Day 6

Day 6 - Sunday, April 6 2008

The expression ‘shipshape’ is taking on a whole new meaning. It signifies a bodyline (of sorts) that gets cuddlier by the day. If I could loosen another reef and let the waistband run free, I would. Trouble is, there are no more spare notches available. But, at last - I can now boast a genuine hour-glass figure. The top half billows over the belt, and the bottom half follows a reciprocal bulge, except they’re almost close to meeting. At this rate, when we’re back in Dubai I can get a job as Cliff’s body double.

The full expression is ‘shipshape and Bristol fashion’ and the second part applies to Linda. The ‘Bristol’ department has never been her strong suit, but the way she’s going she’ll soon have her very own built-in Mae West. That’ll come in handy if we do have to abandon ship. Keep both of us afloat, I reckon. Maybe some of the crew as well. The skipper’s even talking of having to discharge some ballast, now that so much unexpected shipboard weight has been gained.

Four-course meals, three times a day, is something we’ve never been used to. Growing up in the Highlands during the post-war rationing era, I was lucky to get half a bowl of leftover porridge once a week. Aye, times were hard after ’45. Especially for those of us on the Jacobite side.

The English, on the other hand, lived off the fat of the land, although until now you would never have guessed by looking at Linda. It must be the French influence. Even if the English did have access to the fat of the land, they’ve never been particularly good at cooking it.

Here on the Tosca, though, we have a master cuisinier - and his output is very hard to resist. Tonight, for example, the piece de resistance was ‘Spaghetti de la Mer’. Such understatement. Clams, mussels, prawns, and scallops, accompanied by spag in Alfredo sauce, garnished with strips of smoked salmon, and topped with parmesan cheese. That really went down a treat, especially with yet another bottle of the very moreish Les Cayolles vin rouge de Pays d’Oc. In normal circumstances, we might go through two bottles of wine a year between us. Here, it is an indispensable accompaniment to serious dining - not to be sloshed down like a pint of Guinness, or as a last resort when we’ve run out of beer, gin, and whisky. Trouble is, even with a genteel sip per second mouthful, the bottles disappear very quickly. Yes, there are lots of mouthfuls, but even so, I’m convinced the sea air has an evaporative effect. Either that or I might be turning into a serious wino. Next stop park bench, with a bottle of Buckie in a brown paper bag!

I’m also turning into a cheese addict. Unlike the wine, I’ve always been partial to a bit of mousetrap Cheddar, but here we are plied with all sorts of irresistible offerings. Maitre’d Marian (who’s already been mentioned in despatches), now takes it as a point of honour to produce something new every night. This is like living out the famous Monty Python sketch - and sampling every variety mentioned.
Tonight he produced a rich and very ripe Rocquefort that was so good it needed another bottle of Les Cayolles as a complement. Security constraints meant we could not open a porthole to air the wardroom. Remember when Mike had his footrot problems last year? Just like that!

Which brings me to the bread. How do we manage to have fresh crusty bread with every meal, along with baguettes, croissants, and all the produce of a top-class patisserie? On Tosca, all things seem possible, so I had assumed we had a baker on board. Well, almost. The dough is bought in France - pre-prepared, semi-cooked, and frozen. Pop it in the oven, and voila - pain du jour! Even the butter comes in proper slabs, not the pre-packed sachets that are now the staple in even up-market eating houses. But that’s enough restaurant reviewing for the moment. I’m sure you get the general idea. The food is brilliant and the effects are becoming very visible.

More to the point is a message from Chief Signals Officer McLaughlin in Dubai. He tells me that ship-to-shore communications are working and that the daily bulletins are now appearing in blog form. If you’re reading this, you’ll know that already, but you’re in normal communications mode. At sea, we have the satellite link with CSO McLaughlin and that’s it. Thank you, Chris, for setting up the blog and being the link to keep the troops informed of life at the (ever-expanding) front line of maritime adventure.

That said, we are now in the Malacca Straits, and mobile signals are again available. One of the earliest messages was from Etisalat explaining the procedure for making outbound roaming calls, but having spent most of the afternoon trying to figure out how to do it, all I get is a response ‘Sorry, this facility is not available’. The exception was a call to Jonathan in London which did go through only to reach voicemail and ‘The number you have called is out of range’. Bloody hell, I’ve got some excuse, but how can you be out of range in West Hampstead on a Sunday afternoon? Presumably inbound calls will work (messages are landing) so if you feel like a catch-up, give us a shout.

Sea traffic here is non-stop. It’s almost impossible to keep count of the number of vessels passing in the other direction, in our way, or being overtaken. Again, the Bridge Master radar display looks like the shoal of fish we had to negotiate out of Khor Fakkan - except even denser. The navigation deck is now on double-watch, and no wonder. Quite apart from the traffic, we have currents, sandbanks, unmarked undersea cables, and a narrow channel to take care of - not to mention pirates.

We’ll be off Singapore about 0100 our time, and after that we revert to normal security levels. Time now for another wee siesta before going topside to view Singapore.

Noon position 03◦22.56 N - 088◦88.07 E
Day’s run to noon - 554 miles
3,192 miles out from Khor Fakkan
Heading 103.2◦
Local time GMT+8
Average speed - 24.7 knots

---

---