Story-writing

Having cleverly adapted a mask and snorkel kindly loaned by one of the divers, the crew took it in turns to go below and sort out the mess. After an hour all was Bristol fashion and things were looking up. "Time for dinner" said Robin, "where's the can opener"?

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Just then, fine on the port bow, a large shape loomed out the gathering mist. "Whats that?" asked Robin in a sort of strained shriek.

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It turned out not to be gathering mist at all, just the cloud of smoke surrounding Muckyfarter.

hlb, being a curteous sort of stinky, hollers across in a 'oop northern accent, 'yu raggie alreet there?'

<hr width=100% size=1>Me transmitte sursum, caledoni
 
Robin set his binoculars down and turned to face Bruce, "what's orange and sounds like a parrot?", he enquired.

A puzzled expression crept across his friend's face, before being displaced by a self satisfied smile, "a carrot" he replied.



<hr width=100% size=1>Think I'll draw some little rabbits on my head, from a distance they might be mistaken for hairs.
 
Meanwhile Lucinda was running down to the point, with the forlorn hope of catching a glance of Lucian as he sailed into the distance.

She ran and ran with all her strength, she was lucky she had picked some trainers to wear as against her normal high heels.

She reached the point in the nick of time, Lucian was approaching in his yacht,
Her bosum heaved a sigh of relief.
She waved her dainty hankerchief and was able to catch Lucian's eye, he waved back then he went below for a second only to return with something in his hand.

He through it with all his might, yes an unlabelled meat tin...

She would savour that with all her heart...

<hr width=100% size=1><font color=blue>Regards Mark
 
Far behind them, in the east, the day was begining to break as Lucian emerged from the companionway, ready to commence his morning watch. He stood momentarily to watch a shimmering silver roadway form, connecting the emergent sun with their fleeing transom, before stretching and letting rip an enormous fart.

<hr width=100% size=1>Think I'll draw some little rabbits on my head, from a distance they might be mistaken for hairs.
 
which was unfortunate, as B&Q was just coming up to overtake them. Ellen was heard to say as she passed 'You've f***ed up my record attempt, you b*****d.' With that, she raced off into the distance throwing a manky old electric boltcutter at Lucian saying 'You'll need this your mast is coming down.'

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As she disappeared into the distant doldrum she could be seen wiping a tear from her eye. Poor Lucian, she thought, still a virgin .. wonder if I can get Branson to supply pickles for my next attempt.

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ere, what's this farting and virgin bit??! I'm censoring that! Back to the story:
"Bronzed and lithe-limbed, Lucian leaped to the masthead, whence he could just make out the breakers on the coral reef in the distance. Below, on deck, he could see the slim Sheila, sleeping after a long night of love."

That's better!

<hr width=100% size=1>Adriatic links here: <A target="_blank" HREF=http://www.comoy.com/saillinks.html>http://www.comoy.com/saillinks.html</A>
 
Even at the mast head he could not completely escape the pervasive odour that seemed to hang in an invisible cloud around the vessel, Lucian was puzzled by their proximity to the reef, and found himself questioning his own navigation skills, for there had been nothing on the chart to suggest that Grimsby Fish Dock was protected in this manner.

<hr width=100% size=1>Think I'll draw some little rabbits on my head, from a distance they might be mistaken for hairs.
 
It was then that he remembered that he had been using the RYA practice navigational chart no.1. "Quick, Bruce: dig out the Sheila and toss it overboard."
"Why, are we on the rocks?"
"Worse, we're going to hit Grimsby back on the nail."

<hr width=100% size=1>Adriatic links here: <A target="_blank" HREF=http://www.comoy.com/saillinks.html>http://www.comoy.com/saillinks.html</A>
 
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