How rough can the ferry passage from Hull to Rotterdam be in the autumn ( at the end of October )?

Ooh!Ooh!Ooh!

At one point I’m sure it was on the water vertically. At one point I think it wasn’t actually on the water at all. Throughout all this mayhem I was trying to grab forty winks. Fat chance. I’d have been less tossed about, feeling less sicky, and most certainly much warmer, had I tried it in a tumble drier. At one point I believed that we were all going to meet our doom, and welcomed it, because then at least I wouldn’t have had to put up with that feckin’ boat any longer.

It didn’t stay like that for long. The sun went down, the waves went up. Something else that went up was everything I’d eaten for the previous twenty years by the feel of things. I swear at one point the bastard boat was going along on its side. It might have been port, I dunno, but then if it was port I think it decided it was a bit uncomfortable like that and flipped over on to its starboard or whatever the bloody nautical types call it.

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Feckin’ fish-juice. It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s smelly and if you fall in it it tastes horrible and you can’t breathe. Sailors must be all be nuttier than a Holland & Barrett shop. I blame the EU. Ursaqua man der Lifeboats.

I must go down to the seas again. Oh must you Masefield, you egregious halfwit you? Well bugger off then, but don’t expect me to accompany you, thanks; I’m going to sit here as far inland as I can bloody well get before you start getting closer to the bloody coast on the other side, where things rarely bob up and down faster than arses in a Swedish porno and the only place that stinks of fish is the fish counter in Morrison’s, if you don’t mind.

Did this years ago.

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“Thank you for sailing with us ladies and gentlemen, and apologies for a somewhat turbulent crossing last night” they said when it became clear that we had in fact survived and reached bloody Holland and not, as we’d assumed, the back yard of a whale’s house. Feckers didn’t even have the decency to sound as though they weren’t taking the piss. Turbulent crossing my arse. I think they’d had a dozen men on the deck all night battling a feckin’ Kraken, that’s what.

It started out well. Nice little float about, chugging along.