Back on board ship, we have snagged a much sought after reservation at the Thomas Keller Grill. For those of you who don’t know, this is a small, exclusive and overly hyped restaurant on all the Seabourn ships. You are allowed one reservation per cruise, unless you are special when it seems to me that you can eat there as many times as you like. We are not special, which I find rather annoying (what a surprise!). But we have managed a second reservation.

Thomas Keller restaurants in the States are infamous for being impossible to get into. If you do get lucky, you are offered a table at 5.30 or 9.30, two times when nobody wants to eat dinner. So I make my reservation months ago and request a table at 7.30 pm. Never willing to give you what you want, they replied that they could only take us at 7.15! How prissy is that? We arrive promptly. The restaurant is half empty. The Maitre D’ tells us our table isn’t ready and would we wait in the bar. She phrases it as a questions, but says it as an order. So we do. We actually wait until 7.45. What is it with these places?

When we are finally seated we find ourselves just inches away from a table of 10. Each one of them is dressed head to toe in white, each one of them has clearly had an inelegant sufficiency of alcohol and each one of them is AUSTRALIAN! The noise level reminds me of the sea lions at Pier 49 in San Francisco, every one of them barking at the same time and clapping their flippers.

It is a small restaurant but we look around to see if there is another table we could move to. It is then that we notice that there are two other large tables of Australians all dressed in white placed strategically around the room. There is no place to hide, let alone to eat in peace.

One of the women at the table next to us tries to get our attention. Like any Australian would, she does so discretely, standing up waving her hand frantically and yelling “Hello, boys!” in a voice loaded with volume and innuendo. I am prepared to like anyone who calls us as “boys” instead of “wrinkled old men”, even if they are Australian.

She is maybe 40 and gorgeous. I am saying this through gritted teeth. But I have never said Australians aren’t attractive. So many of them certainly are, and so many of them certainly are not! This one definitely is. She has clearly spent a lot of time preparing for the evening. Beautifully made up, blond hair immaculate, wearing a short white dress covered in sequins, that shows one bare shoulder and a lot of leg. She is curvy in all the right places, tanned, very fit and just a teensy weensy bit tipsy!

She makes her unsteady way over to us, carrying a glass of wine.

“I know what you are thinking” she says. “You want to move tables, don’t you?”

Oh dear, were we so obvious that even a tipsy Australian could read us.

“We are having a white party” she explains, perhaps a little unnecessarily, “and we wanted to all sit together. But the restaurant thought we might make less noise if they separated us into three different tables”

She pauses for a moment

“It’s not working, is it?” she says, giggling.

Then, realising that she has a glass in her hand that could just as easily be at her lips, she raises it to her mouth and quickly empties it.

She looks at the empty glass, wondering where the wine went, shrugs, turns with a wave at us, and heads back to her table.

Later in the evening, the waiters gather in a huddle and walk across the room with a birthday cake, with two candles in it. One is in the shape of a 6 and the other is in the shape of a 0. They place the cake in front of the woman in the glittering white dress. The other two tables of all white Australians gather round and everyone sings Happy Birthday. We can’t believe she is 60.

We also feel a little guilty. This is obviously a major birthday for her and she is celebrating in style. Perhaps this is one occasion when a little noise is allowed. And if they were making just a little noise, then maybe it would be. But this is the sort of noise level reserved for Kylie (if you have to ask “who?”, you must be American!) and disapproving heads are turning.

Slowly her friends return to their assigned places. We raise our glasses to her and wish her Happy Birthday. We tell her we thought the candles saying 60 were a cruel joke, but she assures us that it is her age.

“You look terrific” we tell her.

She loves it and comes over again to chat.

She tells us that she used to be a flight attendant with Qantas, but at age 50 she happened to notice how awful all the old flight attendants looked on United.

“Damn, they have some worn out old broads working for them” were her exact words.

“I didn’t want to end up like them, so I retired”

“So you used to be a “trolley dolly””, we say.

She giggles

“But you stopped before you became a “wagon dragon”” we add.

She screeches with laughter, and says “yep, that’s what pushing shit up hill for all those years will do to you”

Then she gives us both a huge hug and says “I love you guys”.

She weaves her way back to her table laughing all the way.

We learn many complaints were made to management that night. But not from me.

I have found another Australian I like.