Going down on Her Majesty

Recently I had a conversation that digressed into the topic of Cruise liners.
This led me to recall an experience I once had...

Despite what people may tell you. Regardless of any advertisement
featuring happy smiling people enjoying a horn-o-plenty of earthly
delights on the high seas, Whatever they say, it is all lies. This is not
a luxury liner, this is not the greatest experience you can have in one
lifetime, it is, though words escape me when it comes to expressing the
true nature of the QEII - Hell Afloat.

The fact that it is not painted black with barbed wire on the gunwales,
flames spewing forth from every port-hole and a large sign painted on the
side in blood, saying 'this is not a good idea' only leads me to confirm
the sadistic nature of the management.

To be concise, in a way that only one of the bard's supporting characters
could be, If you wanted to create the ultimate prison, from which escape
was 100% impossible, where life was miserable beyond imagination, and
pestilence ran through the ranks to the point where to repent and confess
to all number of sins (both true and untrue) was the only means of
retaining ones sanity and certification of human existence. Well, just
try your average ocean going vessel.

I guess this is why the founders of my once great nation (Australia) ended
up where they were. If I was given the choice of six to nine months miles
from anywhere on a ship, followed by spending the rest of my life in an
unknown land with no known means of support or survival or, option number
two, just spending the rest of my life stick on a ship, miles from
anywhere (which, if you can't swim, means the middle of the Thames) on a
ship. I'd offer to tow the thing. (This also makes me suspect that to
let any Australian on a ship is just the English way of reminding us how
lucky we are). However I digress.

Many years ago, when I was stil young, foolish and in desperate need of
spare change, the QEII rocked into town. It arrived with the offer of
cheap passage and a call for extra crew. Foolishly I not only applied for
the job, I accepted it when I made the grade. I was not a waiter on the
worlds finest luxury liner.

Looking back, I can now offer this sage advice.

If you get a job on said ship, DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES ACCEPT IT.

Don't even contemplate a passage, do not get on, do not think 'holiday',
do not think 'relaxing option', do not pass go and do not collect $200.

Think, (and burn this forever in your brain) 'Most disgusting example of
Eco-Terrorism and capitalist exploitation imaginable'. Better still
think, as a colleague so aptly surmised, "SURREAL".

Let my try and paint you a mental picture here.

On my few hours off when I wasn't seasick and there was still some
daylight, I Headed to the outdoor staff area on 2 deck (which was under
the passenger 1 deck, so tanning was a no go), I could hear what sounded
like recorded explosions. Being the curious sort I leaned over the edge,
resisting the temptation to just throw myself overboard, to see what was
going on above me.

What I saw were bright orange clay pigeons were being cast into the sea
whole. Having been shot at electronically, as some sort of sacrifice to
the resources that were being exploited to make this whole thing
possible, they cast into the depths.

Out to my left the horizon was lined with half a dozen of the Bass
Straight oil rigs, lighting up the sky as they burnt off excess gas as
some reminder of the consumption that was keeping this circus afloat.

Everywhere you go walk your nostrils are assaulted by a stale smelling
blend of Chanel #5 and sea salt. It would remind you of your
grandmother's house, if gran also happened to be first mate to the Dread
Pirate Roberts.

A feeling of death is always on the mind, like the ship is one huge
vampyric beast, I would lie awake at night wondering if the splashes I was
hearing were from the dessicated remains of the engineering crew being
cast overboard in the dead of night.

In the public areas it is deathly silent, even during the day, the staff
are moving through secret passages below the waterline. Not even Muzak
can survive. The life blood of everything is consumed by the dead and
dying who lie passed out on the leather lounges, exhausted from a hards
days breathing, desperate to make their final days become final weeks.

It would make a great retirement option for those not so loved ones you
can't wait to get rid of, if it wasn't for the fact that for every
bloated, dying passenger, there were two dead waiters.

Surreal indeed.

I'll tell you More in a few Days.