Sea sickness

At the time of writing this I am on the ferry back to blighty. Usually the journey is pretty uneventful, we get on, I park the car, get a ham and cheese toastie and sit in my seat reading for the next four hours. Pretty nice. However, this time I feel like I am trapped in the seventh circle of hell. The sea feels like it seven feet tall, we are being buffeted by waves that make the inside of the cabin feel like a car wash. Now usually this wouldn't bother me at all. I'd just hunker down in my seat, grit my teeth and pray that the contents of my stomach stay where they're supposed to. However, this time I have the incredible misfortune to be sitting very near to someone who is hueying quite spectacularly. They're not sat next to me thank god or else that really would be it, I hate vomit with a passion and usually the sight and smell of it is enough to set me off on my own bout of chunk blowing
But they are close enough that I can hear them and I am having to concentrate very hard not to join them in ralph tastic unison. It's not that they're being sick, or should I say they're not just being sick, they are making an epic full blown four course meal out of it. The girl in front of me used her sick bag like a good little passenger, wiped her mouth daintily and carried on looking like a tragic 1940s war widow without any if the fanfare that the bloke behind me is partaking in. He is making sure everyone from here to France knows he is being sick.
"I'M VOMITING!!!! SOMEONE ALERT THE PRESIDENT!!!" I really wish I could record it because I am so not doing him justice. He's actually making me look like a crazy person because in order to not think about and and therefore not vomit myself, I have to stick my fingers in my ears, screw my eyes up tight and either sing counting crows songs to myself or recite all the bones in the body from toe to head. I hope he gets off in guernsey.