After finishing breakfast, I went outside onto the Lido Deck and continued my sea-gazing in the open (it was far too cold this morning to eat outside, with a stiff breeze blowing - although it's promising to brighten and warm up later). In a whole 360-degrees, all you can see is sea, and it makes you wonder what the ancient mariners thought as they made their first tentative forages into the open water, particularly what they must have thought as land slipped out of sight - the sea is an awesome but very lonely and humbling place. At first sight, the horizon just looks like a straight line, though I realised after staring at it constantly for a while that it isn't straight at all but a constant flexing wobble - waves tirelessly doing what they do best.

Yesterday afternoon, I met up with two members of 'The Smart Trio' (they're a classical ensemble) Helena (violin) and Gavin (piano) and a very spritely lady called Barbara who claims to have adopted them (she lives in France, has a timeshare in the Lake District and first met them about 7 years ago), for a game of table tennis in the Cloud Nine Gym, which was fantastic, because it burnt off a bit of surplus energy, even though despite the change-around of teams at the end of each game, I seemed to be constantly on the losing team (Peter, you are the weakest link) - same time tomorrow, folks. The Cloud Nine Gym is right at the top of the ship, has several step machines, cycling machines, weights and a table-tennis table, and is a fantastic viewpoint from which to watch the sunset. Gavin told me about a phenomenum that has been known to occur at sunset, something I believe I overheard another passenger discussing a day or two ago, which can only be described as a green flash. Apparently, at the very precise point when the sun dips down below the horizon, there can be seen on very rare occasions a green flash of light! This occurrence is so rare that our illustrious Captain, himself, in all his years of sailing, has only ever witnessed it once.