IT was the only way to go. A two-year stint as the Mirror’s US correspondent – taking in America’s first black President and my first Yank girlfriend – ending with a voyage home on the Queen Mary 2. Of course, the Yank, named Red, came, too.
“Heck,” she said, “we’re goin’ in the opposite direction to the Titanic and I’ve never been to England, so what’s to discuss?” And off she goes to the computer, three strides across the room in my shoe-box Manhattan flat, to buy a black evening gown on eBay for pounds 45.
I, meanwhile, go to my wardrobe to check out the 20-year-old dinner suit I’d never worn in those two years and which, now, is more New York grime-grey than black.
By then, Red has bought three more gowns – pounds 25 all-in.
Twelve suitcases later we are at Brooklyn pier marvelling at the world’s longest, widest, tallest, dearest passenger ship.
And, within the hour, we are in our state room. “Hey, A, ‘Princess Class’, don’tcha know,” says Red, adopting a lousy posh Brit accent.
We’re on Deck 10, three floors below the top of the ship but high enough for vertigo. I tentatively step outside on to the balcony, summoning instant sea-sickness.
“We haven’t moved yet, sucker,” says Red, arranging her new gowns in the walk-in wardrobe.
The room is big enough to stash all the luggage and still have a party. A colleague had warned that the bathrooms are tiny. But ours is large enough to swim lengths. A faint tap on the door. “Hello, Mr Anton, I’m Reneboy,” says the smiling steward. “No jokes. It’s a common name in the Philippines.”
Anything we want, he will get.
No task too big or too small.
“Have you got a ma…?” I ask. And, sure enough, the map is in my hand before I finish the sentence.
“The restaurants are aft,” he says, pointing down the longest corridor I have ever seen.
It takes five minutes to reach the lifts from our room near the sharp end of the boat. Then you descend to Deck Seven, where the food is served.
This is an understatement.
Rather than “served”, food on a six-day transatlantic crossing aboard the QM2 is an endless avalanche. There are seven restaurants, including the King’s Court – which has Chinese and Italian food – as well as a carvery and a Chef’s Galley, where you can watch one of the 150 chefs creating.
There’s healthy food, gut-busting food, comfort food, gourmet food. About 20 different ways of serving your breakfast eggs and a wine cellar sufficiently awash to refloat the Titanic.
We’ve been assigned a table at the far end of the Princess Grill. Beyond us there’s nothing but deck, the ship’s fake rolex wake and moonlight.
Gyorgy, the Hungarian waiter, greets us. “Hallo, madame, monsieur. We ‘ave a wonderful twice-baked goat’s cheese souffle, or perhaps the cauliflower panna cotta. A little salad after? Maybe the spinach and orange, with TURN TO PAGE 48 SAIL AWAY SPECIAL
FROM PAGE 47 caramelised parmesan pecans? Then the roast sea bass, citrus-glazed fennel, truffled crme fraiche or the fillet of beef Wellington.
“Then some dessert? Baked alaska with flambeed Morello cherries or… ” he pauses and looks at Red “… some banana changa?” This, he explains, is a banana, wrapped in a
