We left the QM2 in Southampton on 10 June 2026. We came straight home. No seeing friends, no grabbing a few bits in Tesco, no stopping at all. Forty minutes to get home. At that point I moved full time into the toilet (luckily we have two bathrooms….). Six days of the ‘watch both ends at the same time’ kind of sickness where I couldn’t even drink sips of water and wanted to die. Norovirus is supposed to last 2-4 days. After that you’re supposed to seek medical attention. Good luck with that. The response would be “Don’t you dare bring that in here.”
I know all about dehydration and rehydration therapies. I was once managing director of a company that made such things and invented a new system. There’s a photo of me with Prince Charles, as he then was, in my hall receiving a business award for doing exactly that. So I knew the danger I was in but couldn’t do anything about it and anyway I just wanted to die.
I put myself in a week’s quarantine – instead of the recommended 48 hours after your body manages to keep everything in – to protect my neighbours. I think the window washing guy was a little surprised to find a quarantine notice on our front door. Not that I could do anything anyway. When I came out of quarantine I couldn’t do much more than walk around the grounds of our apartment block. I was completely wiped out with no energy at all.
I can’t swim much anyway (see previous NHS-acquired health disaster HERE) but it’s been hot weather and me not wanting to go near the pool is unthinkable. “She must be ill, no-one’s seen her in the pool!” was heard frequently.
Unfortunately I had a ton of ‘I’ll do that when we come back’ stuff to do including getting my book out on my self-imposed deadline.
Before I explain further, if you’re one of the people with zero imagination who– without knowing the meaning or the spelling of it - is determined to use the words “Petrie dish” in the same sentence as “cruise ship” ( thinking that’s oh-so-clever), kindly lean into the screen so I can glare at you. You know nothing about cruising. Yes, you are entitled to your opinion but the problem with that is spouting your opinion on a subject about which you know zip can make you look extremely ignorant.
“I would never go on a cruise”. OK then. Cruise naysayer then goes on to describe in mind-numbing detail the kind of holiday I would regard as Hell. It all just adds to the irritation.
We both loved cruising. We’ve been cruising regularly for over 30 years. (We used to live two miles from the cruise terminals in Southampton. It was the fastest way ever to begin a holiday).
So how did this “never again” state of affairs come about?
[I’ve looked into this in a previous article but to save you going there]
Covid. Probably. The cruise industry went into hibernation. The best staff – from lowly crew to captains – made a life elsewhere during lockdown. The cruise companies lost a ton of money in lost sales. They became overburdened with debt. Accountants can visualise financial horrors everywhere!
When the cruise industry revived – allegedly – it had gone in a different direction. Abandoning the last generation of those who loved the dressing up, the conviviality of formal dining, the friendly banter from staff who had time to spend talking to the passengers, it dived headlong into “give young people want they want”. Sadly, what they want is cheap, to do whatever they like - ignoring all dress codes and tradition etc - and drinks packages.
Drinks package became the bane of my life. I don’t socialize with drunks at home. Why would I want do that on holiday? And, of course, if your cruise line ends up being all inclusive, as they are wont to do, you’re actually paying for the privilege of spending time amongst the drunks.
The cruise lines cut everything to the bone. Less food choices, less facilities. Now the big problem here is that they’re cutting staff.
Before we gave up on cruising we thought we’d try the QM2 - the British flagship (despite the stupidity of filling their shops and bars with British goods then charging in US dollars). She mostly does transatlantic trips but branches out occasionally into other itineraries.
We chose 5 days from Southampton calling at Zeebrugge, Le Havre and Cherbourg. Zeebrugge didn’t happen because of a pilots’ strike but we did get to see the white cliffs of Dover as the ship turned round, which was pretty cool.
At Le Havre, there were people everywhere and I was surprised to see a lot of people coming up the gangplank wheeling suitcases. It didn’t occur to me until later, while trying to remember school French to help an elderly couple who were lost, that passengers were beginning their cruise in Le Havre. Presumably to travel on from Southampton or go to New York.
The same thing happened in Cherbourg.
So… new people, of various nationalities – British, Americans, French, travellers from further afield in Europe - were getting on in a different country and bringing that country’s germs, viruses, pathogens etc with them. I used to feel sorry for my Mum and her friends when every Christmas my brothers would descend from opposite sides of the globe and it would take Mum weeks to recover from the colds they’d brought with them.
I would not have chosen this cruise had I known it would be a glorified cross channel ferry.
It gets worse.
For the first 72 hours food in the buffet is served by staff, rather than passengers helping themselves. You can see why this would help prevent the spread of disease, of course, but why only 72 hours? Are we supposed to get the hang of washing our hands by then? Do the staff get bored?
This 72 hour period turned out to be critical on our cruise as it coincided with:
1) New passengers boarding
2) The hand gel dispensers – not that these work against Norovirus which needs soap and water, not gel - were moved to one side.
3) The staff greeting you at the entrance to the buffet right near the handwashing area who guilted people into washing their hands vanished. They were nowhere to be seen. There were less staff generally in the buffet area. Where did they go?
So Day 4 was a disaster waiting to happen and – big surprise – I went down with Norovirus two days later.
I can see no reason for all health protocols being abandoned mid-cruise.
We will never cruise again. Clearly my body does not take kindly to Norovirus and it’s just too risky. Once I was compos mentis enough to sit at my PC all future cruises were cancelled, costing us an arm and a leg in lost deposits.
I was gutted - mentally this time. I actually cried. This was our future travel plans for years gone in an instant. Your loss, too, Cunard!
All is not lost. I had wanted to do more rail travel around Europe since the not-so-great student trip round Europe way back in 1978. (I should probably write about that…). I discovered a very knowledgeable and helpful person at Railbookers. Watch this space!!
The photo is Le Havre in sunshine after a day of torrential rain. Scrapbook pages later. I might even include the truly awful formal photos I paid $120 for if I have time to correct the dreadful over-exposure by a professional photographer. Hopeless. That phrase ending in ‘brewery’ springs to mind.
[This article also appears on my Substack.]
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