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This morning I woke up feeling under the weather all night the ship was rolling and creaking. Breakfast settled me down and then off to the first writing group of the day, it’s going really well we have 16 songs on the boil the team have been working well. And it feels like team work right through the ship. This afternoon more of the same and Dolphins too, right along side. Roger Daultry joined us for rehearsals today with my friend Gordon by his side, I have been trying to get them involved in everything we do, Roger is so supportive which is song great of him. Gordon brings much love to the table with his humour and his friendship, it’s turning out great. In the evening we ended up in the pub singing Songs in the Key of London, the place was packed with people fresh from diner, in diner jackets and ball gowns. In the dining room we are causing a stir, we are eating posh but dressing down, some of us. some Germans have raised eye brows and have complained so tonight we played toss the cork into the glass, if you miss it’s a dollar. I won. The glass is mid table we are tossing the cork from our chairs. We are having fun and the odd bum tit and other such Shakespearian words creeps out, we don’t mean it. Sorry. It was the Germans. After the playing tonight, Songs in the key of London, it’s bed for me, the others go back stage, down stairs to where the crew live and play. Drinks are cheap, there are younger people than up on the money decks. The ship is slowed down as we head ever further west. And there is the fog, sheets of it, and the ships horn, it blows a mighty sound. Life on board is slow and elegant, time sort of stands still, with no land in sight there is an overwhelming sense of void, which i like, and the slow roll of the ship makes me feel easy like a Sunday morning. I have met some wonderful people on this trip so far, it really is a great place to be, to imagine the past and the grandness of dining with the stars, floating around the deck in fur and silk, hand crafted wooded panels, i do like hand crafted wooden panels, bars full of Martini’s bedrooms full of passionate kisses and stockings, the smell of lavender and cigar. How delightful it must have been to rub shoulders with Noel Coward, not literally of coarse, and to have your picture taken with Cary Grant. Those were the days but these are the days. These days are the foggiest days of all and the ships horn blows a mighty sound. Squid, fish fingers, lobster, i love you all.