full moon precautions

I have just remembered what I was trying to say.
When one has a wee outside.( I understand why many females don`t do this so often), but for me, it`s  a primordial drive.
If it is a full moon (which it is tonight) or even moon lit  .
It is very wise ( or overcautious ) to piss with the moon behind oneself.
A full and uncompromising view of shadows which will warn one of unexpected arrivals  from either left or right will most certainly be cast in the grass.
For those who shit in the woods I recommend Wickes`s 500watt work light

converstations with a friend

From my early realization that John`s amps had something
special.
The clarity of sound , the overwhelming warmth of those
valves,the intuitive configuration John had manufactured
from his dream,that had the end result of just kicking
ass.If one had the luxury of playing a Les Paul through
those babies, you would know what I mean.

It was purely this that drove me to meet the guy. And I
admit If all went well, I would use Black ops hypnosis on
him

My end game was all that really mattered.
In all honesty I can`t but for the life of me remember which
of the many names I used with Bedini.
OK I have taken the step that leaves me completely open.
Names perhaps should never be specified?

Maybe I have been kidding myself anyway, and have been for
the last 7 years.
Maybe too many helicopters fly over? I don`t know.Is there a
mathematical formula to ascertain the quantity of
helicopters flying over ones house that would enable one to
judge the subtle difference between paranoia and the
rational and wise choice of wearing brown underwear and
carrying small arms. Lets face it, we all need to go shopping for veg.
If such a formula exists I am truly unaware of it.
Anyway I digress.
For the point of explanation for those of you who are unaware.
The less publicized reason d`etre of John in the more recent
past, is his obsession with overunity.
It is possible I had some input to encourage his
obsession.Who knows?
Anyway from my experience of designing the boat`s
electromagnetic overunity device, grace to a great scientist.
Electromagnetic force had at that time become a constant preoccupation.

It`s almost becoming a habit of mine , to stand on the
shoulders of giants, I have done it so much now I am worried
those shoulders are chaffed and sore , or perhaps I am causing them Carpel
tunnel syndrome.
Anyway It`s late and I am frustrated ,as I still haven`t managed to say half of what I wanted to say.

chilli sweats 2

Hi Wheels,

Thanks for the card, I thought it very appropriate.Elephants

never forget. I hope you will forgive my audacity in

tracking you down.But you did the same. They were good days.
I`ve been reminiscing, and writing a few things down.

Obviously not giving anything away. I am playing a bit of

music again, what are you up to? do you still see Speilberg?
and the others?
Anyhoo, I`m going to cut you into one of the weird sessions

on the boat.

I woke cold and drenched, It took me a few moments to

realise it was just a dream. Once back in the now , the

feeling of relief was completely overwhelming.
I could see the sun through my  porthole, and needed to get

straight up on deck and breathe the fresh sea air.
I couldn`t wait. As fast as possible, I got there and inhaled

with all my might the fresh clean salty air.
My head was clearing from that terrible nightmare, the

relief was tangible.
The beauty of the sunshine struck me, a fresh breeze stroked

my still wet face, at last I could breathe again.
There were  a few crew busying themselves with their duties

 but all was calm and correct.
Then the thought came to me . I could do with a drink. If

for nothing more than to celebrate my continued existence

against all odds, and that glorious sun warming my face and

soul.
 I remembered  the single malt I had so carefully secreted

away. I realised from the angle of the sun, it was no more

than 11 o`clock, and I didn`t give a damn. After such a

nightmare, I was so glad to be awake and alive, all of my

carefully constructed rules could go fuck themselves.

I snook back to my cabin.The word cabin glorifies the true

nature of my allotted hole in the big metal beast that the

boat was. But at least it was my private haven.

Short of breath from the anticipation of the self indulgence

that awaited me, I withdrew from under my bunk the hardwood

box. I opened the lid after using the clever key mechanism,

and on my knees, the glowing beauty of the bottle stared

back at me , I could swear it was singing to me and smiling,

like a long-lost drunken buddy once left behind in Madagascar.
The anticipation perhaps is always greater than the

realization.
It was at that moment my eye caught sight of the writing on

the underside of the lid.
My heart sank, it was not painful, it was more like falling

into a well, a well that is in the middle of a field, a well

that is so innocuous nobody will find you , nobody will

pull you out. A sad crying well.
I was so drained I couldn`t move. I knew what would happen

next, and unfortunately it did.
The problem for me wasn`t the situation, it was more my lack

of inner strength. I had been drained.thoroughly drained.
Unless one has experienced the evacuation of

all of one's energy ,will, and even, dare I say it, soul, one would

find it hard to believe how vacuous it is possible to feel,

and yet be alive.

I knew from experience the shit had hit the fan, and I

better react or die, here and now .
I reacted. like countless times before. I gripped the bottle

and twisted the unbroken seal and gulped like there was no

tomorrow, because sure as the sun shines, `if I don`t kick

into overdrive I am finished.'
It`s perhaps easy for an overseer, to have realized sooner

the quandary I was in, but when it is in the here and now,

it`s not so simple.
For the experienced at this type of situation, it would be

obvious what I tried to do next.
 But I will explain the drill.
 First I tried to add two and two, then four and four.
That worked. I picked up my lucky butterfly knife from the

box and cut my arm. It bled. I tried to read the godforsaken

HB pencil writing on the inner box lid, but realized that

would not suffice as an adequate test, as the words were so

unworldly they could never be a judgment of physical

reality. What could I use as a true test? my head screamed.
Then it struck me, It was an irrelevant quest.To judge which

reality I was in was not important. The simple fact

remained, I was here, and it was now. More than this, I knew

what was happening ,and it was going to happen whether I

liked it or not.
The sun from the porthole faded, the pipes in the cabin were

starting to vibrate, the boat was swaying. Wake up buddy! I

said to myself. Time is of the essence. I have been pre-warned,
so I had better shut that hybrid down fast. I knew I

could perhaps rely on there being one more loop, but I

better get it this time. There were no guarantees.

Seeing the wood within the trees

Rarely and occasionally one is granted the insight and clarity to see the forest.
When one is blessed by such an occasion it is time to put ones axe in its cosy wooden shed.
Speaking personally I have many blunt axes.
I feel they have done their tasks, and it is nice to lay them down, so that they can rest in complete assurance their efforts will not be called upon again. Yet exceptionally when all else fails, if one is truly honest, axes never die. They are just resting. It is a rest of the just, akin to the hibernation of a bear.

more product recommendations

It is cold it is wet.
The walk is real now.
The sounds of the party in my head are fading now, like a dim dying candle,mirrored by my cold dead lighter.
I can feel my feet now. I can feel the minor abrasions that are normally nothing , now they are becoming something.
Are they Wisely showing me my error?
Are they showing me the error I might have made?
I knew , I knew.
 What does that mean? What is ice, what does it mean?
 Is it the same cold embrace that normal folk should fear?
Surely that does not apply to me?
I cannot die. I don`t believe this!

 One simple error, surely this is not my irreversible death.
How feeble am I.
 I cannot believe this error.To think such a minor error could lead to such a finality.
Oh how careful one should be as one chooses ones products from the internet.
If only I had bought that winter jacket in Asda. Perhaps I would see my family again.

chilli sweats 1

I was on deck; the sun was shining; it was 11 a.m.. I had done all my menial duties, life was good now. I looked directly

into the sun just long enough for it to burn its power and unrelenting warmth into my inner cortex.
Naturally I felt like a drink. If only to show my appreciation for the unfolding power,luminosity and warmth that was
demonstrated for all to see. The immensity of the universe and beyond, was there in its glinting eye.
This was the luminosity that Darwin had neglected to observe, I thought to myself.

I remembered - oh so well - the whiskey I had hidden from him, the other one. And at this moment, I chose to break all rules
and drink from its forbidden chalice.
I visualized, so exactly, the small wooden trunk beneath my bunk: it made me wonder why had I not been there before.

My only reasoning was that now must be the time; the time to taste that single malt that took so much trouble to acquire and
save from the spawn-like abuse of friendship.
I went below;I was almost invisible, or so I imagined, safe in the certainty that no-one could suspect my planned secretive
orgy of whiskey before midday.

As I entered my cabin, the sun was still glinting through my meager porthole. Short of breath through excitement, I withdrew
the box from below the bunk.  I should just add, this was no normal box.
This box contained all pertinent details of my previous lives, including multiple passports and ID`s, and - even more
importantly - the Tesla notes that mysteriously had disappeared after his strange death. And other trinkets that I am not,
even now, in a position to mention.
One could understand why the box had been made from multiple exotic timbers laminated into an exquisite lattice whose purpose
was to withstand a strong man with a sharp axe attacking said box for 4 hours or more. Fortunately this had not occurred ,
partly due to my discretion and partly due to other techniques that will remain secret.

The padlock(such that it seemed) could be opened by the possessor of the key. I had that key.
I opened the box.
The interior of the box was in shadow from my bunk, but I clearly saw the whiskey. I went to grab it, then I noticed the
writing on the underside of the lid.
I had NOT written on the lid!.
Again it was that damn HB pencil that I had traversed the globe to get away from. Those dribbling letters flowing like slime
from top to bottom, in their sickeningly ugly beauty.
I tried to focus to read them but at that same moment it became dark.
The weather had changed. It was not unusual here to experience sudden changes in weather. The sun through the porthole had
gone. But there was more.
The engines were throbbing at full pelt. This WAS rare,I could tell they were at full pelt , because the pipes through my
cabin that also served as heating elements were rattling, at a rate that shouted the engine was indeed at full throttle and
beyond.
Yes, this circumstance was rare. Everything including my mood had changed. It was now nearly dark and the engines were going
crazy. I grabbed the whiskey quickly, opening the seal, and gulped a few. I sat on my bunk for what seemed like an hour to
try to grasp what the hell was happening. It was in fact a few seconds, my adrenalin was peaking.
Things had been getting a bit weird since we used the Tesla technology on the engines, but this was more extreme than I had
predicted.

I went into panic mode, my head was screaming "sort it!": it was my fault.
I took another healthy gulp from the single malt and got on my feet.I made my way to the deck, I knew I had to somehow shut
those hybrids down.
When I arrived on deck the sea was monstrous, the sky was dark as death, and nobody was to be seen.
I threw a glance at the wheel-house , it looked empty.
The boat was rocking now, and the waves were wild , they had a countenance that one sees but once in a lifetime.
I rushed and struggled  to the wheel-house, with the sole thought of shutting the engines down.
The boat was rolling more extremely than I had ever experienced, but I managed to make my way up the precarious stairway
into the wheel house.
Of course, I was shocked to see the wheel-house and deck empty of crew, but, deep down, I knew and expected it to be so.
I grabbed the wheel in an effort to turn the boat into the bizarre mutant waves.
I couldn`t believe it. It was fixed solid, immovable as if it had been welded. It was absolutely welded solid , non turnable.

I grabbed at the twin throttles to reduce the crazed engine over-spin, again they were immovable, they too were welded firm
at full throttle.
It was at this point I saw the large pinnacle shaped rock dead ahead. We were heading straight at it.A 300ft high piece of

uncharted rock in the Indian ocean. How can this be? Again I struggled with the wheel and the throttles; it made no

difference. A lifetime passed as I stood there helpless, paralyzed and confused in fear.At the moment the boat struck the
rock, I woke up drenched in sweat and as cold as ice in my bunk.

product recommendations

I was in the lesser living room, formerly it had been a bedroom, which opened onto the hallway.It was mainly built as colombage and dressed with old firearms and swords from my own personal history.There were dried flowers and other adornments that were not down to me.The room cast an interesting blend of masculinity with the addition of a femininity I have been blind to.
Jose a neighbor was there. Why I don`t know, but he, unlike some, he made me feel reasonably at ease.

I have to admit that he was, in fact, very unlike me,
Yet he was amenable enough for me to tolerate him without the need for a very stiff drink.
This may sound unflattering to describe him as such , but in fact, I state this is a high compliment.
I can`t remember what we were talking of, but I imagine it was the usual, I`m ok , your O.K,, stuff men try to do,when making the effort to communicate.
Sadly due to our genetics and upbringing , this is the best I could  hope for.

The phone rang with it`s very not unusual and not pre programmed. brrp bbrp,  you know what I mean.

 That overused frighteningly, straighten up and face business tone, that can cut through your heart and then some.

 Because I had omitted to re-programme the phone to a more amenable tone was the reason I had noticed it had rang exactly twice.

 Alandra had answered it before it could ring thrice.
Cool I thought. How can she cook? clean and washing machine? and still hit the phone in  two.
Jose and myself quietened our amenable chat after a minute or so , the expectation of a little word from Alandra played heavy.
 but nothing came.
I am generally always put on edge when a phone rings, I do appreciate (only Just), how other folk of a more normal lifestylic persuasion may feel , and do sincerely envy them.

If they truly do look forward to electronic alarm bells such as these, then the warm sunshine of a god (of which I know not), must be kissing their breasts in an almost unsexual but strangely predatorial manner. Experiences such as they be, I am sadly unfamiliar with.

Before I digress into the sado masocistic nature of religion, I should try to focus on the point of my story.

 It`s not so unusual to hear the phone ring twice, and then hear nothing, but I guess it was unusual enough for me to be unable to rest at ease.

 After what seemed like a minute,I excused myself to Jose, and entered the hall.

 The telephone was situated by the old double wooden doors, that once served (one imagined)(probably wrongly) as the grand opening of the farmhouse that would once have served the workers in a gentle and appreciative gesture of love for the work they had endearingly carried out throughout the year. Some of the more oblique gestures of corporate  love have manifested themselves in our very real modern world,surely?
In general they are traditionally built with reason.They are Large, long and wide enough to cope with a really large eating table. A table such as this , if fully garnished,could stand alone as an ultimate statement of appreciation for  all involved,and encompass everyone pertinent to the  harvest.


There she was, shadowed in the dim glowing light of the The inadequate petite table light that served it`s purpose in our battle
 against the diminution of the status quo of our atmosphere. It made it`s effort to illuminate the hallway.


 An ominance, a feeling, a dread, was there before me.
It was palatable.
It cut me.
 I was on autopilot, stunned and `silenced` by her face.
I said to her,"I can handle anything"
I was thinking it was something that had been said to her on the phone.
There was no change in her cold dead face. Immediately I said
"I can handle anyone".
These were not light words , they had meaning. I knew she understood that meaning, yet still her face was white  deathly and most definitively un reassured.
On a normal day a "coup de telephone" could never shake a girl like her , my brain started running like Chirnobil
What the fuck had been said????


Whatever it was , I would "track em down and blow em away" came to my mind.
She knew this , she knew nobody would mess with us.
Still her face was stone cold scary.
She didn`t say a word.
She picked up the inadequate table lamp and moved it`s gentle dim glow , such that it would illuminate the wall just above the telephones comfortable charging womb.

Some pencil marks were illuminated, they were just visible on the wall at head height.
They were striking.
in a way that good  art can cut you .
Initially I wondered , had I been doodling while phone chatting , but looking at the strangely expertly drawn rendering of the face, with the round Lennon type glasses framing the eyes, it was well beyond my ability. It encapsulated an essence of soul, and then the dripping black hb pencil lines  drooling  words dribbling like a stream below and around ,  I had my doubts. it was far too well drawn for me to have been guilty of  a mad  drunken doodle.
Before I had time to think and register what I had seen ,Alandra raised up the table lamp.
What I saw explained in a moment the look on her face.
Because of the shaded nature of the table lamp, as it was elevated and turned, the more extreme light from above the lamp shade managed to cast its illumination slowly over the rest of the wall and ceiling.

It was at this point that each and every hair on my body stood up.
Every part of the walls and ceiling had been covered by the heavy hb pencil . With words , dripping from above.
My Body froze my mind was blank,this was beyond me , for once I was truly scared , I had no word of reassurance , I had nothing to help, It was beyond any expectation, in that moment I was truly lost.
I can tell you here and now what some of the words said. But I think if I did , they would always be out of context.
Anyhow , we paid decorators to re paint. We never went back to that house.
The only repercussions were, that the words kept coming back through the paint.
This is one of my main reasons for recommending "Wickes Trade stain block"
lesser products do not do the job.

that damn banging

I awoke from a uneven and disturbed sleep.

I felt an inner dread , somewhat as if one had been drinking

for days on end.Then I realised I hadn`t been drinking.

Slowly my consciousness arrived, I was clear headed,

sober,healthy, and then I remembered the reason for my inner

anxiety. It was the banging on the hull that had been

disturbing my sleep all night.

I wanted to go back to sleep and hide in my unconsciousness,

but after five minutes or so it was obvious my stomach had

no intention of settling and would not let me drift back

into the beautiful oblivion that was sleep.

I threw on my clothes and shoes with a finite decision:

I would check out that bloody noise. I had had enough.

I walked down the narrow corridor that led me to the stairs

which would take me to the deck.

The sun hit me on the face, for the first time in days and

days, it felt good , at last we were in calm seas and

sunshine. I thought briefly, `God help me! This is what I am

here for, sun, sea, fun, none of this weird shark hunting

crap gone pear shaped`.

Anyhow why is the deck deserted, has everyone been hiding

below, not wanting to know what the banging was , like bunch

of ostriches? It appeared so, no-one was to be

seen.Superstition was rife on boats like ours; it was taken

for granted. Often times it seemed you could be playing a

peaceful game of poker down below,and while all seemed calm

and happy , little did you realise you were as safe as if

you were walking on the edge of a volcano, one wrong word

said, and you could end up with a load of red hot flaming

lava on your face , so to speak.

So first, I picked up my lucky knife.

I made my way to the source of the banging, it seemed to be

emanating from the bow on the starboard side. I plucked up

my nerve , there was no-one around, my fear and curiosity

had the better of me , I just had to know for sure what it

was.I already knew, and I wanted to go back and hide with my

churning stomach. But I knew I had to see it.Maybe when I

had seen the terrifying truth , I could rest easy, in the

certainty that the claws of nature would never forgive, and

would hunt one down for eternity. But at least I would know

for sure.

As I approached, the steady irregular banging got louder and

louder. This was the moment, it was now I would at last know

the inescapable truth.He was after revenge , there was no

stopping him, this was it. We kill him or he kills us.

I pulled all the courage I had into one big stomach churning

lump, and cautiously peered over the bow. Just as I did, I

saw the heavy unattached anchor swaying.It swung and hit the

side of the boat with a big bang.

Oh my God, what a relief! It was like a huge weight had been

lifted from me.I had my life back.It was a huge hit of

endorphins straight to my inner cortex."My God!" I thought

"I can finally get some real sleep."The second thought was,

"I need a drink fast.This is Christmas with tinsel and presents".

I then thought of the irony of the other tough piratical

sailors on board , all hiding below, all fearing their worst

nightmare. I thought, "They will never live this down, I

will see to it.Yahoo! Quelle blague!"

I swaggered back to go and get some proper down time ,

joyeuse in my magnificent bravery. A shiny sweet sparkle

from the happy sun caught my jubilant eye. I wandered

drunken with relief toward it, with pure nonchalant

curiosity, thinking "Maybe today is the best day in the

world, and now I have found a diamond!" I got closer, it was

bigger than a diamond.It was much bigger than a diamond!

Then all of my insides suddenly fell like a stone from a cliff, into

a dark deep icy black lake.

 It was Jonny`s hook, still attached to the rest of his false arm.

Strangely,It occurred to me that the stomach acid of a shark

could easily outsell Duraglit or Brasso.

Maybe I had a future after all.

hard times

It was hard , it was rock , it was stone.
We had to call it a day.
The rain was hitting.The seas were angry, the beast was there.
He was not playing games , he was angry like a fire .
We are tough.We are strong, but you know what? He`s bigger. He`s badder. There is stuff out there that`s heavier than you, me, Jonny and Chris.
Let me tell you about Chris... another time.

when the banging started

That day it was cold , it was wet. I felt that cold antarctic wind cut it`s southern pain. If it didn`t wan`t to hurt your soul, it must have wanted your blood.
You could see it in everybody`s eyes. Cold wet pain.
These were the days you missed your family, your friends , a warm beer, bacon and eggs ,and your mum.The best we had to look forward to was a sea that had the grace not to kill us.
The deck was just plain dangerous, we had to be there.
All I could think was , for god`s sake lets go north, let`s get the hell out of hell.
Oh but no , we have to keep on looking for Jonny.
I knew Jonny had gone home.

It wasn`t the banging on the hull that woke me,
It was the nightmare I was having.
For days now, my sleep had been interrupted continually.I was beginning to worry that something wasn`t right.

More than anything, it struck me. The supernatural powers that kept me safe and sane, were not enough.
  I believed I could avoid disaster by using my in- built anxiety alarm system.
The problem was, It was going off , but I had no idea what it was warning me against." Of course !" I thought, Jonny being dragged down below the waves , by the invisible force,sharkmageddon,, nature at it`s bloodiest.
Surely it was that.. But if so, why? why can`t I sleep?
And then the banging started. There was no doubt now.It was loud! it was real.It was banging.

swinging the lead

[Since a very unpleasant shark incident(which I will recount when I find the time) Jonny "the Hook" had developed a very nasty twitch, this was brought on whenever he saw a shark.]
Jonny had been given wheel duty, as his cooking skills of late had gone down hill and the meals he had prepared since the shark incident were generally thought to be obnoxious.

It was a rough sea that day and Jonny once again saw that same giant white leap clear out of the water no more than 10 yards from the bow, this so shocked him, that he twitched violently, in the course of which his hook flung the wheel hard to port, this combined with a strong wave threw the boat violently to the left , causing the boom to break loose and shoot out toward the starboard side  of the boat where the captain was standing.
Attached to the boom hung the winching rope with hook, normally  used to bring cargo aboard. By pure luck, as if playing some over sized fairground game, Jonny managed to cast the hook under the strap of the captain`s tabard. In more normal fairground circumstances he would have won the captain, but unfortunately these were not normal fairground circumstances. Things then took a turn for the worse.
In an effort to unhook her safely  by lowering the winch, Jonny panicked and hit the wrong winch button.
As she was in the course of being winched up into the rigging, the boat lurched again under the heavy sea, and the boom quickly swung out right out over the sea ,with the pendulous captain.
Next Jonny hit the right button to lower the winch, it was just a matter of bad timing, that she was lowered rapidly into the angry sea,a moment later she was again hoisted high, banging her head on the boom in the process. At least she is out of the water I thought, but a second later she was quickly lowered back into the sea, this process seemed to go on repeating itself indefinitely, or so it seemed.

I was thinking, `what the hell is Jonny doing? ' Was he really that stupidly incompetent with the winch, or did he think she was a witch? Or was he deliberately using the captain as shark bait for the great white that detested  Jonny so much.'

Then I realised, Of course it was the imminent approach of the shark toward the captain with her intoxicating chum like tabard, that set off his uncontrollable twitching episode.
Finally we managed to drag her back in over the rail, and  As she hung there swaying from the boom like the drunken sailor that she surely was, I thought, everything would work out for the best, as it was about time her tabard had a good washing.
Many times after that day, we would sit below deck playing cards,laughing heartily, reminiscing about the day the captain was "hoisted by her own tabard"
In fact I am sure it was this incident that spawned that now famous phrase.

Wheels Mcinty

Archie "wheels" Mcinty, was an affable sort of guy,He would often bring a hand of cards to a halt with one of his many stories from his dubious past,I suspected he would use this as a technique to turn the game more in his favor. Some evenings you couldn`t get a word in edge ways.He would talk about the days when he was the wheel-man for some of London`s top firms, he would as a rule leave out or change some pertinent information concerning these blags, as he called them, to avoid any potential self incrimination. He strongly hinted that he had even worked for the Krays at some time.I began to notice Whatever his intention was, he seemed to win the hand after his unscheduled interruptions.

Many years later I began to receive Christmas cards and the like from him. How he tracked me down I don`t know I can only assume on some drunken occasion I had been less than normally cautious in divulging too much of my provenance. I imagine he had tracked me down years later from one of the websites I had appeared on concerning later business interests in the financial markets. But you can imagine my shock from receiving a Christmas card with an update of what he had been doing all those years since. It is interesting to notice oftentimes people are drawn back to their career roots inexplicably and coincidentally, especially if they were good at the job to start with. In my view his driving career had taken an upturn. For quite some time after leaving our boat, he became a chauffeur in California, and had the pleasure of driving all sorts of Famous people, including Ridley Scott, Stephan Spielburg, Roy Snieder, George Lucas, just to name a few. I still get cards from him today, but I have no idea of where he is living.The last one I received had an elephant on it and inside had the saying "An elephant never forgets"Quite apt I thought.

card games

It had been a pleasant evening , with no serious shit,
I say shit as I think it advisable to mention our main task, of causing huge shit to other folk.
It was a peaceful game of cards as usual below deck in the calm evening . Every thing is fine but beneath the calm exterior it always seemed to me a bit like a volcano, were at any moment one could be covered in hot flaming lava.
Ironically this actually occured one quite night.

life on the wave

It reminds me of my younger days, when I was a shark fisherman/pirate, off

the coast of Durban, South Africa.  Now Whenever I am tempted to go out just

to get shitfaced,an Afrikaans wise saying springs to mind; bear with me and

I will explain why.


Back in those days when I thought the height of machoness could be attained

by drinking heavily all night without eating or respite until one fell

unconscious, I remember many mornings waking up on the floor of my cabin,

and having to rush up on deck, where the aroma of chum and diesel, and the

gentle motion of the sea, would help bring on my traditional projectile

vomiting episode.


The unpleasantness of this was sometimes relieved by my glancing around to

catch an extended glimpse of the two black slave girls busily gutting the

previous day's catch.  Sometimes I could hold single vision long enough to

admire their firm, large shapely breasts; focusing hard I could see the small

beads of sweat glistening in the early morning sun.  They would remind me of

forbidden, shiny, ethereal diamonds. Sometimes, as if drawn by a strange

magnetic force, they would occasionally cluster together to attain a critical

mass that would inevitably lead them to scurry down a firm  yet smoothly

curved beautiful breast , until finally pendulously hanging for a moment

from a large exquisitely shaped nipple, they would then drop to the deck.

Casting my eyes lower I feasted on the sight of their tight very short

impala-skin  skirts, that seemed to grip and caress every curve of their

voluptuous slightly over-sized bottoms. My eyes could not help but to wander

to their muscular, shapely, bronzed thighs.  I could not help but wonder how

they attained such exquisite thighs, but then the realisation came to me:  it

must have been due to them having to carry large water vessels balanced on

their heads from a surprisingly young age.  A very important part of their

village life.  This train of thought lead me to wonder why on earth they didn`t

build their rondels close to the water. Of course with a little

reflection it was obvious.  I knew the village they had been kidnapped from ,

and it was plush with hippo and some very unpleasant predators, that would

not think twice of making  a meal of one if the opportunity arose. It would be

far too dangerous to build one's village too close to a watering hole.



Suddenly my mind would be brought back into sharp unpleasant focus and a re

-realisation of my unfortunate predicament, as another even stronger aroma

assaulted my nostrils, It was the ships captain!

Fortunately due to her lack of personal hygiene,

adequate warning of her approach was not impeded by the

noise of the gently breaking swell, one could rely on the sudden appearance

of the overwhelming smell of stale rotting fish and cigar smoke.

She was a lady of fifty something years, but tended to look a lot older due

to her many years at sea, the hot sun had baked her skin to a dark bronze and

the wrinkles on her face reminded me of the patterns that some delta

rivulets can make. The combination of baking and wrinkling gave her skin a

charming crispy appearance.I would be lying if I said she was in any way

attractive. She was very large and continually wore a tabard to protect her

clothes from being sullied by fish guts and the occasional chum splashback.

It was rumoured that she even slept in the tabard, and never washed it.

The rumour goes, that many years back she was the victim of a ship wreck and

was the sole survivor from a crew of nine.What occurred that night was one of

 the most bizarre accidents I have ever heard of, the like of which

will never be seen again. Eight of the crew managed to board the life raft

but, in a sudden swell, the upturned boat`s still spinning propeller cut right

through the raft chopping the raft and it`s contents.I have always thought

this rare form of accident brings new meaning to the words of that old

pirates parrot`s fanatical chant .

"pieces of eight, pieces of eight"

As fortune would have it ,she had failed to board the life raft and remained

afloat nearby, supported in the water by the trapped air beneath her

tabard.  Since this terrible event she has believed that the tabard had

miraculous qualities and was responsible for saving her life.

Yes!,It was the very same tabard she wore on this bilious day that is so

clear in my memory.

 Anyway by grace of  her belief, and her addiction to cigars, it was always

possible to be forewarned by the smell of her approach and thereby look busy.

She walked slowly by me as I pretended to be cleaning the guard rail,I was

hoping she wouldn`t notice my lack of cloth or other cleaning equipment. As

she passed by, she mumbled in a gruff Afrikaans accent,

"Neem meer water met dit, jy tit."

On her passing I immediately looked back at the slave girls in an effort to

avoid a continuation of the projectile vomiting that the sight and smell of

her threatened to re-produce.

On several occasions she would again be heard to mutter this ditty. I came

to believe it was some invaluable seaman's wise saying.  My embarrassment

due to my lack of the Afrikaans language, inhibited me in asking the other

crew what it meant, but I was sure it was very wise and pertinent to a life

on the sea.

Then eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I asked Jonny `the

hook` the ship's cook what "Neem meer water met dit, jy tit" meant!!.


His unfortunate nickname was due to his lack of experience and understanding

of a newly fitted garbage disposal machine in the sink of the ship's galley,

and not a more romantic sounding "pirates' dispute".  Anyway ,He sat

pensively for a minute or so gently gnawing on his pipe as if contemplating

the profundity of the statement and wondering if I was an old enough sea

dog to divulge this secret of all secrets to, then he sighed deeply , I

felt this was THE moment, for which I had been waiting for months,

I was to find out, whether he felt I had earned the right through toil, oil and

bravery, for him to bring me into the sacred society of hardened sea

doggery.

The moment seemed eternal , but then Finally ,Finally! he imparted

the meaning in his almost classic pirate voice.

"Take more water with it, you TIT."

At first I was very disappointed to learn what it meant, but later on in

life I have found it to be very useful, as whenever it crosses my mind to

just drop everything and go and get "shitfaced" these words:

 "Neem meer water met dit, jy tit"

run round and round in my head bringing back the

 pungent memories of days gone by.