All bound for Mu-Mu land

Outmanned and outgunned we might not have been, but hell hath no fury like a blood-lusty broad with two-foot of freshly sharpened sabre. Thus, discretion being the better part of valour, we tactically withdrew through the fire exit, hotly pursued by the psychotic hatchet-lass. No sooner were our feet back on our trusty planks, we cut and run, abandoning the whirling dervish to her splenetic jig. Even as the quayside was barely visible through our looksticks, there she was, frothing at the mouth and hurling oaths with such frenzy that even the most blackhearted of our own curs did cower.

The mainsail hoist and billowing well, we left these dark lands and progressed with good speed to rendezvous with the brethren court of the East Anglian coast. A jolly bunch of seadogs, uncommonly educated to boot, these hearties represented the crème de la crème of seaborne do-badders and skullduggerers.

Welcoming us to the roundtable came Mu the Merciless, a Catalan rogue whose cruel passion for serving the black flag was matched only by her heinous taste in shanties. Indeed, many an unfortunate soul had buried themselves at sea in order to avoid the prolonged aural assault of her caterwauling.

Soothsayer
Mu the Merciless
Likes: Martini and lemonade
Dislikes: The Mercury Prize

A family practice

In a matter of seconds, the slumped figure of the doc was knocking out Zs, and despite rigorous shaking and shouting, the best we could rouse from the drunken quack was a stale belch. No practitioner of physic was required to see that his rum slumber was not so much catnap as catatonic stupor.

With such debauch epitomising the parlous nature of the modern NHS, the British taxpayer has every right to indignant hand-wringing and outraged correspondence with the Daily Mail. To be sure, times are lamentable indeed.

As professional picaroons, however, our record of tithe payments was not exactly spotless – in truth, mild harrumphing would have wildly exceeded the scope of our entitlement. Thus, in lieu of pique, we played to our strengths and looted the old soak’s desk.

Three rubber bands and a wet dog-end later, we were no closer to early retirement when our efforts were untimely stopped by the screeching yo-ho-ho of a feisty female brigand.

‘If it’s his pieces of eight you’re after, you’ll be tasting a piece of my steel first,’ she grinned craftily, pulling out almost 30 inches of glinting Persian scimitar. ‘And in case you hadn’t guessed,’ she cackled, ‘I fights dirty.’



Payroll
Pinta Gordons
Likes: Curly-Wurlies
Dislikes: proportional representation

The life preserver

With the wench stowed, the mates mooted that shore leave was assuredly in order. A plan was thus formed to fetch back up at Doncaster and join the locals in celebrating the siege of Gibraltar.

With course set and headway good, the order was given to splice the mainbrace. The gunwales, hitherto stuffed with Caribbean firewater, were stripped bare by the grog-lusty crew, and the liquor went down faster than a torpedoed canoe.

Of the resultant ballyhoo the ship’s log says little – the sun was over the yardarm before the crew stirred, each suffering no small degree of alcohol poisoning, and, in the case of the bunting tosser, a broken nose. From what we could ascertain, his senses had been somewhat stirred by Ms Doe’s perfumed business card. His impromptu visit to her quarters, meanwhile, had correspondingly stirred her splendid right hook.

Having reached our port of call, we left her to her nosegays, knick-knacks and knuckledusters and took the misshapen lad to the infirmary, where, through clouds of tobacco smoke, the medic reluctantly viewed the aforementioned injury. He concurred – it was indeed a bloody mess – and retired to his desk for a tug on his flask and some shut-eye.


Resident Medical Officer
Ol' Dirty Kevin
Likes: high rollin'
Dislikes: fish