A buzzer rings, signalling that it’s time for dinner, so I head down to the Seasalt dining room. Seasalt isn’t as flash as TopSail, but it’s my favourite of the larger restaurants on the ship, with huge windows and a shaded terrace which runs along the side so we can sit outside and get some air for a change. The tables are dark varnished wood and each one has a ship’s bell above which the passengers can ring to summon a waiter, but obviously I’m not allowing any of that at the moment – buffet service only for simplicity. The other thing that’s missing from the terrace is Henry the hawk handler, who would normally be here every day with his giant bird on his gloved hands to scare the gulls away so the punters can eat their meals in peace. Every detail is thought of here, with little left to chance.

When we’re at sea, Seasalt is reserved for passengers in suites and some of the higher-grade rooms. But as we currently have the ship to ourselves, we’re taking full advantage of the ship’s facilities. Normally, we’d be confined to the dingy below sea-level canteen-style dining rooms off the I-95 corridor in the bowels of the ship. The I-95 corridor runs all the way from the bow to the stern (or from the front to the back, to non-ship people like me) and is apparently named after the I-95 highway which goes up and down the east coast of America (so Rick told me, and I have no reason to disbelieve him); I gather it’s the same on almost all large ships. Truly, I have learned something new every day since I’ve joined Heracles, very little of it about food.