Ferry from Liverpool to Dublin (LENGTH WARNING)
Here's another one I'd forgotten about. My fellow B3TAns seem to have a knack for awakening buried memories - only problem is I buried them for a reason :)

So, my then-GF and I along with a mate and his yank exchange student GF were going to go to Dublin to soak up the atmosphere, not to mention the guinness, for a couple of days. Living close to Liverpool, we decided the best (read:cheapest) way to get there would be via the ferry that departed from the Mersey. Not being informed of anything but an uneventful journey, we boarded and headed straight for the bar to get a head-start on our planned shamrocky goodness.

Oh my.

It transpired that the sea was unusually rough that day but blissfully unaware for the moment, we downed one round before we even left the Mersey. We passed into the Irish Sea as I was partway through my second and I began to feel a little queer. The sway on deck became quickly more noticable and 5 minutes later I regurgitated my last gulp back into my glass. With profuse apologies for my understandably grossed-out companions I headed for the gents, seeing a fair few others looking a little green on the way. I took some comfort in the fact that I wasn't the only sea-pussy on board.

I took a cubicle and quickly rid myself of the contents of my stomach, but it didn't end there. Oh no. Not for SEVEN FUCKING HOURS. The crossing is meant to take something like two-and-a-bit, but instead I stayed in that cubicle for SEVEN FUCKING HOURS, leaning againt one wall as the bow pitched up over one wave, and then bracing myself against the other as it hit the sea again with an audible and quite disturbing 'BONG!' All the while, every time, I puked up more and more of this disturbing purple stuff into the bowl. Despite the fact that I'd had about a pint-and-a-third, it was like being insensibly drunk - head spinning, guts churning, don't dare close your eyes for fear of feeling even worse etc - for SEVEN FUCKING HOURS - not nice at all.

Every few seconds I heard the door to the gents open, admitting another poor fucker who was feeling just as badly as I did. My mate came in at some point to throw up, after which he cried out '*thatbloke*! You in here mate?' to which I replied 'Present, and fucking wishing I wasn't' He chuckled and said he'd assure the missus that I hadn't fallen off the boat. He checked on me a few more times to make sure I was conscious at least, probably at her urging, bless her :)

Finally, after about SEVEN FUCKING HOURS, the ride started to calm down a bit and so did my guts. I composed myself and left my self-imposed confinement. It seemed that the cubicle I was in ended up being the cleanest spot on the boat. In the gents and outside it, there was puke everywhere. In every corner, every litter bin, on the seats, on the floor - the entire boat stank of it.

I found my friends shivering in a corner seat near the middle of the boat, all very pale with dark circles around the eyes, all muttering things along the lines of 'Get me off this fucking boat right now', aside for my mate's GF who kept repeating 'One way or another my parents are gonna wire me the money to fucking fly back to England - I'm never doing that again'

As we got off the boat, we saw a massive line of people waiting to board with impatient looks on thier faces. I felt sorry for them for a moment until I realised that they were transferring thier annoyance to myself and my fellow passengers, as if we were somehow responsible for the SEVEN FUCKING HOUR puke-fest we had just undertaken. So I approached a fiftysomething couple at the front of the queue, watching thier faces change as they realised that I, along with everyone else disembarking, reeked of vomit and simply said 'Bon voyage'. I grinned at hearing the urgent muted chattering that started up as I walked away.

Needless to say, we spent the entirety of the first night in the hostel and were asleep before 10pm - couldn't face a bite or a gulp, any one of us. The next two nights we felt much better and proceeded to have the good time we should have from the start. We did get the ferry back in the end, and following the example of a few canny travellers on the previous crossing, we all took a shitload of dramamine and lay down on the floor for the entirety of the journey back. The crossing was far lighter that time, but we were taking no chances.

I'll say it once more - SEVEN FUCKING HOURS :(
(thatblokeoverthere not quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 12:16, Reply)