One Man And His Dogs

[hlb]

A tale of the high seas and the crew of the good ship Meekatharra.
The story begins in the famous and historic Royal Port of Plymouth, on a cold and dreary day in May.
With a skeleton crew Meekatharra wendeth her way from the comfort of her berth, bound for some spot up the Tamar and left a bit. Called St Geranium or similar. Why exactly, this noble vessel, was being asked to go mud crawling up this damp dishcloth of a river, one can only wonder. However pilot book in hand and with the whole crew of two on watch. Meekatharra calmly negotiated the soft mud. That was until both the well buoyed river and the pilot book, came to an abrupt stop about half way to the destination and the depth sounder made noises like a demented mobile phone. Luckily at that time, a native of the area, directed us to some small sticks in the distance, where the water was a good six inch deeper. And so onward and ever upwards to the proud Geranium Yacht club. On the bank in the distance could be seen. The natives of the club house. And stud on the smallest rubber pontoon in the world, A representative of the remnants of Meekatharras Bank holiday crew, waving furiously, I thought his nuts were going to fall off.
One big advantage of taking a little boat up an even smaller river, is that it feels and looks like the QE2 has arrived. And resplendent with TWO chat show burgee’s on display, so it was.

Now like all clubs. The Geranium club has rules. The best one being that visitors cant buy drinks!! So that was Ok. The rest of the crew for two days, was to be two dogs an honourable floozy and the dog handler. (known here abouts.) So everything very jovial in the club house, and answering many questions about. “Did you put one engine in reverse to turn round and other forwards.” “Yes”. “ Wont that break the gear box” “Well err no, it’s got two.” “Waw”. So stayed all of half an hour before the mud under the boat started to thicken up again. Taking the remnants of the crew aboard off we goes. “Story has it that we’ve been made honouree members of the Geranium Club for life. (But don’t show them this for gods sake,)

To be continued. It’s pub time.



No one can force me to come here-----------
----- I'm a Volunteer!!!

Haydn

 

[ToMo]

Oh dear I've been waiting for this in trepidation!...seems I was right too!!!
TôMö

 

[coliholic]

Sounds like you should have thrown LongJohn in in his wet suit to guide you in over the shallow bits. He could've waved a flag too to show the way. Bet he winped out though, afraid of getting his toes chomped by a passing lobster. Or worse.

 

[hlb]

The continuing saga.
While Haydn is surveying the clubhouse for liquid refreshment, Tut, the cabin wench is researching her new acquaintances, by reference to the famous novel, “A Tale of Two Puppies” by I. Waggalot., prior to greeting same on the quayside.

But nothing to do with me!.
Wendething our way down the river with a wake of congealing mud and slime, and thankfully hitting deeper waters. Meekatharra makes course for Fowey. Usually a haven for knackered boaties. BUT who’s there first. An angry brigade of miss placed rag and stick enemies. Five deep on every pontoon. An Ex Russian cruise liner did nothing to enhance the tranquillity of the place.
Meekatharra sneaked in unnoticed to a humble trot mooring. It being the only place left. Snuggled up on the mooring, it then started to piss down. Undaunted the conservatory was quickly erected on the patio. By tutt’s and honourable floozy . The main reason for this endeavour, being so the dogs could piss in comfort. On the patio. The captain looked on, resting his bad back, in awe. Now here the story takes a turn for the better, or worse. Captain hales for the water taxi, Then thinking again. ( Now that the conservatory is erected ). Thinks to tell em to come to starboard side. ( Cos the door is open that side.)
Wan*ing water taxi, comes to port side. So Tutt’s is ecstatic. “Look, told you so”. All bloody night. In a stroke. Re-enacting three years of misery. “Which hand do you pick up the port with”!!! All bloody night!! Next morning floozy comes to rescue. But nothing is said. Just to protect the innocent!! Only a whisper of. “it’s all sorted now, Floozy has had a word”. I’m shattered, thinking of those times in fog. With her on the radar, saying boat to starboard! Or boat to port. Hold my hand up. Didn’t mean to ram you honest!!



No one can force me to come here-----------
----- I'm a Volunteer!!!

Haydn

 

[MikeBrazier]

Your Starboard / Port or his ? ;-)