I found this piece buried in the drafts folder of this travel site. It’s a long‑removed review of a Disney cruise we were invited on in 2008.
Reading it felt like prising open a time capsule. Our girls were not yet teenagers. Neil had turned 40 and was full of mischief. None of us imagined we were living through days that would become irreplaceable.
That invitation, sparkedcreating Have a Lovely Time. Now, all these years later, I’ve found this forgotten draft on the very site it inspired.
Some parts of the trip belong firmly to another era, including swimming with dolphins.
The memory of that day — Em and Mel shrieking with joy as the dolphins nudged them through the water — is strong now, even though it vanished behind the brain fog of grief for a while.
Revisiting this draft, knowing Neil would die four years later at just 44, gives every memory a tenderness that makes me pause.
Setting sail
The Disney Wonder announced its departure with a blast of When You Wish Upon a Star, and inside an art‑deco lounge, all teak lines and brass fittings, a mother was having a full‑scale meltdown. Documents flying, three boys arguing over a Buzz Lightyear figure, her husband frozen in bewilderment.
People tutted. I felt for her. Holidays carry such weight of expectation. You’ve spent the money, booked the excursions, imagined the thrill of it all, and then real life barges in with tiredness, lost tickets and frayed tempers.
A memory from another time
We boarded a small boat to Blue Lagoon Island, passing jaw‑dropping villas near Atlantis Resort. The girls guessed which celebrity lived where; I daydreamed about George Michael. Someone insisted Simon Cowell owned half the coastline.
And then came the dolphins.
I cried the moment they appeared. We touched them (“hard‑boiled eggs,” Melissa said), danced with them, ever so gently kissed them, and finally were propelled through the water by two dolphins pushing our feet.
Today, I see this experience differently. We understand far more about marine welfare now, and I wouldn’t choose this kind of encounter again. But in 2008, it was marketed as a pinnacle of family adventure.
Now, the encounters I’d choose let animals simply be.
Blue Lagoon bliss
We spent the afternoon on a beach so perfect it felt illustrated: sugar‑fine sand, turquoise water, palm trees swaying like they were on a film set. Mel and Em played in the shallow water while we drifted into a sun‑drenched sleep in hammocks hung between the trees.
I recognised it instantly as an unforgettable day. I had no idea how searingly precious it would become.
Dining our way around the ship
Disney’s rotational dining system meant we sampled a different restaurant each night with the same waiters. We loved this thoughtful touch that made the experience feel personal.
• Triton’s served French classics: snails drenched in garlic butter, seafood that tasted as if it had come straight from the ocean.
• Animator’s Palette was a theatrical delight, its black‑and‑white sketches blooming into colour as we ate. Emily was seasick for an hour, but even that became part of the story.
• Parrot Cay offered Caribbean warmth and spice.
• Palo, the adults‑only restaurant, was a revelation. My slow‑cooked lamb was extraordinary; Neil’s ravioli disappeared in seconds. And the soufflé — my first — was sublime.
Shows and surprises
The Golden Mickeys was an evening of Disney nostalgia.
Then a real‑life proposal stole the show. I cried again. Later, the girls donned pirate outfits for a fireworks display, and Neil was startled by a buccaneer whose demeanour was… enthusiastic.
Neil was impossible to embarrass, which was just as well on a Disney cruise. I remember cringing every time crew members loudly welcomed us back on board by name. Neil, of course, lapped it up.
Castaway Cay
We woke to an eerie silhouette of the Flying Dutchman from Pirates of the Caribbean anchored off Castaway Cay. Emily craned over our balcony, convinced Johnny Depp was lurking somewhere.
The island surprised me. It wasn’t saturated with branding. Powdery sand, lilting palms, tropical blooms were untroubled by commercial concerns.
We snorkelled with stingrays (barbs removed), fed them prawns, and watched tropical fish dart beneath us. Neil escaped to Serenity Bay for a massage he described as “a slice of heaven.”
Our final day
We swam, shopped, watched High School Musical on a giant outdoor screen, and dipped into the cinema for Up. I cried for a third time. The girls made friends in the kids’ club; we browsed the spa and gym; the ship’s daily Personal Navigator listed more activities than any family could attempt.
Looking back now
This trip was meant to be a straightforward travel review. Reading it now, with the ache of losing Neil, it has become a snapshot of our family at its happiest.
And the mum who melted down on the first morning? We saw her later, cocktail in hand, smiling after discovering her own bliss.