The Irish lady with whom I was breakfasting in London last October engaged the couple at the next table (in much the way as last Wednesday she ambushed a red haired gentlemen with and Irish accent when we were out dining with another friend of ours). Amongst the other life data she extracted from them was that she had delivered the clap lecture at my old school (in my day it was merely a rather technicolourful short film) and we had an acquaintance in common (Sister Kiehne). I am not so sure that qualifies me to give you that as a diagnosis.

I have yet to know what she intends to do with the red haired gentleman's bank details, shoe size and the number of his return flight extracted without so much as a drop of scapolamine broached. Perhaps I shall hear tonight when she parties the multitude.

Upon request I am sure she would proffer you some Hibernian home remedies. I fear, however, the cure for clap will involve dipping you old man in poteen or perhaps applying a poultice of potato leaves and ones own urine. I have not cashed in any of her prescriptions since I tried blowing seawater up my nose to relieve congestion.

Varley, you are supposed to draw breath before a parting of the sea connects you to the mainland.

I enjoyed the breakfast, we need a good filling luncheon. Roast Beef and Yorkshire puddings OK? And good solid duff for afters.

Parties. Seases. Hoho (neither adjacent Islands do we call 'mainland').

May have recovered sufficient humanity for a late luncheon. I will have to telephone around to find out if I had a good time.

The Irish lady with whom I was breakfasting in London last October engaged the couple at the next table (in much the way as last Wednesday she ambushed a red haired gentlemen with and Irish accent when we were out dining with another friend of ours).

What a louche life you lead. One hopes adequate precautions have been taken.

One convivial breakfasting or two does not require any measure of risk management. Not unless you look or sound as if you might be Irish or might have an Irish second cousin less than thrice removed. I would keep your Guinness drinking private too, just in case (I think the clap-lecture-lady may have been overheard mentioning 'the horses' which is another sure eye for her Sherlock Holmesian hook).

I maintain a companionable distance, by nature and because, else, her handful of strapping off- and side- springs would arrange hogg-tying and hauling up a much too handy McDonald's sign post.

I confess I did hesitate there. Let's leave it at "elsewhere". That covers much geography.

I rather think it is what we are floating in that covers much geography. There is a little machine that helps us determine where it is despite it hiding in this fashion. (Two wishful thoughts there!)

Might have to pay that much to contract it. :(

Heading through the Strait of Magellan with Punta Arenas abeam to Port. We are on track for our rendezvous in B.A. :)

Farmer John and Varley report to the poop deck in working dress. We are setting the topgallant sails and need a bit of muscle.
Steam will have to give way to us now and possibly dip their ensigns, royalty or what?

Last time I dipped an ensign the colours ran. Looked bloody awful it did.

I could add some weight to a belaying stay but will take advice on arrangement of bedlinen from the chief steward not from a plumber. We are not US flag and fear we will have to dunk a cadet rather than dip an Ensign.

When you say "we" I presume you, Eric and Squeek are, what , hanging out some washing? Following the recommendations of a number of navigators of the Straits of Magellan, the decks have been liberally sprinkled with tacks, the natives cry out when they tread on them and alert us Sailors.

Eric and Squeek is injuneers, to them manual labour is a Spaniard, anyhoo injuneers don't trust wind, many unfortunate accidents have been caused by what we thought to be wind and wasn't :very_sad:

I think that Chippie would be able to advise about Spanish Wind-lasses if anyone needs any guidance into their applications.

When you can tell the difference between a buntline hitch and a double carrick bend you may only stand and watch real sailors. Best you stay below with your oil can and lubricate what needs to be. Besides muscle is setting stuns'ls, royals, and skys'ls. :cloud:

Gripe Water will lift most wind. Gripitini is an augmented Gripe Water and is recommended for sipping anytime after the sun has cleared the Yardarm.
Mr V, a big fan of gripitini is free from burps and other unwelcome escapes. It also helps the Ozone Layer, whatever that is. I think Trump could be right on this one.

Gripetini, indeed, keeps me free of any discomfort caused by wind. That is not to say those in close vicinity are not quite often offended by the therapeutic release that necessitates. And that's without a source of ignition.

If Tom and E-S don't get some soon the wind will completely encrypt their diction. The News of the World translated that as "muscling a royal in the setting sun". God knows where they got the photograph to go with it.

Ha-Ha smarty pants, I have the Ashley Book of Knots on my Kindle.


The deck crew on the MSC Opera can tie double carrick bends until the cows come home, she is still going to hit the quay wall. Buntline indeed.

Tying a knot with one hand, while holding the "how to do it" manual in the other calls for extreme dexterity, not unlike reassembling a valve gear timing train with the book of words propped against the Record No 6 vice on the other side of the engine room. You can't always rely on guesswork. When you can demonstrate successfully tying a bowline single handed, maybe the experienced deckies will let you join the happy throng.

We all learned to tie knots in the Sea Scouts, remember the bunny rabbit, the tree and the hole.


I'm now part of the throng!

https://youtu.be/5XIUiUOzq7Q

ES, that is not advisable, the Ashley Book of Knots that I have will crush your Kindle and leave you with a smoking ruin of technology, but I guess you are used to that.

My apologise E-S. I had no idea when teasing you that you were a senior member of the Dull Men's Club (for shipmates who may not know that can be found on a "social" medium in the bottom intellectual quartile of the internet). I have only reached the first degree and am therefore in serious default.

Steward!!
Prepare for a party on the pool deck. whoever wants to drink it is on me. some nice eats will be welcome too. Today I became 77 years of age so enjoy everybody.

Congratulations on your birthday Sir.
You are a year ahead of me!
I will be there for the party.
Is there any Coke Zero on board the GD for a spoilsport like me, please? :pint: :curtain_call: