A fight broke out in the Vesuvius Bar last night – a bar which is beginning to live up to the explosive nature of its namesake. Of course, it had to be Bailey and his cohorts. The whole place is closed just now, but the stench of whisky is filling the nearby corridors. You know it’s bad when the scent of strong spirits struggles to mask the scent of dried blood and raw, male animal.
I heard that someone had gotten into a drunken argument with Bailey, or it was Bailey that started it, or it was something to do with shipboard security, but anyway, some foolhardy soul suggested Bailey had had improper relations with his sister, and a table went down, and Bailey attacked the cur with the crown of a broken glass. Two or three people saw it, though, and he was arrested immediately by security. Just as well there are always eyes around – if not other passengers, then guards, or the cameras that are everywhere. Bailey’s in the brig, and not for the last time, I’m sure. I hope he stays there.
Still no sign of Velma – I can only assume she has moved on. I’m feeling rather hopeless about the whole thing, but I do suppose she knows how to look after herself.
If anyone can, it’s her.