Beverages

The worst part of Aurora is the Orangery which is the self service restaurant on deck 12. Combatants enter the servery from dining rooms on both sides and circle around a series of isolated counters. Inevitably queues form at each end of these counters creating central war zones where collateral damage is unavoidable. The worst part of the Orangery are the small circles of hell where you can make your own beverages. These have been carefully designed by P&O to encourage passengers to give up and buy their drinks from the waiters.

I have to admit that, when I was younger and lived in Manchester, I occasionally drove too close to the car in front. Now I have retired to St Annes I don't do it any more. I'm older and wiser and anyway it's impossible to intimidate old ladies who haven't looked in their mirrors for the last 20 years. Standing in the beverages queue takes me back to those nose to tailgate, testosterone fuelled, journeys on the M60. Everyone in the queue is shuffling forwards and straining their necks to discover the source of the delay. “Oh for God's sake” is the unspoken cry “ how long does it take someone with a walking frame to make a cup of tea?”

After picking up your cup and saucer the first thing you encounter is a set of eight drawers each labelled with the name of a different exotic tea. In accordance with P&O rules only four randomly selected drawers are allowed to contain tea bags. The octogenarian couple in front of me, who have spent the last five minutes discussing their aliments, have now arrived at the drawers. “What sort of tea would you like today Arthur?” - time stands still - “ Er, Peppermint” - “Oh Ethel likes that, get yours whilst I see if she wants one”. As his wife limps away to the far end of the dinning room' Arthur opens the empty drawer marked Peppermint. This time the “ Oh for God's sake” is audible.

At last it's my turn. I've selected Janet's tea bag from a prioritised list of options and I've remembered to pick up the spoons with the cups. I'm conscious of the pressure behind me but, so far, everything is going well. The coffee comes in those little tubes and I tear off the end and squeeze. The tube remains stubbornly sealed so I tear off some more and try to force the grains of coffee through the small hole that I've now made. As I throw the tube away and start again, I hear a tutting noise from the man behind. At randomised intervals the boiling water dispenser fails to deliver a full cup. Without thinking I press the button again and fail to drag the cup away before the water cascades into the saucer. As I pour the excess coffee into the drip tray I hear more tutting.

The dispenser works fine for Janet's tea and I quickly mash the tea bag and fish it out with a spoon. The tutter behind has impatiently started to make his drinks and is now standing smugly in front of the waste bin, which P&O have thoughtfully provided at the beginning rather than the end of the preparation area. I raise the tea bag on its spoon of boiling water to the level of his nose and give him my best “come on punk make my day” look. Startled, he takes a quick step backwards and a series of nose to tail collisions ripples back down the queue. Now that the man behind has become the focus of the queue's anger I leisurely add milk to the drinks and give them one final, triumphant, stir.

Dave C