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.