Chapter 22
I notice a television on the wall facing the bed which I’m somewhat grateful for.
I don’t want to waste all my phone data watching Netflix if I’m forced to hide out in here when I discover that no one wants to play with me.
Which they won’t of course because I am a legend.
A force to be reckoned with. An icon. I tell myself this three more times in front of the mirror, more of a positive visualisation than summoning Candyman or Bloody Mary.
In the first year of secondary school, Andrea Robinson tried to invoke Bloody Mary after PE.
She turned up at school the next day with a round bruise on her forehead, insisting that the urban myth had attacked her in the night.
Later we found out that her younger brother had stuck a mini sink plunger to her forehead while she slept.
Once unpacked, I plonk myself down on the bed and look over the cruise information pack.
It has a list of the usual info, including safety information, excursions, phone instructions and one of my favourite things, a room service menu.
I can request breakfast to my room, which is nice and, for a small fee, I can order sandwiches, pizza, salads, burgers and pasta dishes.
It seems that being a lazy hermit unfortunately isn’t part of the all-inclusive package.
I remind myself that, tempting as it is, the whole purpose of my trip is to meet someone spectacular.
I’m unlikely to meet anyone if I eat alone in my room every night.
Tonight, I’ve already eaten at the buffet, so I don’t need to concern myself with that right now.
I’m too tired. I’ll reserve a seat at the other restaurants in the morning.
By the time I step into the shower, my fatigue lessens a little. The ship provides basic toiletries, including a shower cap, shampoo, conditioner and shower gel. The gel smells like car air freshener, but I use it as I’m already under the water and starkers.
The water pressure isn’t particularly powerful but it’s hot enough and manages to rinse away a somewhat sweaty day of travel.
There’s no glass separating the shower from the bathroom, just a white curtain which annoyingly sticks to my body like clingfilm.
The hairdryer provided isn’t brilliant either.
I need more than a light breeze to dry my thick mane.
Thank God I brought my straighteners, hair oil and several hair ties.
Bird’s nest chic isn’t the look I’m going for.
I feel the ship shudder and step onto the balcony to the sounds of passengers cheering that we’re now underway.
I give a whoop, then realise I’m whooping alone like a frizzy-haired maniac.
Thankfully it’s noisy enough that hopefully no one has heard me.
A tingle of excitement shoots through me.
I’m actually doing this. In the past six weeks, I’ve impressively thrown caution to the wind and embraced this challenge.
I’m sure Alex Steward would be proud if he wasn’t busy making pottery ashtrays or whatever.
He hasn’t replied to my email, though. He’s probably blocked me and my love for Samsung. I would too.