Homeward bound to Gatwick Airport.

Homeward bound to Gatwick Airport.

So there we were slowly heading back to England on the last day of our fortnight on the high seas of Mediterranean and the words of the great Paul Simon song suddenly hit me. My wife and I were indeed homeward bound and our magnificent adventure on the cruise ship Marella was drawing to a memorable close. The tears were dripping off the yardarm and the glorious memory of an ornamental duck called Quack sitting innocently on the ship's bridge had to be savoured if only because of its novelty value.

Inside the ship the ship's entertainment manager and director kept gallivanting and galloping around the Marella almost tirelessly. Every lunchtime our man had remained so cheerful and upbeat that it was hard to believe that anything could ever get him down. He appeared on the largest screen on deck 11, clearly announcing and extolling the virtues of all those wonderful entertainments on board, praising all the while the kitchen and chefs who had worked themselves relentlessly to dress up all of the evening meals with a considerable style and panache.

Then he proceeded to highlight and commend all of the back-room staff, the waiters, the chefs, the bar staff, the cogs and wheels who had kept the whole machinery going. He wandered into the lounge bars sampling the cocktails concocted by the humorous cocktail shakers, he congratulated the cabin staff who had so unstintingly plumped up the cushions, changed the bedsheets, tidied rooms and still smiled in the face of perhaps occasional adversity. But nonetheless most of us had agreed that everybody on board had enjoyed the most thoroughly enjoyable holiday they'd ever had.

The maiden voyage- which indeed this was- of the Marella cruise boat had had worked like a dream. In fact it could be said that it was plain sailing but that of course would go without saying. The Med had behaved itself with perfect decorum and propriety, the evening entertainment had been a nightly work of genius. There were the dancers, singers, comedians, an unusual juggling come comedy act and the sheer accomplished excellence of the presentation and the music. All of us were simply glowing with elation. Every night on our cruise felt like the traditional West End musical had visited us over and over again.

After gazing at the drunken looking 'Leaning Tower of Pisa', marvelling at the sweetly and homely street markets in both Spain, Italy and the South of France and then admiring the richly historic, ancient ruins of both Rome and Pompeii, we came to the last day.

 In the oil painting that was St Raphael in the South of France we once again took in the glinting, winking harbours where the waters sparkled like mountain water and the boats bobbed up and down happily like the contented swans they were sharing the day with. My wife and I found the most beautifully small synagogue, another Jewish jewel in the crown that brought a pleasantly emotional lump to my throat.

How could I ever forget those lasting and golden memories of another dreamlike cruise? How could I ever forget the small chocolates on our bed late at night, the swinging hammock on the balcony of our cabin which my wife took full advantage of, the chambermaids who never stopped smiling while never forgetting the industrial dockyards and portsides? Finally there were the mountain ranges that seemed to be neatly pencilled into the stunning backdrop of our ship.

There was the ever polite and amiable figure of the ship's captain, a man of stature, nobility and undisputed class. He was tall, commanding, totally in control, utterly unfazed and imperturbable. As the cruise gently made its way around Europe, his was the smoothly re-assuring voice that put all of his crew and passengers at complete ease. Throughout the cruise I became convinced that here was the archetypal captain of a ship. He could hardly have been anything else, a gentleman of the highest rank and permanently charming. We knew that we'd been in the most capable of hands.

Following a brief stroll around the back streets of Barcelona, with its very secretive but precious beauty spots we paid the last of our euros on souvenirs for family and friends. Barcelona is always busy and never pauses for breath, traffic constantly moving and then pausing, centuries old statues making their presence felt wherever you went and then it was back onto the boat for a final photo and lingering image.

And now for what I thought was the most difficult and challenging trip back home to England. It had to be the most traumatic journey I'd ever undertaken. My wife and I arrived at Palma airport at roughly lunchtime and were still on a plane at roughly four in the afternoon. We seemed to spend all day traipsing through the red tape minefield that is the modern airport, lumbering around suitcases from one cafe to the next and to all intents and purposes going in no particular direction. I was hot and bothered. I needed to see the inside of a plane because quite frankly all I wanted to do was to get home, unpack and just slump in front of the TV. What an expedition, what a day. Back at Gatwick airport and almost home. What a relief!

So there it was. Another very extraordinary cruise on a very special occasion for my wife and I. Hello Great Britain. Hello North London. Hello Manor House. It was good to see you although we'd both had an absolutely brilliant time. Travelling to far flung locations is undoubtedly rewarding and a wonderful source of personal recollections in future years as the first rain drops of autumn trickle reluctantly down those big, wide windows of our living room.

We all know that in the old days holidays abroad used to be the instant cue for a major cinema screening of our favourite holiday snaps. We would all gather around in our neighbours cosy living room, dim the lights and then provide the rest of our family and friends with an amusing pictorial record of Spanish lamp-posts, pavements, Uncle Henry standing next to a Spanish farmer or some exotic shop window in deepest Ecuador.

Of course we're all far more enlightened and ambitious in our choices of holiday destinations. We're currently living in a much more cosmopolitan and travel savvy society in a way that hardly seemed imaginable years and years ago. Now the holiday photos extend as far as the Empire State Building in New York, Florida in the Disney dreamland of the USA, Japanese pagodas in the Far East, Vietnam and Canada, Israel and Indonesia- the choice is endless.

But here we were back in Britain, the country where home is the country we always long to come back too after the baking heat of some bejewelled Mediterranean island where it very rarely rains. My wife and I loved this high sea adventure, the British humour and banter so easily identifiable, those splendid pub quizzes at the Squid and Anchor and above all it was oh so nice to get away from it all, from the volatility of a world still locked in a grip of petty conflicts which may or may not be completely resolved.

 The politicians of this global family may always bicker and quarrel but two weeks of cruising aboard the Marella cruiser did much more than any pathetic political squabble. What on earth did I do with those holiday snaps? Oh yes they're still at Boots the chemist. Pass me a pina colada and a Kodak instamatic camera. It was all very stimulating  but the memories are so cherishable. We must go back again next year but then we've always loved travelling and always will. Indeed, to make our dreams come true.