I never need an alarm clock; I can’t remember the last time I set an alarm and did not wake up before it went off. Equally, it must be months, if not years, since I was not awake before 6am. I have to be ready to leave the house at 6.45am. Initially, I don’t bother to set the alarm, then I decide that this might be the one time that I need it. The redundant alarm clock is already set for 6.10am from earlier in the week. I don’t bother to change it. I wake up at 4.45am, maybe just a little too early. I can’t get back to sleep. Oh, it turns out that I can, at about 5.30am, only to be woken by the alarm at 6.10am! Nonetheless, I am only a couple of minutes late when the taxi, aka Chris, arrives.

An uneventful journey is marginally enlivened by being stuck behind a cesspit-emptying van with the registration letters POO. We arrive at Gate 10 of Southampton Docks, having picked up Chris’ daughter, who is kindly going to drive the car back to her nearby house for the fortnight. Now comes the dreaded procedure that is getting Chris’ large metal box of seventeenth century medical instruments on board. As these include axes, saws and knives, albeit blunt ones, we have not left this to chance. The getting permission process started over a year ago when we spoke, in person, to the security officer on this very ship. Since then it has involved several phone calls to America, even more phone calls to Australia, emails, on-line chats, sending out a detailed inventory complete with photographs and the efforts of seven people. Only this week did we get an email that suggested all might be well. Being an American ship, it might have been easier to bring the musket on board; we could claim the second amendment. We encounter a very rude member of staff at baggage handling, when Chris, admittedly a little curtly, explains we have permission to take the box on. She then refuses to tell us where security is, on the grounds that ‘we obviously knew everything’. This left rather a sour taste. Using our prior knowledge from a previous cruise, we find security without troubling her to do her job, only to be greeted with, ‘Oh, we were expecting this last week’. Have we inadvertently gained permission to take the kit on the wrong cruise?

Chris has to carry the box on board himself. It weighs all of four stone. It is a very long way. He is looking in dire need of medical help. Never fear, there’s a barber surgeon on board. Oh, that would be him then. With several thousand people on The Explorer of the Seas, our home for the next two weeks, it is a happy co-incidence that we find ourselves sharing the lift with friends. It will be an hour before our cabin, sorry ‘stateroom’ (it is a windowless box), is ready. Encumbered as we are with a large metal box containing medical equipment, not for us are the refreshments of the Windjammer Restaurant, or sunning ourselves on the open deck. We need to wait until we can dispose of the kit. We pass the time people watching. A security chap complete with riot helmet walks past, pushing a trolley marked ‘clean laundry’. This appears not to be designed to fool. What is inside does look remarkably like freshly ironed sheets. Pristine bedlinen is obviously at a premium.

Cabin inspected, we head for refreshment. Enormous slices of cake, luridly decorated with a Union Jack, are being served. Why is it that red food colouring never comes out red? Numerous portions of untouched cake are being left on plates. As on previous cruises, I am appalled by the food waste. If you don’t like cake, why take a slice? We have a view over Southampton Boat Show. I am unimpressed by gleaming, luxury yachts. There is however a tall ship that looks much more fascinating.

Next, the obligatory but farcical, safety drill. It seems that some of our fellow passengers do not understand the concept of obligatory. Are we all to be kept here in detention until the miscreants arrive? I wonder if any provision is made for those on board with sensory issues. Bright lights, noise, crowds, having to remain in the room, all the stuff of which nightmares are made. I might just ask how they would ensure that such passengers were accommodated. I have zero intention of bringing a person with sensory issues of my acquaintance on a cruise (the mind boggles) but spreading awareness is no bad thing.

We set sail; is that the correct expression for a vessel with no sails? The Isle of Wight slips past and we wave to invisible friends. Chris has already consumed two ice-creams from the help yourself ice-cream bar. Then a meet and greet for conference goers, over half of whom we know; it is great to get reacquainted. Food next and it is ‘Tex-Mex’ night in the Windjammer. We habitually reject the two sprigs of asparagus and a bit of drizzle on offer in the formal dining area. I’ve gone for sweet chilli chicken and Chris is tucking in to salmon and the first of what I am sure will be many steaks. On our last cruise he ate his way through a whole cow. Another reason for rejecting the formal dining is that I find being waited on discomforting. It is not at all the same as in a British restaurant. The staff act like we are better than them. We aren’t. It should not be a job requirement to be so self-effacing but it is.

Paul Milner begins the conference with an interesting session on ‘The English Context: history, sources, repositories and processes.’ A veritable minefield for those researching from overseas, as most of the audience are; there are only five Brits at the conference. We debate why some counties are shires and some are not. Could it be the migration patterns? Why is County Durham, the only county to be described in this way? Probably because it is the only non-shire to have a county town (or indeed city) of the same name as the county, so it is a way of distinguishing between the county and the city. And so to bed. On our way past a public area an enthusiastic member of the entertainments’ team is exhorting his audience to believe they are butterflies. Numerous apparently sane adults are waving their arms, sorry wings, about. We don’t linger to find out what all this is about. The ways of cruise ships are unfathomable.