Jack Be Nimble

It was about four months ago when I climbed into my bunk and turned on my computer to discover that someone had been on it. During what I expect was a Frape gone awry (that means to put up a bogus status on another’s Facebook, for my older readers), someone had found and had a good read of a Porthole with a View.

To be clear, it was never my intention to keep A Porthole with a View from my fellow crew mates, apart from Kay of course who reads avidly, but as my accounts of Gale’s outlandishly juvenile behaviour increased in unfavourability, I became less inclined to spill the beans on myself and the airing of his, and to an extent, all of our, dirty laundry.

Months passed, Porthole gained popularity, and I no longer concerned myself with the moral dilemma of sharing my blog. It wasn’t until recently that Kay and I were shootin’ the breeze in the galley when we heard the Leader referring to Mario by his blog alias. We chuckled at his naive faux pas and continued talking shit, and it wasn’t until later at the lunch table when the Leader referred to a few of us by our blog names in normal conversation that I realised that I’d been found out.

‘How did you find it?’ I quizzed him as soon as everyone had left the room.

He explained who had let the cat out of the bag, and continued, ‘Let me start by saying that it is one of the funniest things I have ever read, I nearly peed. A few crew members are upset that they weren’t asked first though and as captain you have created a real shit storm for me to clean up. Of course, if Gale ever finds out I’ll have to fire someone’.

Namely, me.

We called a crew meeting to discuss who had drunkenly put a box of vegetables in Kay’s bed the night before and what an arsehole I was, and we concluded that whilst everyone generally likes the idea of A Porthole with a View (except Magnus, who no longer talks to me), it was necessary to keep Gale from finding it so as not to hurt his big, gay feelings, which I imagine are nestled in a warm and fuzzy place somewhere between his sensitive nipples and his vagina. What a bitch.

Later that day Spencer announced his resignation from The Good Ship and we were all sad and a little jelly. He’s had an offer that he couldn’t refuse on another boat and the bastard is currently enjoying a slower paced lifestyle with more time off, what a fucker.

To replace Spencer ‘Sexy Fingers’, we got in Jack, a shit hot Norf Londoner with an ok sense of humour, no experience, and non-existent grammar skills. Basically just a pretty face. I give him a monf.

Put a Cork in it.

So the shit has finally hit the fan and A Porthole With A View has been discovered. Fortunately, I will neither be getting fired nor sued. Unfortunately, however, Porthole will be set to private for the next few months, and unavailable to many readers. For now.

As this is my main means of communication, I encourage my aquintences, friends and family to request viewer permission / sign up by email / become a member or whatever that thing is that one has to do to continue being filled in on the hilarity of life at sea. With any luck, my tiny woman brain will figure out how to do this within a day or two.

Thank you to everyone for their support and encouragement, and a special thank you to me, for making this all possible. Y'all are welcome.

A caravan in Periwinkle Blue

Now the amusing thing about arriving back to work is that while the boat was getting work done here:

X marks the spot

We were obliged to stay here: 

 

A real, live gyppo campsite called Bloemketerp.

View of the Pikeys

Fortunately, our time back in Holland was brief and our days were mostly spent working until 11 pm and / or making a name for ourselves down at the local. One night in particular comes to mind, that involved a tower of beer empties taller than the Leader, Magnus almost getting punched for waving his country’s flag in people’s faces after beating Holland that evening in the Euro Cup, Mario almost getting arrested again, Spencer ‘Sexy-fingers’ being offered 1000euro to indulge in someone who was clearly a lesbian and Kay commandeering a ride on a bicycle, good ol’ side-saddle, back to the campsite. What are we like? Ironically, like pikeys, it seems.

Just before we were about to launch and make the ten day journey back into the Med, Mini Me, currently in the UK on vacay, rang to say that she'd done her back in and wouldn't be returning to work for another month. Cue the mad scramble for yet another crew member. Never a dull day.

Going by the human remains Mario has dragged back in the past, namely Quanesha and the Scandy bitch that was as wide as she was tall, and whatever other crumb bums that now escape my memory. Against my better judgement I flew Charlie in anyway, and was overjoyed to meet the sexy hot momma that is not only as competant as she is good looking, but that fits into our size 2 uniform and is as crazy as the rest of us. Quadruple win.

We crossed the English channel again, stopped for a shop in Gibraltar, sailed right passed our home island off Spain and parked our asses in the Cote d'Azur in the French Riviera just in time to pick up the boss. We've made our way from Cannes, to Monaco, to somewhere in shItaly and we now sit in the magnificent Porto Fino, already dreaming of the end of season...