I wanna tell you a stoooory...

[Cyclefrance]

Trouble is, none of you have probably heard of Max Bygraves who was assigned that signature phrase as an entertainer.

Not to worry, this thread isn't meant to be about him, but it is meant to be about writing a story. Anyone can join in - in fact it doesn't work unless you do. The rules are simple - you use the name of another dweller in your part of the story and normally you have to mention whatever music was playing at that point in the plot. The last one we did can be seen here if you have no bloody idea what I'm going on about, or just want to see how the plot twists and turns at each entry....

For a subject to start with (and it won't be surprising if it takes off in a completely different direction at any time) how about a nice pirate adventure. 'Talk like a Pirate Day' is still months away so we need something to keep us amused. We'll have to use a bit of prosaic licence though regarding the music bit - I think we can allow an old 78rpm wind-up jobbie to have existed then (just) or maybe the earliest type of crystal set radio (I know that's pushing it, but If you've got a better idea then let me know!)

Yes, that should do it, a nice pirate adventure... Do you know, I can almost hear the deckboards creaking underfoot now...

And I can see them clearly, the sails are billowing in a stiff breeze as the bow of our mighty galleon rises and falls, breaking spray across the ships bows. A lone figure stands on the poop eyeglass to his, ...uhm,,,? ...ah yes, ...eye!

Cap'n Undertow (unfortunate name that - one he tried not to live up to), UT to his friends and fellow officers, scanned the horizon, aware just how attractive his precious cargo would be to the pirates that roamed this part of the Spanish Main - UT's Boo-ty - but they weren't going to get their hands on it - oh no, no-one stole Undertow's cargo!

And here he was sailing between the islands with not another vessel in sight -except for that tiny blip on the horizon. It certainly looked like a ship, but it didn't seem to be getting any closer. Yet whenever he raised the glass to his...... eye (no I hadn't forgotten - not that quickly, anyway - I know I'm getting on a bit, but the dementure's not THAT far advanced...), there it was. Definitely looked like a ship...

The cabin boy sniggered to himself. He thought old Ootee (as he believed his name to be) would have spotted the little spec-like ship he'd glued to the end of the eye-glass by now, but clearly he hadn't... but there was another ship - it was behind them, and HE HAD spotted it, and it was gaining on them too. The boy squeezed tighter into the space he had made for himself and the ship's gramophone behind the cannonball store. The record hissed as the needle scratched out its tune -'All the nice girls love a sailor, all the nice girls love a....' the cabin boy whilpped the needle away from the record - yuk, girls, who wants GIRLS....!

Capt'n Kit (not to be confused with Kidd) was out for a prize! His fellow pirates had unanimously elected him Ship's Captain in the last field of 64 over a bottle of rum and a dead man's chest. The dead man being the former pirate captain who had expired quite suddenly whilst partaking of a dish of hamburger burger served to him by that sloe eyed seductress, Brianna. Brianna had become weary of the old fart's tendency to have TWO girls in every port, and may possibly have laced the old boy's final meal with some added delicacy. If so, none of the rest complained. The deceased was mourned by no one, least of all the band of rapscallions under his command who had strong suspicions that he was cheating them out of pieces of silver, maps to hidden treasures, and worst of all shorting them on their rum ration! The wake had been quite festive in fact, especially when the young pirate, Kit Soonie, had discovered the captain's stash of Bacardi Gold (151 proof!) and ordered it equally distributed among the crew! He was elected new captain at once and after the funeral festivities were over and all had recovered from their hangovers, the merry band of brigands set sail in quest of whatever opportunity the sea might send their way. UT's ship appeared to be it!

Meanwhile, UT finally discovered the cabin boy's little trick. "LJ," he shreiked, "You appear to have pasted a smilie on my spy glass! I'll get you for this!"

"But not before THEY will!" said the unrepentent boy, pointing back at the pirate's vessel which was quickly gaining ground (or actually sea) behind them. The grammaphone began to play a saucy tune by the 10,000 maniacs.

[skysidhe]

"Battan down the hatches!","Ready all cannon!" "Fire on my order!" , says captian blye. ( I mean UT.)

The boy leaves his grammaphone to hide and escape by one of the dingy boats if need be. He settles down under the tarp watching the pirate boat approaching dead astern with eyes as large as saucers. This should be the story of a lifetime the boy says to himself.


Brianna proceeds to the galley. Not out of fear. Oh no. She has a constitution as strong as any male. She..........

[Cyclefrance]

Brianna stopped suddenly. Hang on, she thought, where's my sign-off music??? Oh! there it is - it's dropped into the next entry. Could be a problem…, but I'm sure that nice Mr Cyclefrance will let me in .... oh - coooeee...!

UT was surprised to see Brianna aboard his vessel, He was sure that she had actually set to sail on Capt. Kit's ship. Still stranger things had happened at sea. He'd always had a soft spot for Bri, in any case. And long before old Soonie came on the scene.

Brianna sidled up to him seductively (at the same time managing unnoticeably to retrieve the gramophone record from the previous entry that had become wedged in the sail rigging. Hmm The Sailor’s Hornpipe. Probably not what I’m thinking it is anyway, she thought – and with that she slipped it into her handbag - all in one deftly and surreptitiously executed move - clever girl!)

'Speak to me, UT. Pleeeease say something - it's been such a long time.'

Ut turned towards Brianna, was about to speak to her, but then noticed some slimy substance on his trouser leg: 'My God! How on earth did that muck get there - it's all over my trousers... and look at my shirt, covered in grime from the rigging... and, and, and… and now I've got black all over my hands as well...'

'Ooooh, UT!' exclaimed Brianna. 'I just love it when you talk dirty!!'

‘Really, Bri, do you ever think of anything else but se…. no, on second thoughts, forget I said that. Look, old girl, I haven’t much time right now. Bit of a battle about to start – over there just behind us. Capt Kit, I have no doubt - I can tell by the flag he’s flying – the Skull and crossbones over a bottle of Bacardi 151 Gold. Where on earth does he get the stuff from?’

Brianna blushed. ‘I’m sorry UT, That was my fault. Although the job of loading it all on board was down to my manservant, Flint – he carried it all. And, actually, I wasn’t going to give Kit any Bacardi Gold to begin with, but Flint kept going on, and on and on, using all those long words and everything,. There was no escape, and I just HAD to get rid of him somehow, and it seemed the best thing to do. I mean he’s not the sort of person you can ignore once he gets going is he. Anyway, it was the very, very, extra strong stuff, so, actually, I think you should thank me, so there!’

‘Thank you? THANK YOU?? Why should I do that???’

‘Well, just look at them. They hardly seem to be going in a straight line now, do they? And it’s not as if they’re sailing against the wind, or anything…’

This Brianna knows a bit more about sailing than meets the eye, thought UT. And sure enough, as he looked, Capt Kit’s ship was slewing this way and that, and not presenting so much of the danger that it first appeared it might. Maybe it wouldn’t do to shoot him out of the water in his state, especially as Brianna was on board as well.

Plan B, thought UT: ‘Hold the cannon me hearties! We’re going alongside and board the ship! Take all the crew, officers and Capt Kit prisoner, clap ‘em all in irons, and throw in the hold!’

And with that the good ship under UT’s command, the Flossie Jetsam hove to alongside the other vessel, the Bacardi Breezer.

Hidden behind the wheel listening to all this crouched a small annoying figure muttering to himself: ‘Well I wouldn’t have used a smilie if I’d been the cabin boy – colored text would have done fine. Sending me across like that, like I’m some sort of errand boy. The indispensability of someone so uncharacteristically intelligent as I clearly escapes her. Not that I’m being sarcastic or anything, I mean if you look at what I’ve just said it’s really very humorous. Well, I’m not going to change anyway, so there! Ooo-err! what’s happening?’

Flint found himself rotating at 78 revolutions per minute. He’d managed to knock the start button and, as a result of his rapid rotation, he quickly tumbled from the platform on which he had been sitting – the deck of the gramophone. This obstacle removed, the needle came down and started playing the disk that was there: ‘Dizzy, I’m so dizzy. I’m so dizzy I’m spinning round…’

‘That’s not funny,' said Flint – oh, dear...wrong again….

Grappling Irons were soon attached to the Bacardi Breezer. "Look! Its a bunch of Helpie Helpertons," shreiked the pirate, Bee Es Steve.

"Now, now, calm down," commanded Capt'n Kit. "They appear to have taken the lovely Brianna captive. Give a pirate a moment to think here."

But the contingent of the crew from Adieu atta Gallup were not prone to thought.

"We'll clone Brianna for you, Capt'n!" they shreiked.

Before Capt'n Kit had a chance to reply to this outrageous suggestion, the grammaphone had given one last furious revolution, rather like a tilt-a-wheel at the carnival, and the centrifugal force had launched Flint into the air, landing him onto the deck of the Barcardi at Kit's feet.

"Spare me," begged the hapless Flint. "Every person has value!"

"Aye, matey," agreed the pirate Tonchi (who also happened to be Kit's next in command), "But some have less value than others. What say we tie this fine speciman with rope, throw him in the hold, and toss him out next time we're near Fresno?"

"AYE!" roared the pirate crew.

"Please, let me walk the plank. I'll use similes! Anything but Fresno!" begged Flint. Tau Pau, Queen of the Universe, walked over and spat up a hairball on the quivering Flint.

"Its unanimous then," announced Kit. Throw him in the hold and repel all boarders!"

The pirate crew scurried to obey Kit's order and Flint found himself in the ship's hold along with 201 casks of Bacardi, 17 lost treasure maps, and a tupperware container of Brianna's infamous Hamburger Burger recipe. X marks the spot!

Meanwhile on the decks above the pirates had scrambled to their stations with cutlesses in their teeth and bottles of rum in their hands.

"Wait! Stop everything!" yelled UT. "We've been Farked!"

The grammaphone began to play Dave Matthews "Crash into me."

(Psssst! John! I don't think "they" read down here. We could have lots of fun!)

[DucksNuts]

(i'm pretty sure we are reading, and enjoying :p)

[Cyclefrance]

The whole two ships fell momentarily silent – a pregnant pause in the proceedings (don’t look at me like that - I never went near her!). The two mighty galleons seemed to lurch as one, as the long and powerful tentacles of the great white fark tightened their grip about the ships' hulls. Yes, one might say everyone was totally farked!

The boards creaked even more than they used to, already splintering in places. Something had to be done, and fast, or both ships and all their crews would be taking the downward path to Davy Jones (and I don’t mean the one from the Monkees) locker.

‘That’s the trouble with the Spanish Main! exclaimed UT. ‘Full of pirates AND sea monsters. I’m just not equipped to deal with a fark this trip!’

‘Aaah, but I am…!!’

UT turned to see a rather stunning looking female clad in what seemed to be a one piece, skin-tight, curves-defining, ocean-blue coloured, well, if he had to give the garment any name at all, it would have be ‘suit’, though he couldn’t think why, as the suit hadn’t been invented yet.

Across the lady's rather ample and certainly appealing chest were strapped two belts, forming an ‘x’ between her really very ample cleavage (oh, I see, I’ve mentioned that already, but it was some cleavage, I can tell you, and certainly worth the second mention) and containing throwing knives of every variety. Around her waist another belt laced with water-proofed pre-prepared packets of powder and ball, ready to be loaded at speed into the two double barrelled pistols that hung from the belt about her hips, their holsters, secured to her very shapely thighs with leather thongs – yet still space for the two cutlasses that also hung at her sides. The whole ensemble completed with black thigh-length, tight-fitting pirate (well, what else?) boots.

‘Wh- who are you?’ UT asked nervously, his mouth feeling suddenly rather dry… (for indeed this comely female wore a mask across her eyes, concealing her identity, but permitting the bright green irises of her sparkling eys to shine through the slits made to accommodate them in this black bandana).

‘Why, handsome, that’s for me to know and for you to find out – but let’s say you can call me Galaxy Woman! Of course , only if you want to…’ the words seemed to ooze from the female’s pouting lips, her long black hair spilling over her shoulders.

And with that she leapt towards a handily dangling rope and swung herself out across the side of the Flossie Jetsam – letting go at that precise moment that was presented to permit her to dive headlong towards the writhing body of the monstrous fark – drawing knife and cutlass as she fell.

Hmm, thought UT – Galaxy Woman…? Now could that mean she comes from within our pirate band, or is she just using that name to throw me off the scent, and she is in fact from the Cellar’s crew?

No more time for thoughts such as these – the mystery of true identity would have to wait, as over the side mayhem ensued. As she landed on the monsters bulbous head she slashed and severed first one, then two and then a third of its might tentacles. But then a fourth tentacle grabbed her by the waist, squeezing the breath from her (getting exciting, isn’t it?). Her ample bosom heaved under the pressure, her breasts pounding against the tight fabric of her costume (sorry couldn’t resist mentioning it again - it is Friday after all, and the lads deserve a treat). Suddenly her hands broke free from its deadly grasp, and in a single bound (all the best adventure stories have at least one single bound) she was free. She pulled her pistols from her side and slammed four rounds of lead into the monsters brain. Its grip relaxed around both her and the ships, and it slid silently beneath the seas, taking our heroine with it. She gave a wave to UT, took an enormous gasp of air and was gone.

Would we see her again? Who was she? UT had but a spare moment to think as again the battle on board the two galleons proceeded.

‘Look out UT!’ It was Lookout123 living up to his name. UT side-stepped as a pirate swung past him and crashed to the deck

The gramophone, appropriately, was just sounding out the cannon sequence from the 1812 overture….

Cutlesses flashed! Cannons roared! But the two ships and their crews were evenly matched. After an hour's swash buckling action with no clear victory either way, Brianna emerged from the ship's galley with a large casserole.

"You boys must be famished! What say you all take a little lunch break? I've put the kettle on for a nice cup of tea, too."

"TEA?" roared the pirates in outrage (the question of beverages was still a sore point among them)

"Well, I hear rum goes quite nicely with tea," replied Brianna diplomatically.

"Arrrg, Missy! Then I'm up for it if they are," responded the pirate Kagen, nodding to the pirates clustered round him. "You wouldn't have any Foster's down there, as well, might ye?"

"Well, I beleive I did notice a keg of Foster's, come to think of it," said Lookout, still living up to his name as a man with a fine eye for detail.

Brianna had prepared a feast! Both sides formed lines into the ship's gally and emerged with plates piled high with fried chicken and potato salad, steamed clams and corn on the cob.

Cap't Kit and UT found themselves eating buffalo wings together on the poop deck.

"Heh, heh! We really snuck up on you, didn't we?" said Kit to UT.

UT showed Kit the spy glass with the smilie still pasted on it. "You just can't good help these days," he complained.

"Have you thought of offering pet insurance for your emplyees?" asked Kit. I've found that a good 401K plan with pet insurance is just the ticket! We had every pirate in Barbados clamoring to join the crew!"

"Hmm..." said UT. He was growing drowsy in the warm afternoon sun, his stomach filled with clams and potato salad and starting to doze off a little.

Then he remembered something which jerked him sharply awake.

"Say, what did you lads do with Flint?"

"Flint?" for a moment Kit couldn't remember who Flint was.

"Oh, Flint! Well, matey, we have him in our hold. You have Brianna and we have Flint. I think you have rather the better end of the deal, eh?"

UT smiled with satisfaction. He quite agreed with the pirate captain on this one.

"So, what are you going to do with him?" asked UT

Kit shrugged his shoulders and thought...

The grammaphone began to play, "What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor..."

[Cyclefrance]

(In memory yet again of Robert Rankin - he'll kill me if he finds out!)

Kit thought for a while about Flint, but not long. Yes, sooner or later they would have to decide his fate, but for now he had bigger issues to deal with and not least the precious cargo aboard the Flossie Jetsam

UT yawned. He was feeling tired and relaxed and he could just nod off for a while – not long, just a few minu….zzzzzzzzzz.

Kit smiled, The sleeping draft he had dropped into UT’s mug while he wasn’t looking had taken effect. He looked around to his crew and gave the sign. They gave the sign back (see, Flint....?).

The air was full of the sound of snoring from the Flossie crew. And that included Brianna – he was not so sure he could trust her now, either.

Kit called over Kagen, Bee Es Steve, Tiddybaby and Chey… where was the girl? No matter - probably in the powder room (get it? Powder room, play on words, funny, eh? – oh, never mind), brushing her long flowing hair and putting lipstick on those pouting lips of hers. Not to worry.

Quietly he said to them: ‘Right lads, let’s go have a look in the hold at what exactly this precious cargo is that they are carrying.’ More loudly he addressed the crew:’ You lot stay here and keep lively. If any of the Flossie’s crew wake up, send them to sleep again – the hard way, this time!’ The various sailors toyed with their truncheons (not those truncheons – the ones you hit people over the head with – oh, well, I suppose maybe some of you might…).

The four pirates stepped gingerly down the steps into the hold. It was dark after the bright sunlight outside. Kit lit a torch and the flames danced as did their shadows which were cast about the room.

The hold seemed strangely empty. Nothing really in it, except a small round table on which sat an even smaller purple, plump, velvet cushion. And in the middle of the cushion was….. Kit wasn’t quite sure, but it looked like some form of vegetable.

The four stopped and Kit bent closer to the strange looking small red bulbous… radish? Yes, it was a radish all right, complete with its little green leaves still attached. Quite an attractive looking… Kit jumped inwardly – what was he thinking? He moved closer still, extending his finger and lightly touching the perfectly formed vegetable.

‘Oi! Who the hell do you think you are poking?’ A distinctly English voice

‘Who said that?’ exclaimed Kit.
‘Who said what, Cap’n?’ the other three answered as one (well not really answered, as it was another question)

‘They can’t hear me,’ said the first voice. ‘I’m not saying anything, I’m speaking to you through your brain. You hear what I am saying in your thoughts. God in heaven, you are a thick one. Anyone knows radishes don’t have mouths so how on earth can they talk! Anyway, who are you, I haven’t seen you before?

‘Aaagh, it talked , it talked, the radish talked!!!’ Kit screamed.

‘Cap’n, Cap’n - what’s the matter with you? No one’s said anything!’

‘No… no… of course not – silly me.’ Kit gained a little composure. ‘Nothing, nothing - must be the heat in here. Look, you three go back on deck and make sure everything’s OK. I’ll have more of a look around here see what else I can find..’

Kagen, Bee Es Steve and Tiddybaby reluctantly climbed the steps out of the hold muttering amongst themselves. Kit felt sure he heard the words barmy, loopy and nutcase being mentioned.

‘I said: who are you? Have you no manners. Where’s captain UT anyway, He’s the one supposed to be looking after me. Come on man show some respect for a rear admiral. I expect a salute at the very least.’

‘Rear admiral you say, sorry, but you aren’t in uniform, and UT didn’t tell me your rank.’ Kit saluted. Was he really doing this to a radish? ‘ My name’s Kit. Captain UT’s, err, a bit indisposed at the moment, so he asked me to come down here to make sure you are all right. A bit of a skirmish with some pirates but it’s all over now. Anything I can get you? Captain UT wasn’t exactly forthcoming on what it is you are doing here anyway.’

‘No well, I don’t expect he would have been. All hush-hush and top secret you know. Less said the better. How indisposed is he, anyway, only I ought to get back inside his head?’

‘Aaah, yes, inside his head. He said something about that. Yes, well that’s why I’m here. He will be some time. What can I do in his place? He told me I should do anything you wanted but to be sure I understood why I was doing it first. Can you sort of fill me in? I mean I know absolutely nothing about you.

‘Well, not meant to say much – need-to-know basis and all that, but as he must have explained. I can only exist outside a human head for so long. And time is running short. If he’s that indisposed I guess it’ll have to be you.’

‘Whoa, wait a minute. Are you saying you want to get inside MY head? I’m not sure I’ve enough need-to-know even to begin to contemplate that!’

‘OK. I guess I can trust you. But very briefly, mind. Many millions of years ago, the Caribbean Seas were hit by a giant meteorite – a big rock from outer space to you – and the properties of this… rock… entered into the Earth’s soil in some places and were passed on to a group of lowly vegetables such as I. We gained amazing properties of memory and the ability to communicate as I am communicating now. Alas over the aeons of time our numbers diminished and, now, I am the sole survivor of that event long ago. Rear Admiral Sir Reginald Radish - well, nowadays anyway. Sir Francis Drake found me and brought me to England – I loved being in his head, he had so much knowledge. Then I was transported to the Americas and eventually into the hands of Capt UT. My job now is to lead him to all the sunken treasures I learned of from Sir Francis. That I am afraid is all I can tell you, apart from the fact that time really is running out and I need to get back into a human head, and damn quickly too!’

‘Treasures you say, and you need to be in a head – obviously my head. We-e-ell, maybe… will it hurt.’

‘Not at all, old boy. Just need your approval before I can slip in - and then your approval to slip out of course when Capt UT is available again.’

‘Oh, all right then… oooooooooooh! Goodness that was quick. Where are you exactly?’ Kit had felt a slight tickling shiver at the back of his neck, and then the presence of a radish in his brain.

‘I’m just over your right ear. Not as comfortable as Capt UT’s but it’ll do as a temporary home. Now be a good chap and let’s get into the sunlight again.’

‘OK’, sad Kit. ‘Oh, by the way, there’s something I meant to tell you…..'

The gramophone played above decks – sounded like a female singer with an Australian accent: ’I just can’t get you out of my head….’

"Never mind," said the radish. "Now that I'm in your head, I understand perfectly. You are the notorious pirate, Capt'n Kit! If you think an admiral is going to co-operate with YOU, you are quite wrong!"

"Well," said Kit, "It seems to me you don't have much choice in the matter. I can have you in my salad tonight or you can tell me where the sunken treasure is."

Inspiration struck Kit. "In fact, if you lead us to the treasure, I and my crew will retire from pirating and you will be handed back over to the British navy with valuable insights into how a pirate's mind works. Something for everyone!"

The radish thought it over. Under the circumstances, it seemed reasonable enough. "Oh, very well, then," it said grumpily. "You're on."

Kit and the radish emerged into the sunlight again from out of the ship's hold. The crew of the Flossie Jetsam were still slumbering peacefully.

Kit called out to the pirates, "Right then , lads! I have found a map to a sunken treasure - a ship that was carrying gold bars from Spain and sunk in shallow waters off the coastline of California. We will all be rich, matey's! Back to the Bacardi and set sail!"

"Arrrrrggghhh!" roared the pirates.

"What about Brianna?" asked the pirate Ducksnuts.

Kit considered. Brianna seemed rather fond of old UT. Besides chasing the pirates for the sake of a radish was one thing, but chasing them to get the return of the lovely Brianna was quite another.

"Leave her with the rest," ordered Kit. "We have a treasure to find! Strip the Flossie Jetsam of her sails and put them in her hold. They'll think we threw them overboard, and by time they find out different, we'll be long gone!"

The pirates quickly scrambled up the masts of the Flossie Jetsam to do Kit's bidding. The sails were then neatly folded and placed in the hold where the radish had been.

The pirates then rushed over to the Bacardi, threw off the grappling hooks, and were soon under way with a fine following wind.

Down in the Bacardi's hold, the radish said to Flint, "And what might YOUR name be?"

The gramophone back on the Flossie Jetsam played Brahm's lullaby as its crew snored on undisturbed and the Bacardi vanished over the horizon...

[Cyclefrance]

The sound of many cod being slapped around two score of faces filled the air. A strange sound, but in truth the noise actually of two score pairs of lips smacking together to rid the dryness left in the mouth after a couple of hours of snoring.

The Flossie Jetsam's crew was awakening from its slumbers…

UT yawned and looked around him: ‘Hmm,’ he yawned sleepily, ‘no sails…… !!NO SAILS???

In an instant he was fully awake. Damn Kit and damn his pirate crew. He should never have given him a millimeter let alone an inch! Clearly he had spiked his drinks. What other damage had he done? The cargo!!

UT roused several members of his crew to full consciousness and they made their way to the hold. They opened the hatch cover and piles of sailcloth came into immedaite view

Well, at least that was where the sails had gone. But no sign of Reggie. Still, he and Reggie had prepared themselves for such an event. Reggie would be leading the pirates to a certain treasure site, and they had plenty of time to catch them up.

UT turned to Griff, his helmsman: ‘As soon as we get the sails up make a course for California. That’s where Kit is headed.

‘California?’ queried Griff. ‘That’s a long way. I mean we can’t even use the Panama Canal, because no-one’s thought of building it yet. It’ll take a good two months to get there via Cape Horn. What on earth made you and Reggie decide on California?’

‘Good question Griff. ‘Fraid it was out of my hands, that one. As much of a surprise to me as it is to you. These damn writers and their prosaic licence! Just get under way as soon as you can. At least we have plenty of time to catch them up!’

‘Aye, aye, Cap’n!’

The crew went about their work and by nightfall they were ready to begin their exceptionally long voyage…


++

Aboard the Bacardi Breezer all had gone well. She was a fast ship and had completed the voyage down one side of the coast of South America and up the other in no time at all (well, seven weeks to be exact), and was now approaching the Californian coast and the shallow waters where Reggie said the treasure lay.

Kit (with Reggie firmly positioned inside his head above his right ear), Kagen, Bee Es Steve and Tiddybaby (still no sign of Cheyenne) prepared to board the small row boat that would transport them from their anchorage 3 miles off the coast of Santa Catalina Island to the place where Reggie had described the treasure would be. It was going to be a tricky trip negotiating offshore rocks around the little known promontory, called Mai Head, situated on the west side of Santa Catalina Island.

‘Have you decided what to do with Flint yet?’ asked Kagen.

‘No,’ replied Kit. ‘It’s a tricky one that. I’m not sure what would best suit the situation. I’m going to have to think some more. But to more important things. Into the boat and let’s shove off!’

The four rowed towards the island (well two of them did – Kit insisted on being boat supervisor, while Tiddybaby helped the journey along with a nice saxophone solo). It was late afternoon, and the sun was making its leisurely way toward the horizon. A light breeze began to stiffen. On they rowed, closer to the rocks as the stiff breeze decided to up the stakes a bit. It was all getting a bit nasty.

‘I don’t like the look of this.’ said Kit

‘Neither do I.’ added Reggie (only to Kit of course, by way of thought transmission, naturally). ‘I think we had better try another route via the south of the island. It’s less rocky there and will probably save us time in the long run. Tell them to head south and get out of Mai Head.’

‘Right!’ Thought Kit back to Reggie, and then to his fellow rowboatmen:’ We need to head south – get out of Mai Head!’

‘Ha-ha, thanks!’ said Reggie, and promptly jumped out of Kit’s head, bounced on the side of the row boat and then plopped into the water where he floated away on the waves: ‘Just needed your approval to leave – have fun – no treasure where you’re headed I’m afraid….!’

‘Get after that radish!!!’ screamed Kit. The others looked non-plussed, their faces clearly worried at the re-arrival of the radish into Kit’s mental gyrations!

But it was too late. No sooner had Reggie landed in the water than a big fish happened by: ‘Oooh, fresh veg!’ and with that he swallowed Reggie in one go and swam off.

‘No, no, no, no, no!’, KIt held his head in his hands - and on top of all this, he had the unpleasant task of telling them that there wasn’t any treasure after all. Ohhhhhh dear…!

++

‘No, no, no, no, no!’ went the fish. It was a radish. It was a radish – God , it’s repeating on me already…. ‘

The fish was some way out to sea already. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to have eaten that vegetable, no matter how fresh it looked. ‘Oh dear. Last time this happened it went on for three days…… hang on, wow! What an amazingingly ample cleav -!’

He never finished. Just wasn’t his day, as a cutlass pierced completely through his body killing him, allowing Reggie to jump free and into the brain of his saviour.

‘I wasn’t sure you’d pick up my message, but thankfully you did SunSparkz.’ (ha,ha, fooled you – you thought our mystery lady was Cheyenne, didn’t you!).

‘Sure did Reggie. Time to get you back to UT . The Flossie isn’t far away, and my job of protecting you on behalf of the British Government will soon be over. Hang on, cobber, it’s not far to swim now. Be there in no more than an hour! And with powerful strokes and heaving bos..(oh, well, you know, Im’sure. I’ve no need to say any more on that subject really, have I…)

Reggie could relax at last – he hummed to himself ) ‘Oh, I‘m riding along, in a chest, on a wave…’ Well even radishes have a few perks , you know….

Kit was no fool. He had been uneasy the entire voyage out, picking up sublimnally on the radish's thinking. When it bounced overboard, he realized UT would not be far behind.

"Back to the Bacardi!" he ordered. "We've been double crossed! UT still has the treasure map aboard the Flossie Jetsam, and I think he just so happens to be in the vicinity!"

Now if there is one thing a pirate hates, its being double crossed. There IS the Pirate Oath of Honor, after all! Kit had made a deal with Sir Reginald and Sir Reginald had shown all the grace of a rotten tomato - NOT a radish!

The pirates swore an oath as one, and were back at the Bacardi in no time.

Meanwhile, aboard the Flossie Jetsam, Sunsparkz handed Sir Reginald back to UT.

“I say, old chap. I think we may have a slight problem,” said the radish to UT.

Sure enough the sails of the Bacardi had appeared on the horizon and were fast gaining ground – I mean sea – on the Flossie Jetsam.

“Oh, dear,” said Brianna. “Do you suppose we could just send for carry out this time?”

Before UT had a chance to reply, the Bacardi had already drawn up close and fired a warning canon shot across the Flossie Jetsam’s bow.

Signal flags were hoisted on the Bacardi. The pirates needed an answer to a burning question:

“What do we do with Flint?”

[Cyclefrance]

‘This could take some time,’ said UT. ‘I can’t see a decision being made quickly on this issue. Clearly it’s something that has been occupying Kit’s thoughts ever since he left the Caribbean. There must be some way to turn this to our advantage….’

Just then the door to the powder room opened and out stepped Cheyenne: ‘That’s better,’ she said, coaxing her long flowing hair into shape with the palm of one hand while pouting at her reflection in the mirror she was holding in the other. She didn’t seem to notice where she was.

‘How did she get here?’ said Griff. ‘I never saw her come on board our ship…’

Something told Cheyenne that all was not right. Her hair-shaping hand stopped its shaping activity. And her eyes strayed to the reflection of Griff and UT that was just visible in the top right hand corner of her mirror.

‘EEEEeeekk!!’ she screamed. ‘This isn’t the Bacardi Breezer, where am I??

And with that she fainted

What seemed like only a second later, she opened her eyes to see several of the Flossie’s crew around her - she could feel Brianna wiping her brow with a damp cloth. Cheyenne went to scream again, but held back as she tried to take in the scene around her.

‘I’m not on the Bacardi Breezer, am I.’ It was more of a statement than a question.

‘No,’ said Brianna. ‘This is the Flossie Jetsam. What makes you think it should be the Bacardi Breezer?’

‘Because that’s where I was when I went into the powder room a few minutes ago. I wanted to look nice before we set sail for California.’

‘But that wasn’t a few minutes ago, Cheyenne, the Bacardi Breezer set sail for California seven weeks ago. Both our ships are even now off Claifornia.’

Cheyenne fainted again.

She awoke for a second time.

‘Let me get this straight,’ said UT. ‘You went into the powder room of the Bacardi Breezer “a few minutes ago” according to you, and now you’ve come out of the powder room on the Flossie Jetsam, only seven weeks have passed. Look, are you sure about it only being a few minutes, only you know how long women can be when they go…’

‘Don’t be so silly!’ Brianna and Cheyenne together.

‘OK, OK, I take the point. But there has to be some explanation why you are now on the Flossie Jetsam and not on the Breezer, and also why you think only a few minutes have passed when in fact several weeks have.’ UT looked puzzled, as well he might.

‘It has too be some kind of a portal, ‘ volunteered Reggie, now safely re-installed above UT’s right ear and insde his cranium.

‘What do you mean, portal?’ asked UT.

‘Well, it’s something I learned from my ancient ancestors, the ones that existed just after the meteorite fell. A portal is some sort of gateway between two distinct objects. It can just as easily span a million miles as it can a few feet. The way I see it is that Cheyenne went into the powder room and was in there long enough, taking the normal amount of time required to do what every women has to do in a powder room (and that being something which no man will ever really know) which was enough for her to miss the departure of the Breezer.

‘Both our ships must have passed the point in the Caribbean Sea where the meteorite had landed and then deposited a skeleton portal all those millions of years ago. It clearly has lain dormant all that time, and now our two ships passed over it at exactly the right place and time, permitting it to re-establish itself in each of the ship’s powder rooms. Why it chose the powder rooms, I am not yet sure, but there will be a reason. The point is that the process of re-establishing the portal would have taken several weeks to complete, but Cheyenne would have been held in a state of timelessness while this happened. Then, once it was complete, she would have been released and so she came out of the powder room door that she thought she had entered thinking only a few minutes had passed and that she was still on the Breezer. Only it wasn’t a few minutes and it wasn't the Breezer, it was us, and now!

'But I still need to work out what it is that caused the transference….. Hang on a minute! It must be that mirror she is holding! It’s just the thing to reflect the portal’s energy from one ship to the other.’ Reggie felt very pleased with himself, as well he might.

’Are you saying that there now exists a sort of gateway between our two ships and that we could use that gateway to gain access to the Breezer, without anyone on board the Breezer knowing…?’

‘I suppose I am!’

‘Amazing! Well then! No time like the present to profit from the advantage that has just turned our way! Lookout123, send back a signal saying we are working on a solution to Kit’s little problem - if I know Kit he will give us the time we need then. After that, you, Griff and… let me see… I need someone with extra stealth and determination for this – yes, Urbane Guerilla! – the three of you and I will wait another half an hour by which time the sun will have set, and then we will board the Breezer. Only not the way they expect! Sorry Cheyenne, I’m going to need that mirror of yours…. But I promise, that if everything goes to plan, no harm will come of Kit and the rest of his crew.’

What no-one knew, however, not even I at this stage, was that Reggie had also passed on some information to UT about other powers which the portal possessed….

The cabin boy inside the dinghy boat (which he now considered home) set the gramophone going again: Diana Ross started singing ‘Chain Reaction’…

[Cyclefrance]

.

INTERMISSION


There that should have grabbed your attention.

Intermission, you ask? What's this all about?

Well Mari's getting to crunch time with her move and as my partner in crime in this literary fiasco, so to speak, the story cannot really be allowed to resume until she's safely re-installed in her new home next week. So in the tradition of many an entertainment (I know, that is taking liberties to call it that), we are unilaterally declaring an intermission.

Now, I got to thinking that it wasn't really fair just to leave you hanging for seven days like that, and, let's face it, if you were in a cinema, there would probably be adverts, or trailers or some sort of short film available to plug the gap. Hmmmm....

Now, just by chance, I happen to have a few short contributions of a similar quality (that might not be a good thing, mind you) that I posted on another site some time ago. I've added them up, and, guess what, there's seven of them as well - one a day. So, I thought I might therefore 'plug the gap' by posting one a day here.

The idea also passed through my mind that I should consult you first about this, not just land them in your lap all of a sudden like that - not very British good manners, stiff upper lip, and all that. But then I thought, hey, these are supposed to be friends, so they can bloody well have them whether they like it or not! That sounds fair, doesn't it?

So here goes, go grab yourself an ice cream, cola, or popcorn, or whatever takes your fancy, make yourself comfy, and, in no particular order, we'll start with:



The Last Order of the Lukewarm Brues

(hey, I'm beginning to like all this colour/color-fonty thingy - Flint may have something here after all...!)


You may not know this, but there was a little known monastic sect just off the Wandsworth Road where the River Wandle willingly weaves its otherwise weary way westwards before it meets its old father, Thames. They were by that bit of it that lies just past the Earlsfield Business Park behind the Autocue Company's headquarters. I'll give you a moment to locate it on your map. Gottit? No? Well, not to worry, I think we can progress even without your having this detail, come to think of it. It's not that essential to the topic under discussion - a 'nice to have' clearly, but not a showstopper, so I will continue.

What? Oh, you think you've found it after all. I can continue then.... Sorry? No, no not that side of the road, the OTHER side. You can’t find it, after all? Look, don't worry about it, I told you, it's not that important. What now? Yes, I know I seemed to put a great deal of emphasis upon the location at the beginning, but I was trying to set the scene and grab your attention. Honestly, it really, really, really doesn't matter that much. So let's just leave it, shall we? Agreed? Good. Now, where was I?

Ah, yes, the sect. Well, like many such sects (or to give them their correct name, orders), they were a silent one. Go back a few hundred years or more and there were plenty of them dotted up and down the reaches of the Thames. There were the Whitefriars located in Fleet Street, the Blackfriars a little further downstream, and Greyfriars and Greenfriers and so on.

The Wandsworth order were going to call themselves the Bluefriars but there was already a Bluefriar order, so in order (I know all these ‘orders’ are a but messy, but I’ve written them now) to save on time and ink (no doubt you have seen how they elaborately decorate their writings) they decided to go for Bruefriars – which meant only having to change one letter. Clever, eh?

They had some nasty habits the Bruefriars. No, no, no, not the sort of nasty habit like playing with your private parts in public. I mean their hooded cloaks – known otherwise as ‘habits’. They were of such a rough heavy material. Not attractive to look at, at all, but certainly warm – well, not overly warm that you would be perspiring violently inside (thank goodness – nothing worse than a smelly friar), but warm enough to keep the chill out. In fact it was because of their habits that they became known for their kindness when it was their turn to hold the bi-monthly monks get-together. They would arrange for every visitor to be given a Bruefriar habit. You might think that these events as a result would gain an excellent reputation, and they did, but not so much as excellent you might have thought, and this was probably because of the name they acquired. Unfortunately they became known as the Bruefriar lukewarm receptions.

Anyway, enough of all that. They aren’t around any more. Sad I know, but that’s the way it goes – sooner or later most things get out of Order - and so did Wandsworth. But there is the public drinking house, or pub, that occupies the site that once was their domain. Their memory lives on in this fine establishment. It’s a very popular pub too, known as the Pheasant Pluckers Pinus (the sign outside depicts a young lad dressed in peasant’s clothes at rest under a pine tree, cleaning his plucking tool), and is said to have been frequented by the famous Reverend William Archibald Spooner in his time. In the last five years it has twice won the Wandsworth Gazette UK pub-of-the-year contest – in fact it was the original winner of a similar contest held back in 1806.

Back in those days there was no such thing as a refrigerator, and the pubs weren’t air-conditioned, or carpeted or anything like that. Beer was served not in glasses but in metal tankards and pottery mugs (hey, this is sounding quite factual and believable all of a sudden!), baths were taken infrequently by the clientele, so there was always a distinct hum around the place, and a every pub could be considered to have an atmosphere of its own making.

As for our little pub, well, that was special in its own way, because it also stood on the site of the Bruefriars, the last Order of monks to dwell on or close to the River Thames. But even they were ousted as commerce took over (even in those days) and the old wooden dwellings that nestled by the riverside made way for the likes of cobblers, bakers, grocers and all manner of businesses (but understandably – or not – there were no estate agents, Pret-a-mangers or Macdonalds). The Pheasant Pluckers Pinus first opened in 1798, the Bruefriars having moved out in 1795. They’d left a lot of stuff behind though and the then landlord immediately saw an opportunity here to create a theme to his establishment.

So habits and rosaries, sandals and the like were nailed to walls or put on shelves or just left generally lying about. Having no fridge (as I mentioned before) and no supply of ice either, drinks used to be warm, but this did not worry our landlord. No he was a positive thinking man and immediately saw another marketing opportunity. Rather than try to cool the beer down, as many establishments were attempting to do at that time, he actually kept it as warm as he could. Why? Well think about it. What do pubs do at the end of the day in fine old England? Don’t know? They call last orders (well they to used then - since then we've introduced 24 hour opening laws!)!

So you see the landlord created this new tradition. Each night at about ten to eleven (that’s ten minutes before closing time), he would don a Bruefriars habit and stand on the bar with glass raised and shout to the gathered throng: ‘Time! Gentleman! Please! Last orders for your lukewarm brews, if you please! I wish to propose a toast!’ Whereupon, all those present would recharge their glasses with warm wholesome English beer. That done, the landlord would call again: ‘Gentlemen! My toast! Raise your glasses to the Last Order of the Lukewarm Brues! The crowd loved it! An opportunity to have another drink, and the landlord loved the sound of his cash register ringing up sales as well! What a merry time was had by all.

The pub went on to become very famous indeed for its monasterial connections and its warm beers, so much so that other pubs around London moved from trying to create cold beers and developed their own reasons for serving warm beer instead. And this tradition for warm beer not only spread nationwide, it still lasts until this very day. I can guarantee you this is true. Go into any pub in England, ask for a beer and without any doubt whatsoever you will find that it will always be nice and warm!

So never again wonder why the English drink warm beer – you now know the truth. Well, you do believe me, don’t you…..?

+++

Another one tomorrow.