Cabin fever

Rascals and curs they may have been, but depriving these swabs of their liberty and forcing them to live cheek by jowl was both cruel and unusual. To subsequently set them adrift the Alley-alley-oo, bobbing, for all intents and purposes, towards who knows where, thus fell somewhere between inhumane and frankly not cricket. The squall, therefore, was inevitable.

Breaking rank, the first mate stepped forward and uttered those words I had for so long been dreading:

“We wants a training day!”

Mutinous this may have seemed, but I had to concede that the team dynamic had been somewhat fraught of late. Furthermore, they numbered sixteen and there was but one of me.

It also happened that through previous networking I knew of the godfather of one of London’s most respected criminal syndicates. He could also conduct a mean business needs analysis – if anyone could identify our onboard skills gaps, it was he.

We arrived at his country retreat to find him barking orders at anyone in earshot, including his neighbours, passing vessels and a knob of quarrelsome widgeon. He eyed me from top to toe, greeting me warmly, “Ahoy there Sally!” This failed to buoy the crew’s confidence.


The Godfather
"The Admiral" Al Slasher
Likes: tavern wenches
Dislikes: Diet Coke