www.silverguide.site –

For readers under the age of 30, Teletext will be a foreign concept. A window into a clunky proto-internet, the TV-based interface allowed viewers to look up data such as the weather, news headlines and sports scores from the comfort of their living rooms. Designed for unused frequencies on the broadcast spectrum, Teletext was a frivolous add-on – something most people didn’t use seriously. But for my dad, it became the portal to our holiday from hell.

When they were growing up, my parents could never afford to travel outside the UK and when they had children and enough money, they vowed to show us the world. That meant, when my mum and my older brother were involved in the planning, a trip around India or to a scorching Greek island. But in 2001 – for reasons lost to time – my dad took the reins of the annual family trip. I can only imagine he was flicking past TV channels when he decided to check the weather on Teletext and came across an advert from the travel agent Thomas Cook for a surprisingly affordable Caribbean cruise. He called the number on screen and paid the deposit right away.

I asked him recently why he was taken by the prospect of that trip in particular. “Well, it was very cheap and we’d never been on a cruise before,” he said. “Of course, I didn’t know then that we were both going to be seasick for the entire time.”

Our trip started as it would ultimately continue, in rough waters. We set sail from the northern coast of Spain, heading straight for the infamously choppy Bay of Biscay. As a seven-year-old who had yet to discover my propensity for nausea on a ship’s deck, the colossal waves thrashing the side of our ship were a rude awakening. I started day two with my head swimming, made it out of the cabin to the breakfast buffet and joined the snaking queue for dry scrambled eggs and rubbery sausages. We shuffled forward and the floor tilted. A rush of saliva flooded my mouth and I immediately vomited over the patterned carpet, putting everyone else off their breakfast.

I later learned that most cruises sail through the night and dock at a new destination in the morning, allowing passengers to enjoy the sights while they are awake. Our cruise, however, sailed through the days and nights, crossing vast swathes of unchanging, undulating oceans, often docking for only a few hours before shepherding passengers back on to our floating prison. We supposedly stopped at some lovely places – Cuba, the Dominican Republic, Jamaica – but all I can remember is lying next to my dad on the bed, both of us gripping the sheets and willing the ceaseless motion to stop. Every now and then we would take turns to leap up and stick our heads down the toilet bowl.

My mum and brother, by contrast, were having a delightful time. They enjoyed the formalities of the “Captain’s cocktail hour”, apparently the beaches in the Dominican Republic were flawless, and the mojitos in Cuba astoundingly fresh. Yes, the seas were rough and the ship’s stabilisers didn’t seem to be counterbalancing the waves, they said, but that’s what you get for booking such a haphazard deal.

By the time we reached our final destination somewhere in North America, ready for the long flight home, my mum and brother emerged on to the runway sun-kissed and well rested, while I just remember being grateful for the solid ground, vowing to never get on a boat or let my dad book a holiday – via Teletext or otherwise – again.