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

The whine of the latest mariner

So completed was this hellish thing, that caused us all such woe: for all averred they’d heard the word that gave us leave to go. We grabbed our kit, and that was it, the mates yelled ‘Westward Ho!’

To those ashore, we waved some more while sailing from the fen. Then all averred they were deterred from coming back again. ‘Twas right, said they, that come what may, we’d ne’er consult these men.

We flew with haste to prior place, as it was told to me, that our quick pace had left in place a water rat – a she.

Beyond Whitehall and further west, she waited all alone; she’d walked herself to Aylesbury – some four-score leagues from home.

Under a freezing winter’s sky, we met her there at noon. As we arrived, she wiped her eyes, and cursed us all quite soon.

Hour after hour, hour after hour, we paused for her to cease, like waiting for immortal wars to reach eternal peace.

Bawling, bawling, all the while, and all our ears did ache. Bawling, bawling, all the while, until our knees did quake.

My very soul did rot with guilt that ever this should be. She stormed onboard our slimy deck and left her bags with me.

Pressgang Officer
Jane Doe
Likes: monkey business
Dislikes: shenanigans

**Intermission**

Detained in brig. Release date scheduled for mid-July. See you land-lubbers soon...

Lawrence of Melancholia

Matters sartorial now shipshape we proceeded to the business of buccanerial discord. As part of a results-driven hardball programme to get our ducks in a row, the crew was broken into numerous focus groups. Over a moveable feast of low-hanging fruit we then netted out our goalposts while the Admiral kept his balls in the air. Finally, having strategically fit our ticks in the blue-sky boxes, we were ready to put our game plan to bed and concentrate on actioning our no-brainers and fast-tracking our big-ticket items.

Naturally, before we could discuss the lessons learned, we needed someone to benchmark our metrics. Key to this process was Mr Sad, a fellow of infinite gloom whose dejected aura caused the ambience such injury as to make an undertakers’ convention a more likely source of merriment.

With our notes and a heavy sigh, he retired to his murky corner, the sole ornament of which was a faded print of notable storms. Like broken convicts en route to the Gulag we attended our fate in mute anticipation.

Only when our hearts were fit to explode did he finally decide our fate and, in his hushed tones, solemnly deliver his decision: “Your team dynamic, sir, is OK”.

Grand Inquisitor
Larry Sad
Likes: nothing
Dislikes: everything

Where’s Wally?

Keen to reassure my good fellows that everything was proceeding *exactly* according to plan, I bade him desist with his tomfoolery, and shifted his patch so it no longer obscured his good eye.

“What miracle is this?!” he begged. “For five years have I seen naught, but now thou hast my sight restored!” He embraced me like a long-lost son, and told of how he had awoken one morning, blind as the proverbial. Ever the sage, he had attributed this novel handicap to the questionable moonshine he’d knocked back after a particularly hard night of dice and wenching.

With the benefit of hindsight, he now realised that said impediment was more likely due to his wayward valet, who on finding the opportunity for mischief had evidently seized it with both hands before scarpering toot-suite to the ale house.

With great fury and oaths he strode to the door and bellowed for his manservant. The rascal appeared directly and, without missing a beat, asked whether the admiral should care to have his breeches fetched before or after the imminent disciplinary hearing.

And so, gaze averted, we waited for the gentleman’s gentleman to confine the admiral’s gentleman to quarters more befitting the occasion.


Gentleman’s gentleman
Wally Wallace, The Plunderer of Penzance
Likes: electricity
Dislikes: icebergs