Saturday, November 21, continued

Patrick, on the other hand, likes to talk. When a subject of conversation arose at that first dinner aboard, he always chimed in and then continued talking, wandering merrily along through his mind in whatever direction whim took him. It all made some sense, but he never got back to the starting point, nor answered the question posed to him in the beginning. We learned that he sold his florist business in Sydney some years ago and decided to travel around the world before settling down. We heard about his hygira through many places in Africa (each described in critical comments) and had only gotten as far as Europe when we tried to divert his attention. Or let someone else say something. No success there. He spoke about some friends in England who lived in a manor house and invited him for Christmas. After the holiday, they went to Barbados for the winter and asked him to stay on and maintain the manse. He told us, happily, about starting at the top of the manor house and turning on all the radiators on first one floor, and then the next, working his way down and turning on all the radiators to keep the house minimally heated and prevent mildew. It was an amusing story. His accent is delivered with great emphasis on the one syllable he thinks important, drawn out until you woooooooonder if he is going on. But just when you think you can intercede, he starts again. He's slight, with delicate hands and eyes like a deer in the headlights. The eyebrows looked plucked (although I'm sure they're not) and I couldn't help thinking what a good drag he would make. When he wasn't talking, he put his elbows on the table, made a platform of his hands where he rested his chin and batted his eyes. He looked like the perfect English fairy about to anoint a believing child in Peter Pan.
After dinner, I went to the show, a young woman who sang songs from movies, many of them from Disney. She had a very powerful voice with not much sense of how to use it. Too bad. Most of it was just loud.
After the show, I retreated to the Horizons Lounge, my workplace for the hour after the show each evening. The combo was terrific, especially the sax player who may be the best I've ever heard. They played old standards and when the go to "As Time Goes By," I had to sing along under my breath, in honor of Jean and Lionel. There was some event ashore so the lounge was sparsely populated: two couples, a group of six, a man and his girlfriend/wife who never left the dance floor, and me. Although the music was great, the dancers were not and they had a hard time, jogging round the dance floor but enjoying themselves tremendously. At a waltz, the lady turned to me - I was lurking in the backgrounds - and asked me to show her husband/boyfriend how to waltz. This is a no-no. I've been told that teaching on the dance floor is a violation since it embarrasses the lady. But since the lady asked mt to show her, I had to so something. So I danced with her until she got the hang of it and then turned her back over to her partner. She asked me to be gentle; she was in heels. "And going backward," I said, "just like Ginger Rogers." She didn't get the reference.
Going to bed was heaven. Heinz had rearranged the suite so that one bed was up against the wall in the living room section and the other up against the wall in the bedroom section. This actually worked pretty well. The curtain between the two areas can be drawn, giving each of us a modicum of privacy at night. I slept soundly. Heinz said I only snored a couple of times. I guess he was paying attention.