I’d say to Dave Schilling that misfortune is part and parcel of life (The hantavirus debacle raises a key question: why would anyone go on a cruise?, 16 May). Is driving too much of a risk for him? Eating out? Boarding a plane? I fractured my left wrist in 2019, four days before embarkation on a cruise to Iceland. This entailed a 12-hour night shift of indescribable purgatory, along with hordes of other stricken souls at A&E. I joined endless queues, was shunted from pillar to post and eventually emerged the next morning, traumatised and with my wrist plastered. I cancelled the Icelandic cruise.
Fast-forward to 2025, and I board a ship to set sail to Iceland at last, Covid preventing it in the meantime. And guess what – I fall and break my left wrist, this time while admiring a geyser. I am ushered to the ship’s medical centre post-haste, and immediately examined by two charming doctors in naval uniforms, far more impressive than the NHS’s boring scrubs. X-rays confirm that my wrist is fractured, and I come to the conclusion that Iceland doesn’t want me there!
