The 500 pirates project: The sum of all fears

That the mates’ quarters were cramped, briny and dank, I would never deny - although for preference I would describe them as charmingly bijou, and oozing with character and atmospheric lighting (indeed, sans dank, what is a pirate ship but a boutique ferry?) This opinion, however, was not universally held, and the crewmen were increasingly clamouring for doilies, horse brasses and crocheted toilet-roll cosies. In short, the first mate informed me, if we didn’t get our mitts on some homely fabrics and sympathetic soft furnishings toot suite, the ensuing squall would down us faster than a signal-flare duel in the gunpowder room.

While I am ever-keen to respond to my crew’s needs and, aye, whims, I have to confess that from time to time, getting their collective head around the, shall we say, big picture issues, is no trivial endeavour. Nevertheless, I am not an ogre, and knowing how to react appropriately to such bottom-up rumblings is naturally a matter of professional pride. Thus, after having all hands soundly flogged for their impudence, I led the bridge crew to Windy Miller’s Boudoir of the Great Inside, where the eponymous master craftsmadam and haberdasher (by appointment) plied her trade.