We’ve just returned from a cruise to Norway and thought you’d like to come along for the ride, or in this case, sail.

Day 0 To Basildon

Normally, when I am going away, I always feel that, with just one more day, I would be really up together. Unusually, this time, apart from the garden, which has been abandoned due to incessant rain and a bad back which is now almost better but which I really don’t want to aggravate, I am remarkably well prepared. This probably means that I have forgotten something vital but as of now, I am blissfully ignorant of what that might be. The only thing is that, two days ago, I made a mini breakthrough on my Smith family history, which I will not be able to pursue until I emerge from a seventeen day wifi and phone black hole. I did think that £200 for internet was excessive and as my phone contract is too basic to support roaming, cold turkey it will have to be.

As usual, I am deposited at the coach stop ridiculously ahead of time, while my travelling companion drives the car to his house and walks back down the hill. Yes, we could get a taxi but as it is dry and we can still walk, we choose not to. The stop has moved since we last did this and instead of seats, there’s this odd sort of perchy bar thing to rest oneself on. It’s March, it is not yet warm and an hour on a cold metal perch is not ideal, five minutes in and despite a brief appearance from the sun, I am already wishing that I’d worn my thermal trousers but I cope womanfully, even though it probably isn’t the best thing for my recently bad back. I amuse myself by starting to read a new book and watching the road sweeper, named ‘The Grim Sweeper’, doing its work. I always panic that himself is not going to walk fast enough to arrive in time for the coach. I should be able to track his progress on what is lovingly called ‘the spooky stalking app’ but for some reason, this was temporarily not working. Nevertheless, my fears are unfounded and he arrives in record time.

Coaches have moved on since our last trip and I can keep my phone charged as we go. It also has what is described as a ‘light use’ toilet. I don’t know who needs to know this but do not attempt to use such a facility when the coach is going round a roundabout – just don’t. After three stops we are heartily sick of the safety briefing that greets all those just boarding. It is especially irritating that this includes stressing that it is the law that seat belts are used and I didn’t spot a single passenger, apart from ourselves, wearing their seatbelts. I have no problem with them putting themselves in danger but who else are they going to take out when their unsecured bodies are flung round the coach in an accident? Rant over. Another minor irritation is that the driver’s large CCTV screen isn’t working, so it flickers constantly in a headache inducing manner and it is really hard to keep it out of the field of vision. I hope that no one on board suffers from epilepsy. Six and a half hours on a coach seems like a very long time but there are plenty of spring flowers to look at, with magnolia, blackthorn and daffodils in full bloom. We consume our sandwiches to pass the time, coronation chicken for me and tuna and sweetcorn for himself. Miraculously, my travelling companion manages to stay awake for the first three hours of the journey. As we drive by Heathrow, some newly arrived tourist has clearly just collected a hire car and hasn’t worked out the right side of the road thing, cue lots of horn blowing.

By the dint of various messages, we co-ordinate our arrival at Earl’s Court with that of our lovely friends who are meeting us, so we don’t have an horrendous cross-London journey on public transport, with rather more bags than we can cope with. Fair play to National Express, they arrive exactly on time. We are whisked across London, just as dusk settles and the lights are coming on. We pass Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, Number 1 London aka Apsley House and a beautifully illuminated Tower Bridge. We check in at a Premier Inn at Festival Leisure Park, an area known as Bas Vagas. Then off to eat at the nearby Harvester. Some of our party have mini desserts; do those two words belong in the same sentence?

Day 1 Sailing from Tilbury

After a comfortable night’s sleep, we investigate the workings of the shower. I aways have difficulty with strange showers as, once in the shower, I can’t see how the controls work. After my shower, my companion complains that I’ve used all the hot water. It turns out that I haven’t but I have somehow turned the setting to cold. Next, breakfast and we arrive just after the ‘rush’. As butter is often rock hard, I rest it on my toast to defrost. It turns out that the butter wasn’t rock hard at all and I am now contending with molten butter.

We are collected once again by our friends and taken to Thameside Nature Discovery Park, created on a landfill site in 2010. Although the main viewing platform is closed for repairs, there are interesting views of the estuary and plenty of birds. I managed to get a half decent photograph of a long-tailed tit. Next, we view Coalyard Fort, in Thurrock, constructed in the 1860s and 1870s to protect the Thames Estuary at a time of threat from France.

Then it is off to Tilbury Dock for first sight of Ambassador Line’s Ambience, our home for the next sixteen days. This is where the Windrush arrived and the iconic terminal building is recognisable from newsreel footage. We go through security and are ushered to the check in desk, where the staff wave a numbered Strictly Come Dancing like paddle to indicate that they can accommodate the next person in the queue. Our check in window starts at 1.20pm. It is about 1.30pm. The tannoy has announced that anyone with a time up to 1.40pm should get in line and everyone else should wait. The woman in front of us has a check in time of 3pm. This is causing consternation and hold ups. Chris bleeps when he goes through the security scanner. He has a credit card sized, metal spanner thingy in his wallet. After a pat down he is free to go and we are on board.

There’s a short wait for our cabin, so, as if we haven’t already eaten twice as much as usual in the last twenty-four hours, we go to check out the casual dining. This is not so extensive as the equivalent on previous cruises but it looks like it will suit us. We don’t do the posh clothes and eating artfully arranged meals accompanied by a bit of drizzle thing. Maybe it is having been a waitress for one summer in the very dim and distant past but I also feel quite uncomfortable being served, so casual dining it will be. We do a quick recce of the ship, as we have eight sea days but given our cabin and its balcony I think we may be spending those days relaxing and looking at the view. This is a smaller ship than those we’ve been on before, with a capacity of 1400. We attend the compulsory safety briefing. The captain says the weather is ‘lively’ for our first two sea days. I have brought assorted medication for almost all eventualities but it never occurred to me to bring sea sickness tablets. We watch the view as we travel up the Thames estuary in the dusk. Suitcases have been arriving at cabins since 2pm, 4pm and no sign of ours, which were whisked away from us on arrival at the terminal. Finally, Chris’ turns up. Unlike when we fly, we haven’t done the thing where we put one outfit in the other person’s case, just (pardon the pun) in case. At least though, the appearance of his case suggests that the trolley with our luggage on must have made it on board. Just as I am mentally assessing how much of Chris’ apparel I can utilise, mine arrives too. Then an evening meal in the Borough Market informal restaurant, vegetable curry and chips for me, slow roast belly pork for Chris.

My phone is suggesting that, for a fee of £8, I can have 37 days of European coverage. This seems worth a punt, so I part with cash. I learn later that I might not have needed to do this but either way, I will now have some phone contact, so not quite the technology black hole that I was anticipating.