Today, I decided to take in the sea air, and took a promenade on every available deck, gang, and walkway.
I’m so glad I did: the light was hazy and shimmery, the waves strangely mesmeric. There was even a slight mist on the horizon. I lost my book, but found a friend: a fine old gentleman with the most extravagant whiskers – a Mr. Pelham. He said we passed Gibraltar a few days ago, though I did have to confess I’d missed the big, old rock, as my attention had been entirely taken with life on-board.
Everything is so impossibly sophisticated – you’d be forgiven for thinking there’s a cocktail party around every corner. And the glamour: all the men in their blue, wool, cassimere suits, with their tapered waists and peak lapels, the women in their beautiful slip-on frocks, and crepe shifts or satin dresses.
And listen to this: Mr. Pelham said that last year they had a royal on-board – King George V, himself! I feel like a Hollywood star. Surely Charlie Chaplin has walked these very decks along with the irrepressible Kid?