The Seven Seas Sagas
These are the voyages of
HMS Rigid.
Our
continuing mission:
To maintain the safety
and sovereignty of these blessed United Kingdom of British Islands. Well, the
jury is out on Scotland,
though.
To seek out and
destroy enemies of Brexit without compunction, hesitation or mercy.
To boldly repel all
boarders, all aliens and any other filthy non tax paying, benefits scrounging
scum we encounter.
EPISODE 7: ‘CHOCKS AWAY’
Rear Admiral Thundertosser’s Log
Captain’s Bunk, HMS Rigid
Position – The
Sea
Somewhere in the sea a
bit near to Spain where we
can spy on Spain using a
telescope through my porthole pointed towards Spain.
0100: It is a hot and sticky night. I
toss on the toss and swell of the Atlantic
Sea. The damp stains on
my sheets are damply sticking to my back, thighs and matting my chest hairs.
0115: Trouble sleeping, so instead I
pitch and yaw, getting all of a tangled up in my sticky sheets. I have less
clean sheets than Joe Hart. Snort. One for the book.
0130: Went to Admiral’s Heads to pass an
Admiral’s Log. There was no paper. Blowpipe forgot to replace the finished
roll. Displeased to have to carefully tear the 2 ply cardboard inner into
usable sheets. Not sure that they were as effective as ship’s standing orders
required. Wiped sticky finger on sticky sheets. Glad Her Majesty was not using
my cabin. Or was planning a nightly inspection. Would not like to shake her
hand for fear of staining her white cotton gloves.
0135: Reluctant to re-enter bunk.
0145: Admiral’s Resolution - Blowpipe is
in for a severe bollocking when he pokes his head around my cabin door later.
0146: Decided my life is hell. Nobody
understands. How difficult is it to put a bog roll in the Admiral’s Heads? Not
just that, it’s lonely at the top. It’s hell here, out on the oceans. And we
must wait. Wait. Trouble is Brewing. The Spanish are revolting. I have a sea
dog’s nose for such things and that nose is spying trouble when I spy it
through my telescope. That is why we have heaved-to out here. To wait. Wait for
the brewing trouble to brew. And for me to spy it.
0147: Pleased to note, by poking my telescope up the
rear, that Petty Officer Tongs and Midshipman
Stonkly are up the fo'c'sle, lashed at their stanchions and ready to repel all
boarders. We never get any boarders because this is not a boarding school.
0148: Snort. Another one for‘Admiral’s Joke Book’.
0149: Damn, damn, damn. Can’t take any more. Am off
to the bridge for cocoa and to belay the yard arm with the ship’s swagger stick.
Thundertosser:
How now, Blowpipe? How goes the watch?
Blowpipe:
Begging your pardon, sir, but I’m not talking to
you, sir.
Thundertosser:
Not talking to me? Why the blazes not, you
impudent boy?
Blowpipe:
Cos of the way you treat
me, sir.
Thundertosser:
Treat you?
Blowpipe:
Well all you do is shout at me, sir. Blowpipe,
do this, Blowpipe do that, Blowpipe bend over and bite the ship’s wheel, sir.
Thundertosser:
I have never knowingly asked you to bite the
ship’s wheel, Blowpipe.
Blowpipe:
Exactly, sir. You don’t treat me like a human
being, sir. You just order me about like you’re some kind of superior officer
and I’m just the muck on your shoes, sir.
Thundertosser:
Well, damn it; I am a superior officer,
Blowpipe.
Blowpipe:
Well I’ve had enough, sir. If you don’t start
respecting my human rights I’ll start wearing this ‘Me Too’ T Shirt, sir.
Thundertosser:
Me Too? What’s that? Some sort of Star Wars
robot?
Blowpipe:
Oh you can scoff, sir, but there’s plenty more
of us what feel the same. Do you think it’s an accident there was no paper in
Admiral’s heads? What’s that on your fingers, sir?
Thudertosser:
Oh shut up, Blowpipe and get me my cocoa, unless
you want my boot up your arse. Do you want me to get Midshipman Stonkly to flog
you for insubordination?
Blowpipe:
Well don’t blame me if me and Tongs defect to
the Spanish Navy, sir, that’s all I’m saying.
Thundertosser:
Defect? Spain? You impertinent blaggard! I
didn’t get out of my bunk to hear your mutinous claptrap, Blowpipe! I got out
of my bed due to a hot, sticky feeling that I want you to deal with.
Blowpipe:
Well I’ve a mind to defect, sir. You can keep
your ten of port on, starboard fifteen sir. Admiral Juan Carlos McTavistock of
the Royal Spanish Navy has promised me and Tongs special dispensation, sir.
Thundertosser:
Well that’s not surprising, anyway. The bloke’s
a bald as a coot and grateful for anything he can get. What’s that?
Blowpipe:
What, sir?
Thundertosser:
Off the starboard bow. An incoming bogey at ramming
speed.
Blowpipe:
Bogey, sir? Shall I get the ship’s handkerchief,
sir?
Thundertosser:
Shut up, Blowpipe and clap the telescope to your
eye, boy. Tell Stonkly to stand by to repel all boarders. Sound red alert.
Blowpipe:
No need to worry, sir. It’s the man from Milk
Tray.
Thundertosser:
Milk Tray?
Blowpipe:
Yes, you know, sir. Special Agent Milk Tray,
sir. Swoops from high buildings, dives over plunging waterfalls, hurdles rapids
like a leaping salmon and delivers chocolates to beautiful queens, sir, and all
because the lady loves…
Thundertosser:
This is Her Majesty’s navy. There are no
beautiful queens here!
Blowpipe:
Oh, I don’t know, sir…
Thundertosser:
What do you mean, boy?
Blowpipe:
Well, those chocolates are probably for me and
Tongs, sir. From Admiral Juan Carlos. Here he is now, sir.
Thundertosser:
You! Special Agent Quality Street or whatever your
name is. You’re under arrest!
Blowpipe:
Shall I clap him in irons, sir?
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
Wait. I beg of you. I come with a special
message from Admiral Juan Carlos. He sends you these as a measure of his trust.
Thundertosser:
What are they, Blowpipe?
Blowpipe:
Ferrero Rocher, sir
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
That’s right, Able Seaman, after all, as you
Islanders say, the Admiral is world renowned for his reception parties. With
these he is spoiling you.
Thundertosser:
Is he? Well, we in the UK are no
slouches either when it comes to reception parties, you know.
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
Pah and gah! Cocktail sausages on sticks? Cheese
and pineapple stuck in an upturned halved grapefruit? We spit upon your
reception parties here in Europe.
Thundertosser:
Well, what kind of fancy pyramid is that? One
heavy wave and the whole lot would tip over, spill on the deck and present a
hazard to navigation! Blowpipe! Relieve him!
Blowpipe:
What, here, sir? On the bridge, sir? In front of
Chief Petty Officer Noblik, sir?
Thundertosser:
No, no. I mean relieve him of that hazardous
plate of chocolates, you blundering jackanapes.
Blowpipe:
Oh, I see. With pleasure, sir.
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
Wait, wait, wait - we have, how you say, got off
on the wrong foot. The incorrect old plates of meat.
Blowpipe:
Meat? Where?
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
Shut up, Blowpipe. I have this message from Juan
Carlos, Admiral. He is offering a truce and cessation of hostilities. With
certain…conditions.
Thundertosser:
Let me see that, Agent Rittersport.
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
Certainly, Admiral.
Thundertosser:
What’s this? “Dear Rear Admiral Thundertosser.
Prior to Brexit, I accidentally insured my car with UK company ‘Sure Thing’ Finance.
They automatically renewed it without my permission. Please could you cancel my
policy and tell them I no longer need it and I want my money back. Yours
sincerely, Admiral Juan Carlos McTavistock.” And here is a telephone number. Is
this some kind of joke, Rowntrees?
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
Joke? No, sir. He says that the UK has blocked
all telephone lines and only you can successfully cancel the transaction. It is
an emergency. The next direct debit of twenty five pounds and seventeen pence
is due to be taken from his account in three days.
Blowpipe:
Three days? That doesn’t give us much time!
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
Exactly. The clock, as you Britishers say, is
ticking.
Thundertosser;
Yes, indeed. These people are bastards. Well
pass me the ship’s telephone, Blowpipe. There’s no time to lose. Hello? Hello?
Who’s this? Option 1, 2 or 3? What are you talking about? If I have access to
the website I can easily make a fast payment from the comfort of my armchair?
Hello?
Blowpipe:
What’s happening, sir?
Thundertosser:
It’s difficult to say. There seems to be some
infernal tune playing on a constant loop. It starts. Builds to a crescendo.
Stops. There’s a pause, then the whole thing repeats itself. Fourth time now.
Fifth. Sixth.
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
Ah yes. This happened to Juan Carlos himself. He
assumed it was your English way of blocking him. He had to listen for a whole
two hours. Nearly ran the ship aground on Dogger’s Bank.
Blowpipe:
Oh, I say.
Thundertosser:
Hello? Ah…finally. I’ve been waiting for twenty
bloody minutes. Is that ‘Sure Thing’ Insurance? Yes, Thundertosser’s the name.
Admiral, to you. No, no, I don’t want their number. Are they? Oh. Hang on. Er…it
seems there’s a different insurance company that actually is called Admiral.
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
I see. Another of your so called English jokes,
eh? Juan Carlos will be most displeased.
Thundertosser:
Shut up, Cadbury. Now see here, my man. You
renewed a policy set up by an acquaintance of mine called Juan Carlos and
extracted money from his bank account. No he didn’t give you permission. It
says here that he cancelled the direct debit. You set another one up? What do
you mean you set another one up? Now look. He spends most of time at sea. Why
does he want you to insure a car he doesn’t own anymore? Yes, that’s right.
Ship. At sea. You can’t drive a car in the sea. No it isn’t one of those ones
like James Bond had in ‘The Spy Who Loved Me.’ Those are made up cars. I don’t care if
you thought you saw one at Bigbury on Sea. E mail? What do you mean he should
have emailed you? How should he know that? Small print?
Blowpipe:
Well done, sir. You’ve got them on the ropes,
sir.
Thundertosser:
Close Brothers? Who the bloody hell are the
Close Brothers? Ah. Hang on…Er, it seems that the Close Brothers handle all
financial matters for ‘Sure Thing’ insurance these days. Well, that’s all right
then.
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
These Close Brothers. They are friends of yours?
How many brothers do they number?
Thundertosser:
Hello! Is that the Close Brothers? It is?
Excellent. Now, see here…Ah, hang on. Blowpipe? Can you fetch my debit card?
They want my bank details.
Blowpipe:
Certainly, sir. Right away, sir.
Thundertosser:
OK, yes. 17554923. Sort Code? Yes – ah – 02 – 72
– 85. Thank you. Thank you very much. No – I’m sorry, entirely my fault.
Goodbye.
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
What happened?
Thundertosser:
It seemed I owed the Close Brothers sixty four
pounds and twenty two pence. They were going to send bailiffs around to board
HMS Rigid next Tuesday. Still, no harm done, Mackintosh.
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
What about Juan Carlos’ insurance policy?
Thundertosser:
They say it’s his fault for not dealing with a
reputable company instead of a mickey mouse outfit designed to rip the unwary
off and if he crashes his car it was highly likely they wouldn’t pay out
anyway.
Special
Agent Milk Tray:
This means war. And you can give me those
chocolates back. Defect? You? I spit upon your so called defection.
Blowpipe:
I’m confused dot com. Where’s he gone?
Thundertosser
Never mind that. I want my cocoa!
Blowpipe:
Me, too.
Meanwhile. On the fo'c'sle.
Tongs:
Oh dear. Another international
incident.
Stonkly:
Quiet, Tongs, you blithering idiot!
Tongs:
Sorry, sir. Just trying to
disentangle my legs from these Spanish chocolates, sir
Stonkly:
Shut up, Tongs and mind your
stanchion.
Tongs:
Right you are, sir. Do you think Juan
Carlos will complain, sir?
Stonkly:
How should I know? What’s that off
the starboard bow?
Tongs:
I think it’s the Close Brothers sir.
Stonkly:
Close Brothers? How do you know?
Tongs:
Well…er…they look quite similar…and…
Stonkly:
Yes?
Tongs:
They’re quite…er…close…
Stonkly:
I thought that was utterly pathetic,
Tongs
Tongs:
Yes, sir. Me, too.
