Great Day in the morning! And pretty damn good at night, too!

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November 2



The Montague on the Gardens, Bloomsbury, London



Good morning! And an absolutely marvellous morning it is! (Coffee kicking in yet, Tim? Ayup. Hooha! And hurray for caffeine in general. Astonishing that the government hasn’t figured out how much money they could make by taxing that stuff.)



My lord, what a set of contrasts yesterday was. The disembarkation day is the day when one goes from being a pampered passenger to feeling like you’re about to crawl out of steerage onto Ellis Island. The moment the ship is secured to the dock and the engines shut off, it’s like the magic has died. No more gentle soothing motion of the waves. No more reassuring, barely audible rumble of engines. No more remarkable pampering. Instead . . .



. . ., reality. The sound of the back up beepers of heavy machinery. Urgh. One of my least favorite sounds. We were due to dock at 630 am and by 645 that dreadful noise had me up. We had hoped to sleep in until 730 since we didn’t have to be out of our cabin until 830 and off the ship at 930 when, coincidentally, breakfast in the buffet (in the buffet?! Not the dining room with table service? Poor baby! Such hardship you endure.) finished.



Oh, no. It turns out the captain had other plans for all of us. At 710, the ship’s PA chimed on with an announcement you could hear throughout the ship, and certainly inside the cabins, that “local newspapers are on sale outside the purser’s office.”



Hm? Is there serious demand for the Southampton Daily Blare, or whatever it might be? First I’ve heard of it. It occurred to me, cynic that I am, that perhaps this is just a way to rouse the sleepers. I squelched that unkind thought. Surely not. Cunard, in the business of pampering its passengers, would never resort to such a blatant tactic.



No. Never.



715 Bong bong bong bong. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking . . . .” And then we get a weather report. Rather a long one. He did leave out the barometric pressure but other than that a we got all the details. Evidently for those who couldn’t be bothered to look out the window. Or who had not yet gotten out of bed to do so. (Turns out we had been lucky. Or had properly tipped our steward. Other people described being “knocked up” at 650 when their steward told them they had to get out – in spite of the 830 deadline. Wonder if they forgot to do the little white envelope thing. I didn’t ask.)



Well, we were up anyway. Shower, dress, obsessive check and recheck of every drawer, cupboard and shelf to see what we have left behind and we’re off. First, breakfast (quite good, actually!) and then to find a place in our assigned lounge to await word that we can leave. Long, grumbling lines down a long series of ramps to the luggage area where we pick up our bags. Then turn around quickly and go back because I have managed to pick up the wrong bag. Completely innocently, I assure you.



Guess the police agreed because they did not oppose my bail (I’m kidding.)



Then it’s out to stand in the crowded waiting area, rain pouring down, huge lines to get to taxi stand and no sign of our driver. Well, we were 20 minutes early so I shouldn’t worry. Too late! I’d been worrying about this, off and on, for 3 days. I’ve a terrible record for meeting up with drivers. 945 and the phone rings. It’s a local number and I almost drop the phone. It’s Sam, and he is waiting for us in lane 3, sir, and is available at any time convenient to you, sir, and do you need help with the luggage?



From that moment on, things began to look up quite sharply. Sam is a lovely man and the three of us talk all the way to our hotel. As a result, the two and a half hours fly by. THEN he quotes me a charge that is 30 pounds LESS than I thought it was going to be. We discuss that for a moment – my favourite kind of argument – and he wins. Mostly. I left him with the cash to cover the fare and a BIG tip. And I told him to text me if there were any problems. We really like that car service: Windsor Cars, out of Slough, near Windsor Castle. Cheaper and more reliable than regular taxis. ANOTHER unsolicited testimonial.



But the good stuff has just started.



It takes us 10 minutes to get checked in. Because that is how long it takes the desk clerk to tell me about all the stuff we get with our room. Room? Did I say “room”? Oh, my dears, how naïve I was. They had emailed me about a possible upgrade to a room with a garden view for only another 15 pounds a night. I would have emailed back, accepting, only the internet service on the ship was too spotty to risk it. Thought I’d ask at the front desk.



Is the room upgrade still available, says I. We-e-e-e-llll, says she. Hey, I understand, says I, the offer was made a couple of days ago. No problem! We’ll be perfectly happy with what we booked. That’s me, Mr. Congenial.



She is perplexed for only a moment. Then she utters the magic words. “We’ve already upgraded you . . .” That’s great, I begin. “ . . ., to a junior suite,” adding as my jaw drops, “with a view.”



“Uh. Well, that’s, um, well, wow,” I cleverly riposte. Rapier wit, that’s me.



But wait, there’s more. And some of this is included in the package I booked. Still sounds impressive. Our bottle of champagne will be sent up whenever we care to call down for it. We are booked for an afternoon tea at any time we choose. No need to reserve, sir, just come down when you like. Breakfast is included, oh, and we have late check out at any time up until 6 pm on Sunday. As our train does not leave until 7 p.m., that is extraordinarily handy.



And would sir like anything else?



Er. Nothing I can think of. (And really I can’t. ‘Way too stunned for that.)



And would we like a hand with the luggage. Oh, yeah! I mean, thank you, that would be lovely.



You’ll see the pictures. They don’t show you that the wall coverings are fabric: the beige is microsuede, the red is a velvet-like fabric, the trim is actual braid. The paintings are originals, you can see where the paint has been applied if you look at them closely. And I DID! To hell with faking sophistication. This is too much fun for that!



We are marvelling away at all this when the phone rings. It’s the front desk to ask if we found our accommodation acceptable. Susan, of course, says yes. And a part of me wonders what we could have got if she had said no!!!



We have to answer the door four times yesterday.Three times the staff brought assorted treats: handmade confectionary, homemade biscuits, Hallowe’en chocolates with the turn down service. Once it is the champagne on ice, as we had forgotten to request it.



Then there is the handwritten note from the general manager, thanking us for staying with them.



Oh, come on. Seriously?!



This is GREAT!



As we go out for a saunter through the neighborhood, the concierge reminds us that there is jazz in the tiny little lounge bar (16 seats) and recommends it.



We decide to go there for dinner and a listen. A duo, clarinet and guitar, are on. We sink into our seats and listen enraptured for two sets when they finish for the night. These guys are fantastic. They are playing European jazz and they ROCK! (Wrong term? They jazz? Pick your own superlative. It’s the game for the whole family) The guitarist plays like Django Reinhardt and the clarinetist is even more fabulous, as if Benny Goodman had been combined with Stephane Grappelli.



Neither one of us can think of a musical evening we enjoyed more. I would never have described myself as a jazz fan before this but if this is jazz, and boy was it!, then I have to admit that I am one!



They only play here on Wednesday and Thursday night, so I go up after they finished to see where they are going to be Friday night. Turns out this is the only place they play together. Rats. Double rats.



The clarinetist, Martin, has to go speak to someone about something and I stay talking to the guitarist, Jonny. Do they have a CD I could buy? No, he says, although he would love to make one with Martin. Martin, he confides, is the real deal. (And here I thought they both were.) Martin has just finished work on Roger Daltrey’s latest album and was hugely popular as a studio musician (on the sax) with the biggest names of the 1980’s. I am not surprised!



And nothing is quite as impressive as hearing from someone who really knows that another guy is even better!



I tell them I would like their names so I can post them on my blog, and Jonny digs out a card so they can put their names on the back.



After they have gone, I turn the card over and read it. I’m gonna save that for last.



Here are their names: MARTIN WINNING, clarinet, and JONNY HEPBIR, guitar. If you ever get a chance, go and hear them!



And the card? It shows Jonny with his trio: himself, another guitarist and a bass player.



Below his name is written the quote: “You guys are good . . . , really good!” Sir Paul McCartney.



Evidently, great minds DO think alike!



Later!

Tim

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Photos

On deck, QM2 at sea
I had no time to add this one before we got to port so here it is now. Sometimes this ship seems to stretch on forever!

My attempt at an art shot!
Standing at the very stern of the ship, looking up at the superstructure. i dunno, I just kind of liked it!

How junior suite it is!
Did i mention the 14 foot high ceilings? Well, now I have.

Some of the other parts of the suite
The writing desk, complete with staples, scissors, ruler, highlighter, white out, etc. Also the door leading to the enormous bathroom with a real tub!

The Gardens
Soooo much better than looking at the building across the street. Note that most unusual luxury for London - sunshine.