Those sophisticated modern ferryboats recall for me some memories of what an ordeal the crossing used to be!
Leaving after work on Friday to ride to Liverpool, arriving around midnight to join the miles long queue. Pushing your bike forward a few paces at a time, waiting for what seemed like hours to push another few paces. Finally arriving at the head of the queue, to have your fuel tank drained (a dubious safety measure). Then watching nervously as the bikes were craned aboard the old tub, slung together four at a time. Watching, worried as the crewmen roped the bikes to the rails, with tyres packed between the banks of bikes, wondering what kind of state your bike would be in after the crossing, 'cause it got bloody rough sometimes! Those of us who were lucky to be immune to seasickness took cruel delight at watching the poor buggers puking all over the place, while we consumed pint after pint of beer.
All part of the fun I suppose, but on later trips I used to take the Friday off work and catch a mid day ferry. Much less hassle, and if you were lucky the more modern boats were roll on, roll off, so no craning and a less rowdy and crowded trip. You could even find space to stretch out and snooze.
I'd give my left nut to be able to go again, but it's not gonna happen, so I must just be grateful to have had my day.