I managed to miss breakfast completely this morning, on account of having been up with the last of the stragglers in the Polaris Club last night (2:30am), which at last seems to be picking up energy. There was Peter the violinist, who'd given us another fantastic set earlier in the evening, Dulcie and her friend June, Ted the man with the GPS who is able to tell us not only where we are and in which direction we're travelling, but also how fast we're going (seems our average speed has increased over the last couple of days - distances travelled increased from an average 404 miles in 24 hours to 414 miles yesterday). There was Ted's wife, and a bloke called Steve who entertained us with humourous stories about the royals he'd met as a soldier at Buckingham Palace.

Earlier in the evening, Steve had rescued a couple of young ladies from the clutches of one who has come to be known as 'Crocodile Dundee'. He came to attention quite early on in a cruise as a bit of a predator, or more accurately; a letch. Apparently, early on in the trip, before anyone else had ventured into the swimming pool, he'd been right in there, flexing his muscles and preening himself as much as to say 'here I am ladies - come and get me!!' The same gentleman (he's a New Zealander who constantly wears hawaiian shirts) has gone on to stalk just about every unaccompanied lady on board ship, and last night he plonked himself down next to the two lovely young ladies from the classical trio who were having a quiet drink in the corner. Eventually, he was noticed by Steve, who mentioned it to Adam, one of the cruise staff, who in turn went over to ease the pressure, and Chris the Pianist invited them to the upstairs for a drink, thus leaving ol' Croc by himself, probably thinking only about how he was going to tell his mates about the two gorgeous young musicians he'd managed to pull in the late bar.

He's not alone, of course; there's a lady who has become known as 'goggle-eyes' who sidles up to the gentleman dancing hosts and doesn't let them escape. She'll do the 'big-eyes' thing on them and lay her head on their shoulder and flash her not-inconsiderable eyelashes at them (and, I daresay, whimper), and try and drag them off to her cabin.

This morning, the sea is much calmer and the sun has returned (we didn't see it at all yesterday). There's still a light breeze but it is very pleasant out on deck and the general mood of the passengers seems much better. Calmer seas mean faster speeds - many still don't believe we're going to make in time for the fireworks, but the captain remains optimistic and with less than 2 days full sailing to go, we're cutting it extremely fine. I sat drinking a fruit juice (breakfast), and a bloke sitting next to me remarked how there seems to be a lot more people coughing. I said I had noticed the coughing, but wasn't aware that it was increasing. "Oh Yes," he said, "it'll be the air-conditioning - I was in the game, you know". Then he proceeded to tell me all about his years fitting air-conditioning - 30 years, man and boy - hardest game in the world". When he asked me what I was doing on board ship, I told him that I was the Art Tutor. Without a word of a lie, he said to me "Art, eh? The hardest game in the world!!" I had to hear all about his daughter who is an artist in Devon.

At 12 noon today, the clocks go forward another half hour. Then tomorrow, we will advance one more half hour and we'll then be in line with UK time. Interestingly enough, at 12 noon a bell is rang - 8 times signifies midday (its rang as 4 pairs of dings due to the fact that sailors of long ago couldn't count). The bell is dinged only once on the half hour. This means at 12noon today, it will immediately become 12:30pm, so 8 dings is strictly speaking wrong (Steve told me this), times between 12noon and half past don't exist today!