Boat camp: Can Loose Women's Andrea McLean lose half a stone on a family cruise?

By ANDREA MCLEAN

Press-up gang: Andrea McLean is put through her paces in the gym on board Ventura


It all started the night before we set sail. The kids were excited about going on their first-ever cruise, the husband was cautiously looking forward to it, and I was in a tail-spin because every single dress I tried on was TOO TIGHT! I had been kidding myself for weeks that there was something wrong with my washing machine; that it kept shrinking all my favourite clothes . . . But when I came to try on my trusty evening dresses (I don't own very many of them,

so I buy classic, and for keeps, rather than for fashion), not a single one zipped up. Not one. Feeling sweaty with exertion and panic, I threw some leggings and baggy dresses *sob* into the suitcase, and vowed that over the next two weeks I was going to lose half a stone. Even if I had to chop off a leg and throw it overboard, I was determined to come back lighter.

The next day, we packed up the car, dropped the dog off at the kennels and made our way to Southampton. As we turned into the docks, the kids let out a unified scream 'Look at the boat!' It was huge. I've seen the Love Boat on TV, and been on a ferry, but nothing prepared me for this.

'Will it sink?' asked Finlay, eight, nervously - he'd just learned about the Titanic at school. 'No!' I laughed, quietly worrying that once my girth got in the berth, sinking could well be an issue.

We parked up and unloaded our labelled luggage. It was whisked away by porters. Then a man took our keys and drove off with our (embarrassingly messy) car. We wandered into the terminal, which was like a cross between a little airport and Ikea. We posed for our on-board pass photo, wound our way through security and stepped on to the gangplank and ambled our way on board Ventura.

What felt like minutes after arriving in Southampton, we were there, in the shiny main hall with real sailors in white suits welcoming us. No surly airport staff, no tantrums by three-year-old amy at being strapped in a seat for hours, not even a fight to get our luggage, hire a car, then get lost on the way to our hotel . . .
Nope, that was it, we were on holiday. It felt as if we'd been beamed up by Scotty.

We made our way to our cabins in a fever of excitement, the kids because they wanted to see the bunk beds, and me because I wanted to get booked into the gym and spa before anyone else nabbed my spot - this weight-loss business was serious.

We had two cabins; a double for Steve and myself with a balcony, and an internal room for the kids with pull-down bunk beds. They even provided a pink duvet for Amy and blue for Finlay, which they loved. Our room was big, with a little seating area.


Floating feast: Ventura offers families a choice of 11 restaurants including Marco Pierre White's The White Room


We set off to find the three key things we needed for our trip - the kids' club, the gym and the bar - following our map through the maze of corridors, split levels and dead ends. Soon we'd know it like a home from home, but it took a bit of getting used to at first.

We found the bars, and made our way to the top deck to see the ship set sail. We happened to be right next to the spa and gym, so I nipped in to book my 'all at Sea Boot Camp', as I was to call it. I was shown round, sorted my PT and mud wrap times, and then handed over my room card and signed on the dotted line.

Disaster. The horn had sounded while I was busy signing my thighs away, and Amy apparently went nuts at the noise, flung herself to the ground and knocked over a table of drinks. She was soaked, then got up and ran away, leaving Steve hollering after her, drowned out by the horn and the cheering passengers, and Finlay standing, bemused, where he was.

By the time I walked out of the gym, Steve was carrying a screaming Amy under one arm, holding Finlay's hand with the other, and couldn't speak for horn rage. Oops. apparently, if I hadn't been selfishly thinking of myself at that time, none of this would have happened.

We had an early night, after all the excitement. I bunked in with the kids as I didn't feel happy leaving them on their own at night, and Steve spread himself out on our king-size bed watching TV and eating crisps. Not exactly a romantic sleeping arrangement, but it was a practical one and meant two weeks' break from his snoring.

For the next three days we tried to adjust to the idea of being on a moving hotel with no means of escape. after an initial reluctance to be in the five-to-eight-year-old kids' club because he felt it was a bit too babyish, Finlay settled in. The team leader, Mark, knew intuitively how to make sure Finlay felt grown-up. a simple thing such as occasionally letting him choose the evening film was part of it.

Amy, on the other hand, ran into her little playgroup and didn't look back. She loved it. The kids' club meant that we had time to do what WE wanted to do, which for me meant busying about losing my half-stone, and for Steve meant chilling out in peace and quiet.

We fell into a routine; drop the kids off at kids' club, race to the gym and spa, pick up the kids for lunch and afternoon playtime, drop them back after tea, then spend the evening together having a leisurely dinner that didn't involve pizza or chips, and did involve cocktails.

On 'port' days we went sightseeing as a family. at Barcelona, we did a quick tour of the city by bus, had lunch in La Rambla, then made our way back on to the ship.


Wave of excitement: Three-year-old Amy tries an officer's hat for size


Next day we woke up in Cannes and caught the shuttle boat to shore, heading straight for a seaside seafood restaurant. We booked a sunlounger, and after a gorgeous meal we plonked ourselves down for the rest of the day. Steve bought an inflatable dingy and the 'boys' spent hours paddling to and from the floating jetty, while I built sandcastles and amy harassed a Jack Russell dog belonging to a very tolerant French couple.

The following day we woke up in Livorno, from where we intended to visit Pisa and its famous Leaning Tower. This was the only day things didn't work quite according to plan, as we joined a coach trip to the centre of the town and tried to book an excursion to the Tower.

I was too polite and didn't say anything when some people pushed in front of us in the queue, which meant the last few places were taken and we had to wait an hour for the next trip. We decided to try going by taxi instead - nothing doing. after a bit of huffing and puffing (with me getting cross with Steve for him getting cross with everyone), we tried to book the next bus . . . and that one was now full too.

However, coachloads were still arriving from Ventura, with people expecting to book tours to the Tower. It was a shambles, so we called it quits and headed back to the ship.

That afternoon I decided to think ahead and book us on a tour of Rome. This was quite something for us, as we normally stay in a villa on holiday and do everything ad hoc rather than by organised tour. at the booking desk, I asked about the next day's tours. The man barely looked up, and when he did it was as if I'd asked him for a gold-plated chariot ride, driven by Caesar. With a deep, irritated sigh he told me all the tours were sold out and I should have booked earlier. I told him about the Pisa fiasco, and he repeated: 'You should have booked earlier.'

'Can I be put on a list in case people cancel?'

Sigh. 'We won't know if anyone has cancelled until the morning. And everyone has paid, so they won't cancel.'

'Can I be put on a list just in case?'

Sigh. Just then, a woman bustled out from the office. She snapped at him: 'You better not be booking anyone on any tours. I've added up my numbers for the day!' Fighting the urge to poke both of them in the eye, I told him to write down my name and that I would be back at 8am to check for cancellations.


Land ahoy: The beautiful city of Valencia in Spain was a port of call on the cruise


The crazy thing was that next morning there were now two seats free on the tour for me and Amy (so Steve and Finlay would have to travel to Rome by train and bus). As we were about to board, I asked the driver if there were any spare seats. 'Yes, of course,' he smiled, and signalled to the rude woman from the previous day, who sold me two more tickets on the spot without making eye contact.

The tour was wonderful, despite Amy developing a sudden and severe allergic reaction to horses after patting one by the Spanish Steps, which led to us tearing around the Trevi Fountain trying to find a chemist who understood the words 'antihistamine' and 'urgent'.

Finlay got to see the Colosseum and pose with a gladiator, Amy got to splash in a fountain (once her face had returned to normal size), and I got to drink a few large glasses of wine to recover from the stress of it all.

After our long, hot day, we asked the children what they fancied doing in Palma.

They wanted to play in the kids' club, and who could blame them? So Steve and I sat by the pool on the otherwise empty ship and enjoyed the peace. It was so lovely that we did it again in Gibraltar, but we did get off and mooch around Valencia. Even with its beautiful squares and huge beach, my favourite part was racing round the new Formula 1 circuit in the back of the taxi!

By then we had truly found our sea legs. The kids raced into their clubs to get away from the boring adults, and we had 'couple time'. We even celebrated our wedding anniversary-Steve sneaked off to the Marco Pierre White restaurant and reserved the best table overlooking the back of the boat, with champagne and a huge slice of chocolate pudding iced with 'happy Anniversary'. even the Moon was near as dammit full.


All shipshape: Finlay, Andrea, Steve and Amy relax together over a meal on shore


And my half-a-stone? In the 14 days, I saw a personal trainer called Jacu ten times. On Day 1 he worked me so hard I had to sit on deck with my head between my legs, gasping for breath and swearing gently as he told me I was finding it difficult because my body is 'older now'. If I'd had the strength, I'd have decked him.

On Day 2, I was so stiff I could barely move, but he just pushed me harder. By Day 4, the muscles had eased and I managed to get through the session without feeling I was going to be sick. By the sixth session, I could see some definition returning to my bingo-winged arms, and by the tenth I felt I could beat Rocky Balboa in a single round.

I didn't weigh myself at all on the trip, apart from the first and last day. With the help of lovely Laura, who scrubbed me and wrapped me in mud and clingfilm every other day, as well as a course of Beautytek electrical-impulse treatments on my stomach, I lost 9lb of fat, gained a little muscle but overall lost the half-stone I wanted. Best of all, I shed it evenly, losing an inch off my stomach and thighs, and two inches off my hips.

We were all down in the mouth as Ventura pulled into Southampton; the kids didn't want their holiday to end and Steve and I felt we were well into the swing of relaxing. This was a first, as I am normally twitchy by the end of a holiday.
As I stepped off the ship and into our waiting car, my now loose jeans slipping around my newly svelte hips, I was happier than most.

Getting there
P&O (0845 3555 333, www.pocruises.co.uk) offers a 14-night Western Mediterranean cruise on Ventura from £1,649, including full-board, entertainment and child care. Ports of call include Barcelona, Monte Carlo, Livorno, Civitavecchia (Rome), Palma, Alicante and Gibraltar.


source: dailymail