and sank the sextant that was doubling as a pirate boat once and for all.
âItâs a good job there arenât really gigantic sponge creatures about, isnât it?â he said, waggling the victorious sponge at his deputy. âOr us pirates would be done for.â 29
âYouâre right, sir. I often think just that.â
âBut itâs a shame the sea canât be full of lovely bubbles like this.â
âIt
is
a shame,â agreed the pirate with a scarf sadly. His rugged brow was furrowed in concentration as he carefully soaped each delicate strand of the Pirate Captainâs beard. He stood up and surveyed his handiwork.
âI think we can rinse her off now, Captain.â
âI hope sheâs going to be okay,â grimaced the Pirate Captain, gently supporting his soapy beard in his hands. âCanât remember a time when Iâve let her get into such a mess.â
The pirate with a scarf reached across to turn on one of the big brass taps, but nothing came out. Not even a drop.
âThatâs not right,â said the scarf-wearing pirate. He tried to turn on the other tap, and nothing came out of that one either. The Pirate Captain looked horrified. He couldnât help but think back to their adventure in Tangiers when the water in the hotel at which the pirates were staying had given out and the Captain had been left in the same situation, completely unable to rinse out his beard except with seawater. Over the next couple of days it had puffed up into a ridiculous frizzy ball, and he had ended uplooking more like one of those hats that Russian spy ladies wear than a respected old sea-dog.
So the Pirate Captain leapt from his tub and bounded onto the deck to try and find out what was amiss, naked as a new-born baby, except a good deal hairier and with a few more tattoos. For those readers who may be interested, the Pirate Captainâs tattoos included:
⢠A map of an island across his belly. This had a big âXâ on it, which the Captain thought probably had something to do with treasure. Unfortunately, he had no idea where the island was, because like most of his tattoos, it was the product of an evening full of too much grog. He had just woken up in Portsmouth one morning and there it was.
⢠The Pirate Kingâs face on his right biceps. Heâd grown since it was done and now the tattoo was a bit misshapen, so that the Pirate King looked a little bit like heâd had a stroke.
⢠A picture of an anchor on his left forearm. This was to remind the Pirate Captain to drop anchor whenever they were leaving the boat. Otherwise it just tended to drift off, and the men would look at him accusingly.
⢠A shopping list on his shin, which had seemed like a good idea at the time.
⢠âIâve seen the lions at Longleatâ on his left shoulder-blade.
⢠âLeftâ on his left foot and âRightâ on his right. A gift from his mother on his fourth birthday.
There the Pirate Captain stood, like a perfectly proportioned nude renaissance statue. He had always been extremely comfortable with his own naked body, but some of the pirate crew seemed quite overwhelmed by the sheer soapy spectacle. Looking about, hands on hips, it was instantly obvious to the Captain what theproblem was. Somehow the wily whale had managed to slip from its moorings, and was now flopping about on the deck, causing all sorts of mischief. There were bits of broken barrel and squashed pirate everywhere. Most of the flower beds in the ornamental garden were ruined, and there was a big plume of water coming from where the whale had managed to bash a jagged hole in one of the
Lovely Emma
âs water pipes with a particularly vicious flick of its tail. The water that was meant for the Pirate Captainâs beard was fountaining onto the deck, and raining down on the whale. The Captain watched in dismay as the creature began to change from
âItâs a good job there arenât really gigantic sponge creatures about, isnât it?â he said, waggling the victorious sponge at his deputy. âOr us pirates would be done for.â 29
âYouâre right, sir. I often think just that.â
âBut itâs a shame the sea canât be full of lovely bubbles like this.â
âIt
is
a shame,â agreed the pirate with a scarf sadly. His rugged brow was furrowed in concentration as he carefully soaped each delicate strand of the Pirate Captainâs beard. He stood up and surveyed his handiwork.
âI think we can rinse her off now, Captain.â
âI hope sheâs going to be okay,â grimaced the Pirate Captain, gently supporting his soapy beard in his hands. âCanât remember a time when Iâve let her get into such a mess.â
The pirate with a scarf reached across to turn on one of the big brass taps, but nothing came out. Not even a drop.
âThatâs not right,â said the scarf-wearing pirate. He tried to turn on the other tap, and nothing came out of that one either. The Pirate Captain looked horrified. He couldnât help but think back to their adventure in Tangiers when the water in the hotel at which the pirates were staying had given out and the Captain had been left in the same situation, completely unable to rinse out his beard except with seawater. Over the next couple of days it had puffed up into a ridiculous frizzy ball, and he had ended uplooking more like one of those hats that Russian spy ladies wear than a respected old sea-dog.
So the Pirate Captain leapt from his tub and bounded onto the deck to try and find out what was amiss, naked as a new-born baby, except a good deal hairier and with a few more tattoos. For those readers who may be interested, the Pirate Captainâs tattoos included:
⢠A map of an island across his belly. This had a big âXâ on it, which the Captain thought probably had something to do with treasure. Unfortunately, he had no idea where the island was, because like most of his tattoos, it was the product of an evening full of too much grog. He had just woken up in Portsmouth one morning and there it was.
⢠The Pirate Kingâs face on his right biceps. Heâd grown since it was done and now the tattoo was a bit misshapen, so that the Pirate King looked a little bit like heâd had a stroke.
⢠A picture of an anchor on his left forearm. This was to remind the Pirate Captain to drop anchor whenever they were leaving the boat. Otherwise it just tended to drift off, and the men would look at him accusingly.
⢠A shopping list on his shin, which had seemed like a good idea at the time.
⢠âIâve seen the lions at Longleatâ on his left shoulder-blade.
⢠âLeftâ on his left foot and âRightâ on his right. A gift from his mother on his fourth birthday.
There the Pirate Captain stood, like a perfectly proportioned nude renaissance statue. He had always been extremely comfortable with his own naked body, but some of the pirate crew seemed quite overwhelmed by the sheer soapy spectacle. Looking about, hands on hips, it was instantly obvious to the Captain what theproblem was. Somehow the wily whale had managed to slip from its moorings, and was now flopping about on the deck, causing all sorts of mischief. There were bits of broken barrel and squashed pirate everywhere. Most of the flower beds in the ornamental garden were ruined, and there was a big plume of water coming from where the whale had managed to bash a jagged hole in one of the
Lovely Emma
âs water pipes with a particularly vicious flick of its tail. The water that was meant for the Pirate Captainâs beard was fountaining onto the deck, and raining down on the whale. The Captain watched in dismay as the creature began to change from
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