I used to play tennis once a year while on holiday. Though if you happen to be strolling by when I’m on court, you’d be unsure for quite some time that the spectacle has anything to do with what you see at Wimbledon because I am utter rubbish.
 
In my youth I learned that the best thing you could do in a game of tennis was develop an almighty serve. Accuracy was irrelevant because if you hit the ball at the same velocity as a right hook from Mike Tyson then the poor bugger on the other side of the net could not return it…………….and therefore I didn’t have to run around.
 
So, imagine my horror when this morning Heidi told me that after breakfast we were going to play tennis……………….”it will be good for you” she said as I pushed another piece of bacon into my mouth. At this point I should point out that Mrs. Heald is brilliant at tennis and represented Holland when she was 14……………yes…………she played for her country…………me………………I represented my local pub.

The last time I ventured onto a tennis court was 10 years ago in St. Thomas; I was younger, fitter and had less bacon inside me.

Anyway, there we were at 9:45 am this morning at the local tennis club on an indoor court. Heidi prepared by drinking that Alligator Aid drink thingy, stretching and choosing which racquet she would use…………I prepared by drinking a Diet Coke, stretching my throat and bottom muscles by getting rid of any unwanted gases and picking up my old racquet which last saw action when John McEnroe was screaming “You cannot be serious!”

We started by knocking a few balls over the net but I wanted to stop mincing about and get on with the game…………………..so we did………………I said I would serve…………Heidi had obviously remembered the last time we played because she stood miles behind the line thingy……..she was ready for my giant serve and I was ready to unleash the beast ……………………………I threw the ball high into the air and………bugger.

Unfortunately, my right arm had lost all its power, which means it no longer fired a Hellfire missile of a serve and instead the ball traveled over the net at the speed of a Centipede with one leg……………….bugger

This means I was in trouble because my lack of service power just starts a rally, and that’s exhausting, especially when you’re as fit as Superman with a lump of Kryptonite up his bottom. I couldn’t last more than an hour.  A Blue Whale called Bjorn would have been more able out there…………………..game set and match to Heidi…………………bugger.

Anyway, I sit here with my muscles screaming at me and this is yet another reason as to why my June 1 diet will be so important.

In an hour or so Heidi and I will drive to Gatwick Airport to meet Duncan the Hotel Director and Lui the Chief Purser who are flying in from Genoa to meet with me and the people from the port of Dover. We will look at the meet and greet process at both Gatwick and Heathrow as well as discussing where people should report their missing luggage if they are flying into terminal 5 at Heathrow……………….kidding…………..things seem to be a bit better now and I will give you an update later today.

After our airport visit we drive to Dover, spend the night and then see the port tomorrow morning before driving home.

So, this means another hotel and in the car Heidi was telling me about her latest vacation desire now she knows there is as much chance of me going on safari as Boris Becker being her doubles partner.

This desire involves one of those hotel resorts in places like Bora Bora, Mauritius and Tahiti…………….of course this would be again a nightmare for me, arriving at the airport and being bowed to as your butler places loads of flowers around your neck so you look like a human garden center……….a house on stilts on the water surrounded by things that swim and flying things that have the head of wolf and a body the size of a Hummer and can take your head of with one bite………….no TV, no telephone or raspberry……sharing your bath with half a hundredweight of rose petals and finding your toilet paper folded into the shape of a swan every morning.

To complete the picture, the staff is dressed in national costume. Even the blokes in Tahiti had to wear skirts, and to complete their humiliation they walk up and down the superheated sand all day bringing me my bacon and eggs……… in bare feet……poor sods.

Heidi as always had an answer to all of this…………….”It will be a taste of paradise” she said “and everyone should taste it once in their lives”…………..well……….I disagree ……… this would not be paradise…….it would be totally boring and asking me to do this would be the same as asking a vegetarian to see what beef tastes like by licking a cow.

So, I am off to Gatwick and Dover and Heathrow and taking my wife, video camera and raspberry with me…….look out for another raspberry blog later today and a video or two tomorrow.

I am having a hard time writing the word Splendor because the Brit way of spelling it is Splendour…….that’s why we are telling all the British folks “come and sail the Carnival Splendor where the only thing missing …..is U.”

Cheers
Your friends
John and Heidi

 

Hi, I’m John, and this is my blog. So please don’t mistake my opinions — or those of my dear friends, fans or commenters — for those of Carnival Cruise Line or Carnival Corporation. My apologies in advance for anything I may say that upsets you, but this disclaimer covers Carnival and puts the blame directly on me………….. bugger.