where the Northern Lights dance across the stars and the meltwater tumbles down pine-laden mountains into icy waters.

I will be here, tapping nonsense that no-one reads into a computer.