Time and again I have asked myself whether there was ever a time, in the bookish dreams of my boyhood, when I seriously envisaged mornings like those Iāve enjoyed recently. I donāt think there were, dreamer though Iāve always been.
Imagine a beautiful, quiet, floating library, in which excellent coffees and hot chocolate appear as if by magic, with ever changing views from the wide windows, and the kind of contemplation and relaxation that opens one to being entirely up for whatever a day might bring. Iām currently sitting in it. Pinching myself.
And Iāve written here in recent days of a kind of relaxed and necessary provisionality that is part and parcel of ship-board life. So Iāve been well prepared for last eveningās news that the current global situation has led to postponement of our onward sailing to the Caribbean and Central America. Instead weāll spend a week riding the high swell of the Bay of Biscay heading home to the UK – each of us promised another opportunity to sail Southwards again, when safe opportunity arises.
The really great thing about picking up a ānew bookā – especially the kind that youāve never even dreamed of – is the not knowing how the story will end. And the inextinguishable hope that, having reached the last page, thereāll be a fabulous sequel ā¦
wind in my wheels š± 
Oh nooooo! I am so sorry your journey has been cut short, Simon, but also appreciate the attention to safety. The virus is spreading at rates that are hard to fathom, so can certainly understand the cruise lineās decision to err on the side of caution. And on the plus side, you will have the journeyās continuation to anticipate in the future. š„°āļø Xoxo
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Thank you, dear friend ā¦ and absolutely. All my thanks and admiration reach out to the fabulous crew on board whose sense of what lies ahead of them is tenuous, but who, without exception, are caring, smiling and optimistic – quiet teachers and examples, without ever intending to be. Brighter days yet will surely come ššxxx
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