The remains of the day

Today is what is known as a "sea day".

We are sailing from Barbados to Aruba and the ship is hot, humid and crowded.

Determined not to suffer the same experience of the last "sea day" I am on deck before 7.30am armed with beach towels and books.

I vowed I would never do this, I would never follow the practice of certain Europeans who bag sun- loungers the minute the sun rises above the horizon.

But I do.
Several are already taken and six sun loungers have people ensconsed on them like limpets determined to cling to their new possessions.

Oh yes the captain's voice comes over the loudspeaker at regular intervals urging us to think of others.
Tough. We think only of ourselves.

I have waited all week for this moment. The ship is full. There might be a recession on but it has not hit the cruise market.

By 10am people are sitting on the floor, or squatting on boxes containing equipment for every sun lounger is occupied.

I feel sorry for one elderly couple, who arived late last night on a delayed flight from England , which we understand is deep in snow.

I bet they never thought their dream holiday of a cruise in the Caribbean would begin like this: lying on the floor under the lifeboats trying to read while passengers march past them - those who had failed to find a seat or even a space to lie.

"M" suggests we offer the elderly couple our sun loungers. But then he has a more altruistic streak in him than I do.
"No chance".