Bremerhaven drydock, Germany
Lobster seagull. My old friend The Croatian used to say when we were bouncing our way across the Atlantic. On the worst days we were certain the Seawings bow was scraping shingle off the bottom then puncturing clouds with the next heave. If I had a fish and chip shop that's what I'd call it. The Lobster Seagull.
Met a lovely man yesterday, him and his wife. Mad as snakes. Just when everyones misplaced their wallets, they've bought another restaurant so I was down for a Meeting About The Walls. They've given me acres of fresh magnolia to fill with pictures. We've already done one place for them. A fabulous fish and chip shop across town that they were throwing open upstairs as a sit in. Brilliant clients to work with, in they came in for local landscapes, and off they went with salty shipyards. Great big brassy abstracts of propellors dripping with oil and pink dye. Orianas lovely red belly matched nicely the maroon ruched leather of the new booths.
Bremmerhaven is a right old Sailorstown and drydock in winter in Northern Germany is not for the faint hearted. The best nights were cycling through the freezing dark to the bar by the railway tracks for platters of hot chips smothered in mayonnaise and gigantic beers and laughs.
As well as Oriana, QE2 was in for a bit of a scrub down and spruce-up. The Cunard lot all had matching white boiler suits of course. We had itchy old seamans sweaters and were very happy for them. The Norway was tied up waiting her fate, that grand old dame with those gorgeous lines of hers. I shot a video about it all, and interviewed Captain Mike Carr. He reflected on the poetry of these three great liners all in together. "We shall not see their like again" he said quietly.