Mid '70s, I was playing in a variety band around Western France. Regular week-end work, especially during summer. We had a rare w/e 'off', so I arranged a short trip back to Blighty, to see family and friends. The bass player (Gégé...) and saxo/flute (Joël...) came with me, for the ride. All went well until the ferry back on the Friday. One heck of a storm blew up, and the ferry was unable to dock into St Malo; we had to circle around the Isle of Jersey for thirty-six hours, being tossed about like a cork. The cabins were all opened up, as was the cafeteria (although few had any appetite at all, and keeping a plate on the table, or its contents on the plate, was just about impossible...).It was the first, and only, time that I actually saw folks that were green. Joël lay in a bunk the whole time, suffering the martyr. We were to play, Saturday evening. Pre-mobile phones, of course, but I managed to get a 'phone call from the ship to our BL, explaining that we would not be able to meet the tour bus; he would have to find deps for the three of us.
We were sacked, all three of us, at our next meeting, for having missed the gig. Happy daze.