I've always thought I’d rather eat my own liver with a cheap Chianti than go on a cruise. They sound boring; I’d rather not waste time hanging around a pool on the top deck and just get to my destination. Then I can hang around a pool in the resort.

I was thrilled to find there were several places on board where one could find peaceful and quiet surrounds to allow one to just ‘be’.  There was of course the party deck where one could find all the stunned couples desperately sitting together, taking in the splendour of everyone else who must be having a good time amid the deafening noise of the loud music and inane chatter of the onboard Entertainment Officer. There were, to be fair, a deal of interesting activities of which you could partake; yoga, stretching, knitting, craft making , art auctions, lectures on real estate, cooking demonstrations… or none if you wished to sit quietly with Ramon or Lucy who faithfully fetched you mojitos and then silently slunk back to their post by the bar so you could quietly ‘be’ …drunk by dinner.

 I have always been strongly opposed to racism (Well aren’t we all? Apart for that one understandable exception; Asian drivers/ Indian salespeople/ American evangelicals/ Australian drunks/ Muslim ‘fundamentalists’/ Finnish sauna radicals/ ...

 It is sometimes an inexplicable dislike, more often a preposterous stereotyping and always an unforgiveable breach of human rights. It is that shameful hearkening back to the days of tribalism that so ruthlessly involved ‘us and them’ and if they were ‘them’ then they got a spear through their gullet licketty split and splashetty gush the threat was neutralised and you could return to your ruminative chewing of the mammoth shank in peace.

It became a question of degree to me; the delineation of death really. If it was her child or her spouse, no question I’d be in the car now, enroute. I’d camp out in the garden if I had to. But it was her father. It is expected, that if all goes right, you will bury both parents. This is known Kahleesi.

I know the death of a parent is a devastating and for many, a complicated experience. They are complex relationships these familial ones. From whence we came can be a curse or a blessing. Ultimately along with our choices, it makes us or breaks us. The grief can be enormous and enduring.

Even Jesus said there will always be poor among you. I somehow don’t think he meant that it was an inevitable condition but that human nature, being selfish and greedy, means that it is a predestined outcome of the human power system. Those with the most seashells have the most power and so rule in the way that best suits their agendas. Those without seashells live on the periphery and gaze in wanton envy at those with the wherewithal to barter for the bigger skins which only those with culture and breeding wear rather than those nasty little rabbit fur the common oyster eaters wear.

And the common folk have proliferated, having nothing better to do no doubt, than procreate. According to Gary Younge in the Guardian last week,

“Their nation, many will tell you, is not just a land mass but an ideal – a shining city on the hill beckoning a bright new tomorrow and a dazzling dawn for all those who want it badly enough. Such devout optimism, even (and at times particularly) in the midst of adversity makes America, in equal parts, both exciting and delusional.”

Prime Minister Watson; the first national Labor government in the world.

...But in recent years, as in much of the west, the difference between the parties is marginal at best. The policies seem homogenous and geared only to win votes in a bid to stay in power. Gillard herself said in the article that she believed the main reason she was ousted was not in response to a mad policy but in order to promote someone at the head who might have a better chance at the polls; here we are back to the, what I will call, the Pobjie Principle; we vote because they’re ‘nice’ or handsome or perceived to be clever and end up with a tosser at the helm. God help us possibly because some old dears thought he looked good in budgie smugglers and the pub stool leaners thought he seemed a nice bloke even if his ears are a tad big.

Kids with guns. America, are you completely mad?

Jarrod Diamond traced the fall of the great South American dynasties to the decimation by disease and the destruction by superior weaponry visited upon the unwary citizens by marauding hordes of invaders. Like its southern counterparts, the great northern dynasty, America, is too, doomed to be outgunned; its innocents slain by not terrorists from  out there, but by their own citizens carrying ridiculously unnecessary weaponry aimed for use within the paradigm of a war rather than for personal suburban safety...

...Kristoff goes on to lament that Congress did not pass a motion for more robust background checks for gun purchasers; something that seems ridiculously obvious.

“The imbalance in our priorities is particularly striking because since 2005, terrorism has taken an average of 23 American lives annually, mostly overseas — and the number has been falling.

More Americans die of falling televisions and other appliances than from terrorism. Twice as many Americans die of bee or wasp stings annually. And 15 times as many die by falling off ladders.

Most striking, more than 30,000 people die annually from firearms injuries, including suicides, murders and accidents, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. American children are 13 times as likely to be killed by guns as in other industrialized countries." {Read it and weep America].

My cousin's daughter had breast cancer a couple of years ago. What a beautiful woman she is; mother of 2 small children, wife, worker: all that a woman could be and a fucking amazing human being to boot. Of all the people in all the world she was the least deserving (not that anyone is- except those two psychopaths who accosted me in KFC that time). She is well now, but I remember that initial shock and hesitancy- do you speak about it? Do you go around and invade? She's not dead but it kind of feels like you have to tiptoe around like she is. What if she does die? What do you do? I know the feeling; I felt it. You feel so helpless. And useless beyond belief. Mainly because you have no idea of the Protocols of Dealing with the Possibly-Dying. You don’t want to go round there to support them and commit the most massive FAUX PAUS ever committed in all of Christendom and across time by SAYING THE WRONG THING. So you hide at home and say nothing. I was a coward; I admit it; I sent flowers. Fuck. Had no idea what to do. What do you say to parents who might be losing their daughter?

And that's another thing. Cars. It's a fact that you can't afford a nice car til you're old and wrinkly. There's the classic ad with the voluptuous young woman moistening up at the sight of a Lamborghini pulling up near her cafe table only to see a wizened denizen of the deep emerge from the driver's seat looking like something compressed, dragged up from 3,000 feet.

But it's true. You can only afford the damn things when you're old and have gotten rid of the progeny intent on spending their inheritance before you've even earned it. I finally had some financial breathing space last year and looked at getting a new car. When I say "new" I don't mean new. I mean new to me. I was not THAT financially viable; you know 15 to 20 grand's worth of a rich bloke's cast off. Whacko.

So I thought, at last I can get a car that doesn't need to seat the five miserable excuses for children I've been dragging up by the hair for the last several years. I only have to cater for 2 of them, and then only for a short time as they'll be off in their own cars in a matter of a year or two. So I wanted to be a bit you know, not the car of my dreams exactly but, well at least sporty. Because that goes with old age doesn't it? You can't play sport anymore (not without a paramedic standby or the portable defibrillator kit with the free blow up nurse and injection set) but you can LOOK like you do; that you're young and vibrant. But no. That's when age plays a cruel trick on you; you can afford it, but you can't utilise it.