The Pride of Rotterdam

Wake at 7:30, with a busy day ahead, make a full English breakfast with the last of the sausages and black pudding. Norman is now fully recovered and waiting eagerly for his share of the spoils and clears his plate before removing the final morsels of food from mine. It is a lovely, clear and warm day and so I hang out a line of white washing before taking Norman for his walk down the lane. When we get back, I put on a load of coloureds, which hopefully, will be hung out and dried before leaving to catch the ferry later this afternoon. Normy seems totally relaxed at being returned to Sarah's house and I am able to leave him with an easy mind, before driving back to Tickton to complete my packing. I am meeting Jackie and the others in town at 1:30. The weather is scorching here today, but the forecast is mixed for Utrecht next week, so pack chinos and shorts alongside my shorts and polo shirts. Miraculously everything is done by a quarter past one and I have just time to bring in the whites and hang out the coloureds before driving into Beverley to Rolando's where we are meeting for lunch. I manage to park in the Vet's car park, behind Saint John's, (as they close for the weekend at twelve), and am just crossing York Road, when a text from Jackie arrives, saying they are running late and expect to be with me at ten past two. This probably means they have just left and that Gino will be gunning his Alfa down the motorway trying to get here as soon as possible. I tell Rolando to slip the booking by 45 minutes and then sit at a table on the pavement in the sun and drink tea and read the papers until they arrive at a quarter past two. We move indoors for lunch and select our respective bruschetta, pannini and salads, declaring the holiday underway with a round of Peroni. After an excellent lunch we stroll through Beverley via Saturday Market, which is in full swing to Wednesday Market. Which always amuses Gino, because it is Wednesday Market on a Saturday. It is so called because there is a little market there on a Wednesday, when there is none in the town square, but it opens on a Saturday as well, along with the main market. Jackie wants an ice cream and I need to go to the car and bike shop down Norwood to buy some GB stickers for the trip, so we split forces and arrange to meet back at the bungalow, where we are due to transfer their luggage into my Chrysler. The bike shop has some magnetic GB plates, and so I am home for four and have time to get the coloured washing in and put some bleach down the loo before the others arrive. It doesn't take long to load up and then park Gino's Alfa on my drive so, by half past four we are on our way to the ferry. It's an easy trip and by five we are walking into the ferry terminal to collect our tickets. After queuing for five minutes, we are told we have to collect them from the booth on our way to the ship, so we do and after a perfunctory check by immigration of our passports, we are soon on board. I seem to recall we made the same mistake last year, and when we get to our cabin we try, unsuccessfully, to open the door with the boarding card and have to be told by the steward to use the key card. I seem to recall that happened last year as well. To quote Yogi Barri, "it's deja vu, all over again." Once we are onboard and our gear safely stowed in the cabin, everyone relaxes and we make our way to the sun deck and order drinks. The sun is low to the West and is setting towards the Humber Bridge in the distance, just the trace of a breeze is blowing and the heat has gone out of the day, although it is still pleasantly warm. We order dinner in Langham's Brasserie for eight o'clock, it costs a few pounds more, but it is infinitely more relaxing to be able sit down to a starched white table cloth and be served, than to go elbow to elbow with the crowds in the buffet. Hungry Germans are not to be underestimated! The boat sets sail at eight, just as we sit down to eat, Gino orders ribeye steak and my younger brother, Andrew and I, both go for sirloin, whilst Jackie opts for the pasta. Most of us chose pâté as a starter and we all share an excellent bottle of the house red wine. Dusk is falling as we leave harbour and there are the last traces of crimson in the western sky as the lights along the dockyards and then the oil refinery at Salt End twinkle into life. The meal is first rate and Andrew, ever the comedian, has us all in stitches, we leave the restaurant at ten and Gino and Jackie return to the cabin, whilst Andrew and I go up to the lounge bar for a nightcap and listen to the pianist for a while. Her keyboard skills are OK and her vocals on quiet numbers adequate, but encouraged by the applause from a crowd that may have drunk a bit too much, she really let's rip and murders four songs in succession. One being a tune, originally by Adele, that is Andrew's favourite. To avoid further aural mutilation we retire to bed at eleven. The holiday has got off to a fine start.