Jack Tar

Like moths to a lantern, the other brigands dumbly stumbled after the rotgut. Leading the party was Captain Buck Dirty, the grizzly, weather-beaten skipper of many a craft now languishing in Davy Jones’ locker. His shaking hands guarded his rum, as he fixed his glassy eyes on the mid-distance and his concentration on not collapsing on deck.

He cussed by way of introduction, coughed rapturously by way of emphasis, and let cigarette ash fall onto his belly as an encore. More accomplished soak than able seaman, it was hard to imagine him successfully navigate his way to the toilet, never mind the high seas.

His irregular rise to captaincy began with his receipt of a commodore’s outfit, a twenty-first birthday gift from his doting parents. After donning said costume, he marched brazenly onto the Ark Royal and began barking orders at the bridge crew. Crying mutiny as he was dragged to the brig, his subterfuge was sufficiently audacious that instead of keelhauling him there and then, the Admiral of the Fleet mistook him for the Lord Lieutenant of Monmouthshire and had him demoted to captain of HMS Quorn. The rest, he said, was history.


Coxswain
Captain Buck Dirty
Likes: Pot Noodle
Dislikes: alarm call