Mallorca, Majorca, Let's Call The Whole Thing Off

Tuesday 29 September 2026. We are close to the end of our cruise. This really is our last day, as tomorrow we will be in Barcelona but will be getting off the ship early morning to go to the airport to come home.

But today we are in Majorca or Mallorca to give it its local name. We have boarded and disembarked from ships so many times here, but today we are moored quite a way from the marina. Nevertheless we decide it's our last day so we are going to get off the ship and walk along the coastal path.

I'm not fast at walking these days, but I reckon we've walked for a good hour without the scenery changing very much at all. We did reach the marina and the King of Spain's yacht is moored in its usual spot, but we are never going to reach the basilica at this rate and already we are facing another hour's walk back to the ship.

By the time we are close to the ship we are both in sore need of a drink. Luckily there were a few benches where I allowed myself a few minutes rest but now we spy a cafe-cum-gift-shop across the road. It's a crew cafe but they don't turn custom away and we sink gratefully into a seat that isn't bare metal and treat the old tonsils to a gush of ice cold liquid...

Hang on... I know that voice... We are sitting behind a potted hedge plant but vaguely I can see Tomas in the shop. We wait for him to come out but he escapes from a different doorway and we miss him!

Back on the ship at the door knob wall, as we have dubbed it. Miss Franny keeps joking she wants one as a souvenir and in places it does look as though someone has had a go at detaching one or two with varying degrees of success. I manage to dissuade her though...

The afternoon is spent throwing clothes into suitcases and making sure we haven't missed anything (though what happened to that shoe horn I've no idea...)

We head for the dining room for one last time and I took this one later as we crossed for the last time from the rear of the ship (the round end) to the Horizons Bar at the front (the pointy end). The island of Majorca is receding in the distance and we are now heading for our final port of call, Barcelona.

A lot of hugs and a few tears as we say farewell to Tom and Maris until another cruise brings us out to their ship. This has been a fabulous cruise with great people. So many passengers willing to chat, a fabulous crew too, for whom nothing was too much trouble

Cases have to be outside the cabins by 02:00am at the latest. We remembered to leave ourselves some clothes to wear tomorrow... Hey - it happens!

Morning. As we leave the customs house in Barcelona we are called. It's an American couple we met on our first day. We haven't seen them since but they remember us and made a big thing about first day/last day meetings which was quite fun.

Also outside the customs house was a demonstration. I'm not sure what it was about but the participants were mostly student age and all of a sudden we jumped as some sort of large firework or small explosive went off with a huge bang and cloud of smoke followed a couple of minutes after by sirens and the arrival of police cars... We got on our coach for the airport and left them to get on with it.

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Wild West Train Ambushed!

6 May 1982. I saw in the paper a week before that the Common Market Tourism Minister, Georgis Contageorgis was being given a ride in the wild west tram to see Blackpool's sights. It was very rare then for any of the illuminated trams to be seen on the track during daylight and I went down to the North Pier to take a few photos.

I took a shot at the North Pier and then though it may be worth driving past it up the coast to get a few more shots.

On the way up to Bispham Station where it was due to turn round I saw a lot of people at Uncle Tom's Cabin. It turned out to be a demonstration against the continued closure of the cliff lift down to the boating pool.


Some are waving banners written in Greek but the tram does not stop. I get a photo but so does someone with "Press" written all over him. However he now slopes off, no doubt thinking he had done his job. Some of the protestors are quite angry at this point as the tram, whilst not travelling very fast, was obviously not going to stop and they had had to jump out of it's way. I know the tram has to come back down the track again so I wait with the protestors.

I'm in luck, the tram stops and the Minister gets off to talk with them and walks over to look at the lift.

I ring the Gazette and go to see a reporter called Steve Tate and they take and process my film. They phone me up later to say the photos came out well although they are not used. They do give me two fresh rolls of Ilford FP4 film for my trouble.

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The Legions of Rome

Monday 27 May 1998. Now, for those of you who have stumbled here by accident and haven't a clue how you got here, Fran and I are on holiday in Wiltshire and on this particular public holiday are at Old Sarum, the fortified town that was abandoned in the 1200s at which point Salisbury was developed.

Those nice chappies at English Heritage had arranged a display of Roman Army tactics and equipment entitled The Might of the Roman Army.

No "might" about it - here they are! The performers for the day were members of four groups: the Ermine Street Guard, Gemina Project (from Holland), Vexillatio Legionis Geminae and The Troop.

They were representing Imperial Roman soldiers from the second half of the first century A.D. You would not want a Glasgow kiss from someone wearing a helmet like that! They are also carrying the Roman javelin. A volley or two of those would thin out the first couple of lines of mad marauding Celts and Picts. Please note that I have myself recognised the tendency of this blog to become a little bloodthirsty over the last couple of entries but we shall soon be back to normal!

The troupe were representing Imperial Roman soldiers from the second half of the first century A.D. This would be the conquering army of Britain, though they were hard pressed by the guerilla tactics of the native tribes. Their equipment and tactics were well fitted to each other though. On the face of it a great hairy Celt, dressed in nothing but a bit of blue paint and beard and swinging a long sword should have no problem dispatching a chap in a skirt with a short sword.

But long swords are best when swung and when two armies are pressed together by weight of numbers there is no room to swing a sword without lopping off your mates' heads... So the short stabbing swords of the Romans were apt to win the day as long as there were enough of them to keep the enemy in front of their shield wall.

We stood on the walls of Old Sarum as they marched around the inner sanctum. Here they are passing the foundations of Old Sarum's cathedral. Its replacement was Salisbury Cathedral but you can tell from this photograph that the original was an impressive size.

The chap in the middle of the front row was blowing away at his instrument, which was a relief as I thought for a moment he was going to suck and vacuum the grass... He didn't get much of a tune from it, but no doubt in its time there were plenty of hard pressed Romans who were glad to hear it announce the arrival of reinforcements!

Once in the arena, the various items of equipment were displayed and explained and demonstrations of tactics were given. One of the best displays that we saw was the use of the shields to form the testudo (the tortoise), with the men totally protected apart from their legs as they ran around the arena in close formation. Yes, you're right - I didn't get a picture of it as they were too far away at the time. But an image search on Google for roman testudo will give you ample example. (Nice bit of wordplay thrown in there for free!)

In the next entry we'll get away from all this warfare and take a look at a more modern Salisbury and cathedral and at what is perhaps the oldest mechanical clock in Europe.

Return to Wiltshire, Cotswolds and Avon 1998 Index