Strange bedfellows, or you never know who you'll meet over dinner

A recent comment, on Retired Martin’s blog, about sitting next to someone on a plane, whose country is at war, reminded me of a polar opposite experience that occurred on our not so recent, cruise to Norway. Martin mentioned about being seated next to a Ukrainian national, whereas my experience involved a person representing the other side in the appalling conflict that is continuing between two former, East European neighbours.

Mrs PBT’s and I were on our way back from Alta, in the far north of  Norway, and it was the second of what turned out to be five days at sea. Our ship was supposed to have called at Narvik, on the return voyage, but due to heavy seas and storm-force winds, our captain had decided to make a dash for home. This sort of made sense from a seafaring point of view, but need to have a strong and stable relationship to be cooped up in a cabin, with your nearest and dearest for the best part of a week.

Fortunately, ours seems to have survived, but on the day in question (see above), I decided to have lunch in the Buckingham Restaurant. This is the posh, formal and slightly upmarket dining room on Ambience, but the good thing is stuffy dress restrictions only apply in the evening, leaving passengers free to dress as they wish (within reason), for both breakfast and lunch.

For some reason Eileen didn’t join me, possibly because the rough seas weren’t agreeing with her, or perhaps not. The exact reason doesn’t matter, but what does is it was getting quite late when I strolled into the restaurant, and seating options seemed restricted. I was asked if I was OK sitting opposite a rather frumpy, and slightly fierce looking woman, so I said yes, without giving much thought to the matter. I didn’t bother with a starter and instead went straight in on the main course. My dinner companion seemed rather reserved and also a little reticent, when it came to chatting, but I eventually managed to break the ice. I had this lady down as German, and a posh Teuton at that, especially as she reminded me of someone who’d participated in a reality TV programme that Mrs PBT’s is quite keen on.

“Four in a Bed” is a series, in which four B&B owners, couples in the main, although not always people in a physical relationship – so mother/father, son/daughter, or business partners, or just friends, compete by staying at each other’s establishments and then score one another on areas such as cleanliness, quality and standard of accommodation plus food. The last question, “Would you stay here again?” is the most telling, and quite often the most controversial, as well. As you can imagine, the luvvy TV producers go out of their way to find couples who are antagonistic, fussy, or living examples of Basil Fawlty and his long-suffering wife, Sybil. It makes for good TV, don’t you know, even though it’s probably a poor example of real-life situations.

One B&B owner who really stood out was, Mrs Tee, a rather eccentric, bossy, and somewhat outspoken German lady, and she was the spitting image of the person sitting opposite me in the Buckingham Restaurant. Imagine my surprise then when, after failing to guess the home country of this quite fierce looking lady, she came clean and confessed that she was Russian. “Is that a problem?” she enquired, “No, of course not”,  was my reply, and the truth is that it wasn’t, especially once the conversation really started to flow. I never discovered her name, but she explained that she had been living in the UK for quite some time, after originally arriving in the country, as someone’s "pen-pal".

I probably missed the pen-pal craze by a few years, but as someone who hated writing letters (don’t forget to write and say “thank-you” for that birthday present to Aunty Margaret, or Uncle Donald), putting pen to paper was the last thing that I ever felt like doing. More to the point, what to say. And were these elderly relatives, I felt compelled to write and thank, overflowing with gratitude upon receiving a badly worded, poorly written and monosyllabic piece of boring, schoolboy waffle?

Going back to my Soviet era dinner companion, who definitely fitted the role of an austere Russian autocrat. She’d obviously been permitted to stay in the UK, where she’d raised at least one child, and possibly more. Unfortunately, having started talking, she obviously found it hard to stop. Despite her verbal diarrhoea, she managed to find room for all four courses on the menu. We ended up being the last couple dining in the restaurant, and whilst I could see that the waiting staff were itching to throw us out, and clear the table, their obvious discomfort went completely over my companion’s head.

A couple more points, before concluding, she’d been allowed to remain in Britain after forming a relationship with a UK citizen. She’d had raised at least one child, and despite its obvious faults, she remained fond of the former USSR and its Bolshevik rulers. She explained how the communist party was determined to bring art and culture to the masses, with heavy subsidies allowing the populace at large to enjoy the delights of the Bolshoi Ballet, the theatre and orchestral concerts, showcasing the best that the Soviet regime had to offer. She felt this was something that the west was unable to offer its citizens.

I didn’t want to argue too fiercely against what she was saying, first because I was onboard that cruise ship to enjoy myself, but also because I felt trapped. I also didn’t wish to appear rude, even though the Mrs Tee, from “Four in a Bed” that I was comparing her against, wouldn’t have batted an eyelid, if I had acted in such a manner. Even so, I heaved an enormous sigh of relief, after my “forced” dinner companion, polished of her final course of cheese and biscuits.

The waiting staff were also relieved to see the back of us, even though they were obviously too polite to say so, and I was also wondering what Eileen might be thinking, even though she’s quite used to me disappearing for long periods of time. Despite a further three days at sea, I never set eyes on this Russian Mrs Tee again, although I did make a point of avoiding the main dining room for the rest of the cruise. However, despite the warmongering stance of the current Russian regime, I still managed to find the experience both fascinating and enlightening. It was proof, if needed, of the old adage of never judging a book by its cover.