A cloudy day in the mid-Atlantic with no land for hundreds of miles around. The perfect time to dig out your smalls from the Waitrose carrier bag under the bed(never Tesco) and head for the self-sevice launderette onboard ship. Competition is fierce to bag one of the three machines P&O somehow think sufficient for each deck of approximately two hundred cabins. Open from 8am to 10pm, I had already heard horror stories of queues at 7.30am. To make matters worse, there are two entrances to the laundry room, one on each of the port & starboard hallways. Queues gather on each and, depending on which door the steward opens first, one side is doomed to a lengthy wait regardless of whether they had camped outside the door overnight with a thermos. Husband/wife pincer movements of one on each side are not unheard of.

As my sock count grew I headed to the lauderette one afternoon. Pushing the door open I found quick resistance  on the other side. 'There's somebody in here' came a voice. Suppressing the desire to say, Well can you move?', as while it's not palatial, there is room to stand somewhere other than right in front of the door. Instead I ventured, 'Are there any machines free?'. 'No', came the response - with no elaboration. I considered withdrawing at this point, the clear message being that they didn't want my sort cluttering up the launderette waiting to wash clothes. But, emboldened by the ripe aromas wafting from my carrier bag of sweaty pants, I asked boldy, 'Is it possible I could come in and wait?', which I hoped carried the right amount of steel and sarcasm. 'Just a minute' came an impatient reply, after which I was granted entry to the secret kingdom.

Once inside, I familiarised myself with my new surroundings. A narrow room no more than eight feet across and about twenty long. Three machines down one side with three driers fixed above them. Two women waiting for their machines to finish, another ironing some salmon-coloured trousers that looked like an impulse buy. Slowly I realised that there was no noise coming from one machine, the one in the centre. Ignoring the stubborn women who had barred my entry, I asked the salmon pant women if that machine was in use. 'It's just finished', she replied, 'but the lady hasn't returned yet'. I nodded, and leaned against the wall. Five minutes passed. Then another five.

After quarter of an hour, I stood, dear reader, at a moral crossroads, or rather a fork in the road. Is it ever justifiable to empty a machine whose cycle is finished in the absence of the current washing incumbent? How the hell should I know? My hands are clean, surely thats all that matters? Why should I be forced to stand in a small, hot room waiting for someone who is probably mid-way through a chicken caesar? I moved to the machine. The eyes of several middle-aged ladies were fixed on me as my hand hovered on the machine lid. I opened the lid, audible intakes of breath all around. Please God, let it contain just a few shirts. No underwear, and certainly no bras. I looked down and saw welcoming checks. No lacey bits. I emptied the contents into a basket and filled the machine with my dirty cargo. Liberated by my action, I folded the check shirts neatly, an appeasement tactic I was smugly congratulated myself for, when, shaking out a shirt, a pair of mauve knickers flew into the air. I caught them instinctively. My jubilant mood was shattered. I had my hands on an unknown lady's pants, in front of other witnesses. Thats never good.

And yet, and yet...the unknown lady was technically in the wrong, and more importantly, I got my washing done. I stand by my actions, but I've not been the same since. Despite the prohibitive prices of service washes that's just what I might end up doing. I can't go back, never go back.

In other news the weather is now officially fantastic as we near the Caribbean. In typically British fashion everyone is spending every waking moment in direct sunlight, so I'm predicting numerous casualties this evening. Wednesday morning will see us reach Barbados, at which time I'll let you all in on the secrets of the onboard sanitation system. Bye for now.