Peters, Peter Outs & Punks
There was a bit of kerfuffle this morning at Java Blue, when several blokes with the same name happened to ascend on the cafe at once. After responding to every call of his name, only to find the wrong coffee order each time, one disgruntled passenger yelled: “THERE ARE JUST TOO MANY PETERS!” It was pandemonium trying to match the Peters with their correct cuppas.
Wayan excelled in his bath towel sculpturing efforts this morning, whipping up a Diplodocus of sorts, whom we christened Dino. As the ship’s engine vibrated, little Dino quivered like he was frightened. Poor little guy.
Evidently, our ship has its own time zone. When we crossed the state border and sailed into Queensland, naturally we came off daylight savings time, but on Sunday night, while still well entrenched in Sunshine State waters, we were instructed to change our clocks back (or was it forwards?) in line with daylight savings. Our devices are consequently all wrong by an hour, making it essential to check the Carnival app for “ship time” to ascertain what the heck the time is.
We are sailing at a leisurely 17.5 knots, which Google tells us is only 35km p/h. This seems fairly slow and means we are essentially driving (technically: sailing) at speed equivalent to a School Zone. Even the ship is in holiday mode. (Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong).
Yesterday while Jude was expending all her inexplicable energy at the gym, I had a massage. Today I went a step further and actually had a sleep!
It was a bit overcast so we skipped the pool and headed to the top deck where there was plenty of dancing room for a brilliant repeat performance from Boom Crash Opera.
Later we enjoyed a happy hour libation (complete with edible straws) at the poolside bar, finally encountering Billy’s dad. The nature of this particular cruise means there are not a lot of kids onboard. Billy, being “almost 11” has become a veritable onboard celebrity, garnering numerous “hey Billy”s whether he‘s shooting a few hoops or just sauntering around the ship decks. Billy a self-confessed farm boy, who seems to always fly solo, even got asked up onstage at one of the comedy shows we were at, bringing the house down with his dry sense of humour, his parents nowhere in sight. You can imagine our surprise then, to finally meet his elusive dad. As he sipped on his “Kiss on the Lips” mocktail Billy introduced us to his old man who, Billy proudly informed us, drives a ‘79 series’. Jude, much more in the know than I, gained some cred, by knowing what on earth he was talking about.
It was a very educational dinner as we dined tonight with Sharon, the band merch seller, who seems to be on first name basis with all our favourite rock stars, giving us some great stories and intel on all their shenanigans.
Chev Wilson had wowed us with his voice when he’d been a guest singer with one of the bands we had seen previously and he was doing a must-see gig down in the ‘RSL’ tonight with his band Rock Me Baby. We’d almost forgotten it was Punk Prom Night until we noticed people trickling in, adorned with more safety pins, mohawks and studded collars than usual, one girl in a corset so tight, it threatened to ping off without warning and take someone’s eye out. Without the benefit of my nanna nap, Jude was flagging a little so we had a dilemma…could we be bothered to get all punked up? With YOCO (that’s like YOLO but the cruise version) our motto, we had no choice other than to make a pilgrimage back to cabin 5282 to dutifully clad ourselves in outfits befitting a punk prom, if ever there was such a thing.
Feeling quite chuffed with our dress-up efforts we felt it necessary to get a self-timed selfie in the cabin, which was an act of military precision in itself, involving tissue boxes and a great deal of preparation. Upon reviewing the said photo we erupted into hysterics, realising how ridiculous we looked: I, like some sort of gothic, bawdy wench and Jude doing her best Marg Simpson impression.
Now aptly attired, we bravely entered the fray to rock on to the Filthy Animals singing all our favourite high octane covers. Yeah the girls!
