Women of the North Sea

The atmosphere on board the Pride of Lamond was somewhat tense and it was all to do with women. First Mate Glen was somewhat sullen - it seemed his honeymoon hadn't entirely been a success after he'd fainted on his wedding night and subsequently failed to fulfil is marital duties since his wedding three weeks previously. Cabin Boy Matt was sat on the corner of the deck eyeing Nat suspiciously. She'd been on all their voyages since Deck Hand Chris had invited her aboard and the Yorkshireman was not impressed by her presence, especially given that she did nothing other than stare at Deck Hand Chris' bottom, which he seemed to enjoy. Cabin Boy Matt, a failed serial fornicator, was incredibly bitter.

Skipper Bruce, as usual, kept his thoughts to himself and let nothing escape. He occasionally rolled his eyes at the presence of Nat, whose name none of the crew other than Deck Hand Chris himself could pronounce, and at the way women appeared to gain too strong a grasp over his friends, but he said nothing. He was too busy imagining that the Pride of Lamond was, in fact, made of light and sailed not a real ocean, but a computerised one and that Daft Punk played wherever he went.

Skipper Bruce was sailing to the north-west today. He'd heard that the prawn fields there were ripe for the harvest. Today his crew would be true fishermen and bring in quite a catch, of that he was certain. Boats of all kinds, from the tiniest to the largest, had been coming into port day after day telling joyfully of the prawns that were entering their nets. The new seafood restaurant, Kingdom of Fish, was bursting with the freshest catches every evening, all from that one field of the ocean. But the area had to be reached fast - the season meant that the abundant harvest would not last for long. Time was short.

As they reached the section of ocean about which the Skip had heard the water was tinged with the colour of prawns. Huge shoals of fish could be seen swimming below the surface, darting to left and to right, in a manner not dissimilar to how Rebecca Adlington might swim were she heavily addicted to heroin and taking part in an Olympics 200m breaststroke event having been denied her supply for a couple of days.

"Right, lads," called Skipper Bruce. "Let's go catch some fash!"

The nets were let into the water and were soon fit to bursting with fish.

"Draw them in!" called Skipper Bruce. His heart was filled with the joy of such an awesome catch. There would be true celebration in the Kingdom of Fish that evening when the catch were brought home. Despite this emotion, however, his face remained passive.

Looking out of the wheelhouse window, however, he saw no movement from his crew. First Mate Glen was on the phone.

"First Mate Glen!" called Skipper Bruce. "We need to bring in the catch, can you put down the phone and help?"

First Mate Glen turned his back away from the wheelhouse and continued to talk.

"First Mate Glen!" called Skipper Bruce, but to no avail.

Deck Hand Chris was stood by prow of the ship whispering to Nat.

"Deck Hand Chris!" called Skipper Bruce, "can you bring in the nets? They're full, they're fit to burst!"

Deck Hand Chris, however, appeared not to hear his Skipper.

Cabin Boy Matt was sat with a laptop on his knee typing away furiously.

"Cabin Boy Matt!" called Skipper Bruce, glancing back at the now dangerously overly full nets. "Cabin Boy Matt, please bring in the catch!"

"Yeah, yeah, in a minute," mumbled Cabin Boy Matt, distractedly.

The nets were becoming increasingly full, causing the Pride of Lamond to tip backwards slightly. If they weren't brought in soon they could capsize the vessel. God alone would be able to save them should they snag on a rock.

In well-hidden panic, Skipper Bruce wandered slowly and calmly to First Mate Glen.

"No, Heth, no, I'm not, I'm not. ...No, Heth, that's not true... Heth, I want to make you happy, it's just... No... Heth... No... I was a bit shocked and am still a bit... Heth, I do want to make you happy... I do... No, I do... Please tell me how... No, I do want to hear... Heth, I do... OK... I'm sorry, Heth... I am sorry... I do now... I tried that... I did... It just surpised me... I didn't expect it to look like that... No, I didn't, Heth... I didn't..."

"Er, First Mate Glen," said Skipper Bruce, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Just a minute, Skip," said First Mate Glen, covering the phone with his hand.

"No, First Mate Glen, this is really important. The nets are about to burst."

"Hang on, Skipper, I'm trying to save my marriage."

And with that, First Mate Glen put the phone back to his ear.

"No, Heth, the Skipper was talking to me... No, I wasn't ignoring you... I wasn't..."

The Pride of Lamond's prow was now high out of the water and the sea was beginning to cover the rear of the ship. It was dangerously low from the now incredible weight of the net.

Skipper Bruce struggled up the steep incline to where Deck Hand Chris and Nat, totally unaware of the situation, where still whispering to each other.

"Deck Hand Chris, could you help bring in the catch?" asked Skipper Bruce, breathless from his climb.

Deck Hand Chris didn't appear to notice.

"Deck Hand Chris, this is really important," said Skipper Bruce, his panic coming across clearly in his mono-tonal voice.

Still neither Deck Hand Chris nor Nat appeared to notice Skipper Bruce's presence as they whispered gently to each other, his hand taking hers.

"Deck Hand Chris!", Skipper Bruce practically shouted.

Deck Hand Chris began to stroke Nat's hair and Skipper Bruce gave up, realising his attempts were futile.

Skipper Bruce slid back down the deck towards Cabin Boy Matt, who was typing increasingly furiously into his laptop. He could see as he approached that Cabin Boy Matt was using facebook chat to communicate with three separate females. He could also see that his approaches differed somewhat between the girls. The last line he had typed to the first girl read "Did it hurt when you fell out of Heaven?", to the second he written "Nobody else will have you with a mug like that, so you might as well say yes" and to the third he'd tried "They're doing two-for-one pizzas at The Lady's Head, so I'll buy."

"Excuse me, Cabin Boy Matt," said Skipper Bruce, "it's really, really important that we get the nets in now, could you help?"

"Hang on a sec, I'm about to strike gold here," replied Cabin Boy Matt, somewhat optimistically given the responses he was getting online.

Before Skipper Bruce could answer there was a loud crack and the Pride of Lamond fell back into the water. The nets had broken, the fish had gone.

* * *

Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen, Deck Hand Chris, Cabin Boy Matt and the ever-present Nat sat around a table in The Lady's Head. Not only had they lost the catch that could have made them a fortune and an excellent reputation as fishermen, they had also lost a very expensive net.

"What was going on?" asked Skipper Bruce. "We had the biggest catch of our lives, more fash than we can possibly imagine. The prawn fields were ripe for the harvest and we blew it because you were too concerned with women.

"First Mate Glen, you may be married but I want you to live as though you have no wife. Deck Hand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt, a married man's concerned with how to please his wife, but an unmarried man can concern himself with catching fash. You're unmarried, don't look for a wife, focus on the work we have to do. If you're not willing to make these compromises you might have to rethink your position on the Pride of Lamond."

There was silence around the table as the crew contemplated their failures.

"Deck Hand Chris, I'm afraid I can't allow girls onboard anymore, and that includes N... N... N..."

"It's Nat. Nat," replied a frustrated Deck Hand Chris. "It's not hard to pronounce."

"Yes, Skip," put in First Mate Glen, "it's really easy to pronounce Net."

"Nat!" said Deck Hand Chris emphatically.

"That's what I said," said First Mate Glen, "Nlat."

"Nat!"

"Nut."

"Nat!"

"Pat."

"NAT!"

Skipper Bruce, in a rare show of emotion, rolled his eyes, shook his head and went to get another pint.

A Small Hitch

Skipper Bruce, Cabin Boy Matt, Reverend Doctor Inspector Warwick and Harbour Master Gamble sidled uneasily into the back of the church. Uneasily, because they were all wearing their work clothes and smelt distinctly of fish, in contrast to everyone else in the church, who wore frilly hats, kilts, ties, posh frocks, posh jackets and funny pointless birds' nests in their hair. On the front row sat Deck Hand Chris and First Mate Glen and at the very front stood the vicar, his mop of long, uncontrolled highlighted hair held back by a belt. He wore a tweed waistcoat and tartan trousers along with his dog collar.

All of a sudden Glasvegas began to play on the stereo and the congregation turned to face the back of the church, where Heather entered, looking radiant in a brilliant white dress, accompanied by her father and a cacophony of bridesmaids. First Mate Glen moved to stand in front of the vicar and, even from behind, Skipper Bruce and Cabin Boy Matt saw him visibly

gulp. As Heather reached the front of the church Deck Hand Chris turned and smiled sickly at Nat, who was one of 17 bridesmaids, giving her a dainty wave.

"OK, guys," intoned the vicar, brushing the hair back from in front of his face. "I just want to, like, welcome you to St Wallace's and the marriage here, of, er, who have we got today...? Just a moment, guys... Of First Mate Glen and Heather, it's just, like, totally awesome to see you all here today... in the house of God, the house of our Lord Jesus. Yah. So, like, I'm the vicar here... my name is Dave but you can call be the Reverend Simpson. So, like, we're going to totally start off with some worship, so if, like, the band could, like, come to the front..."

The Reverend Simpson stood aside as the band took up centre stage. The worship leader, who introduced himself as Clem, told the congregation that they would be singing Amazing Grace, though he also managed to throw three Chris Tomlin songs, two Delirious? numbers, Kum Ba Ya and another song that nobody had ever heard before into the mix. When everyone had slumped, exhausted, back into their seats the Reverend Simpson asked First Mate Glen and Heather to stand before him.

"So, like, we're here today for something totally awesome, these two people... err... what are your names again...? First Mate Glen and Heather, yah, they're, like, here to, like, commit themselves to each other in marriage before God... before the Lord Almighty, yah, so, like, I'm going to ask them if they, like, agree to this."

"You'd better agree," Heather hissed at her cowering future husband.

"So, like, will you... err... First Mate Glen... take... err... Heth... Heather, isn't it? ...To be your wife?" asked the Reverend Simpson.

"I do," replied First Mate Glen.

"No, you will," hissed Heather.

"Er, right, sorry Heth, I will," answered First Mate Glen, a little flustered.

"And, like, will you... err... Heather... take... err... this man to be your, like, husband?" asked the Reverend Simpson of Heather.

"I will," she replied, smiling sweetly at the Reverend Simpson.

"Do you, like, have the rings?" asked the Reverend Simpson, turning to Deck Hand Chris.

"I most certainly do," replied Deck Hand Chris, turning towards Nat and smiling sickly again as

he handed the rings to the Reverend Simpson.

"Totally awesome. So, like, the couple... err... these two... have, like, written their own vows,

which is, like, totally awesome, and they've remembered them..."

"You'd better have," hissed Heather.

"...so... err... you," the Reverend Simpson indicated towards First Mate Glen, "put the ring on her finger and say your vows."

First Mate Glen placed the ring on Heather's finger and looked more or less into her eyes as he said his vows. In fact, he looked less, rather than more, into her eyes because Deck Hand Chris was holding a sheet of paper on which his vows were scribbled just behind Heather's left ear.

"Heth," said First Mate Glen, "you are the most wonderful woman I've ever met and I want to honour you and God with everything I have. I'll cook for you, I'll clean for you, I'll iron for you, I'll allow you to watch whatever you like on television, I'll... err..."

First Mate Glen went quiet. Heather looked at him, anger rising in her eyes as she began to suspect that First Mate Glen had forgotten the vows that she had written for him. In the nick of time, however, Deck Hand Chris realised that he had reached the bottom of the page and quickly turned it round so that his friend could continue.

"I'll... err...be at your beck and call all day. But most of all, I will serve God alongside you and try my best to guide you in his ways."

"Yah, yah, marvellous. And now... err... you," the Reverend Simpson indicated towards Heather, "you do the same to... err... to him."

Heather slipped the ring onto First Mate Glen's finger and said, "First Mate Glen, you are the most wonderful man I've ever met and I want to honour you and God with everything I have. I'll allow you to do whatever you like for me. But most of all, I will serve God alongside you and try my best to guide you in his ways."

"Yah, yah, lovely, so, like, now they're married and they're allowed to kiss, so, like, enjoy this very special first time, guys."

* * *

Cabin Boy Matt stood behind the pulpit.

"The readin' is from Fust Corinthians Chapter thirteen, verses four to thirteen. I'll be readin' from t' NNFV, that is, the New Noun Free Version.

"That which is patient, kind, doesn't envy, doesn't boast, isn't proud, rude, self-seeking or easily angered is patient. That which is patient, kind, doesn't envy, doesn't boast, isn't proud, rude, self-seeking or easily angered is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It it not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps that which does not technically exist which is recorded of that which is wrong. That which is patient, kind, doesn't envy, doesn't boast, isn't proud, rude, self-seeking or easily angered does not delight in that which is really, really bad, but it rejoices in that which is true. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

"That which is patient, kind, doesn't envy, doesn't boast, isn't proud, rude, self-seeking or easily angered never fails. But where there are those which are spoken prophetically and predict that which is to come at the suggestion of he who rules majestically and omnipotently, they will cease; where there are those which wag, they will be stilled; where there is that which is known, it will pass away. For we know a bit and we prophesy a bit, but when that which is perfect comes, that which is imperfect disappears. When I was really young, I talked like that which is really young, I thought like that which is really young, I reasoned like that which is really young. When I became older than that which is really young, I put the ways of that which is really young behind me. Now we see that which is merely reflected poorly, as in that at which we look to see that which is reflected and which is usually kept where we bathe and wash and urinate and clean those which we use to chew; then we shall see the top bit where we find that which is used for eating and speaking, that which is used for smelling and those which are used for seeing to the top bit where we find that which is used for eating and speaking, that which is used for smelling and those which are used for seeing; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

"And now these three remain: that which is faithful, that which is hopeful and that which is patient, kind, doesn't envy, doesn't boast, isn't proud, rude, self-seeking or easily angered. But the greatest of these is that which is patient, kind, doesn't envy, doesn't boast, isn't proud, rude, self-seeking or easily angered.

"This is the Word of the Lord. Sort of."

Cabin Boy Matt walked back to his seat as the congregation sat in complete, stunned silence. The Reverend Simpson took his place at the front again.

"So, like, yah," he said, nodding and brushing his hair back from in front of his face once more. "So, that passage was about love, and, like, I want you to know that God is love. God loves you. Yah, totally awesome, right? I know you agree. And, like, I couldn't help noticing that... err... the groom is, like, a fisherman... or something... right? Yah, good. He's, like, a fisherman. And, you know, like Jesus... was into fishermen... he, like, spent lots of time with fishermen and... like... the symbol of Christianity is... like... a fish, you know, you see it on the backs of the cars which go really, like, slowly... so like, that proves that, like, Jesus, the Lord, Yahweh, God Almighty, the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, the Prince of Peace, the Son of Man, loves you and wants a relationship, like, with like, you. You know? Isn't that, like, totally effing awesome? Yah. So, like, if what I've said here today has, like, touched you in anyway and, like, you want to talk to someone or, like, pray with someone, that's totally, like, awesome, there are cugs at the back, they're, like, really cool because they're in, like, full time Christian ministry and wear trainers and jeans, and, like you can talk to them and they'll, like, make you feel, like, really, like, totally uncomfortable. Yah. So, err, I'm going to invite the band up now and we'll, like, praise our God together again."

* * *

After singing the chorus to How Great Thou Art thirty-four times, being photographed with the happy couple, listening to Heather berate her new husband for not carrying the train of her dress, opening the car door for her or holding her hand correctly and enduring Cabin Boy Matt's attempts to chat up fourteen of the bridesmaids, the mother of the bride and the photographer, the group sat around their allocated table to eat. Cabin Boy Henry was also at the table, looking as miserable as ever.

"I don't know if I like my job," he said. "It's not really what I want to do, it's just that fishing seemed like such an obvious career move when the opportunity came up, you know?"

"But it pays well, right?" asked Reverend Doctor Inspector Warwick.

"Well, yeah, it's alright, I guess," said Cabin Boy Henry. "But, you know, I'm at the bottom of the ladder and it's a bit dull and repetitive and there's not much chance of advancing unless somebody dies."

"You could kill off Captain Campbell," suggested Cabin Boy Matt. "You know, chuck him ovver board."

"Hey, don't get any ideas," Skipper Bruce chastened him.

"At least you're better off than First Mate Glen," stated Reverend Doctor Inspector Warwick. "He's stuck in that job for life now."

"What's wrong with fashing?" asked Skipper Bruce.

"Not fishing," Reverend Doctor Inspector Warwick said. "In marriage."

"Ooh, aye," said Cabin Boy Matt. "They're always arguing, I don't understand why they'd do it.

"They're not always arguing," said Reverend Doctor Inspector Warwick.

"No," conceded Cabin Boy Matt. "Sometimes his phone's out of range."

"But surely that's what love is," said Skipper Bruce, wisely.

"What?" asked Reverend Doctor Inspector Warwick. "Being berated by your wife?"

"No," replied Skipper Bruce. "I'm not sure that you love someone because of something, you know, I think you love someone despite something."

There was silence around the table as the group took in this ridiculous suggestion.

"I mean," continued Skipper Bruce, "if you love someone only when you get along with them than it's not really love, is it? But if you love someone even when you could murder them, I guess that is love."

"Perhaps," muttered Reverend Doctor Inspector Warwick, miffed at being shown to be wrong.

"So I reckon First Mate Glen and Heather are actually quite a good couple, a good example of love. You know, patient and not self-seeking and all that.

"Aye, you've not got a bad point there," said Cabin Boy Matt. "I guess if Jesus loved us because of who we are rather than despite who we are we'd be well and truly buggered."

"A bit like Dave was earlier," chortled Cabin Boy Henry, referring to Cabin Boy Matt having gotten more than he bargained for after photographing up David's kilt.

"It's a good thing love is love and not something else," continued Cabin Boy Matt, ignoring Cabin Boy Henry (who did work on The Grey Friar, after all) "and that Jesus loved us."

* * *

The following evening Skipper Bruce, Deck Hand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt entered The Lady's Head to find Cabin Boy Henry slouched over a pint of Best looking utterly miserable.

"What's up, lad?" asked Cabin Boy Matt.

"Huh, Captain Campbell over heard our discussion yesterday," he said, "and sacked me. Said he didn't like people in his crew complaining about their jobs and just ordered me to collect a few debts before finishing."

"But I thought you didn't like your job," said Skipper Bruce.

"I didn't until I'd lost it," replied Cabin Boy Henry. "And now I realise how much I liked it."

"Oh dear," said Deck Hand Chris, pulling a ball of wool from his rucksack. "So what are you going to do now?"

Before Cabin Boy Henry could answer, Mairi bounced into the pub and over to the table where the four men were sat.

"Hey Cabin Boy Henry!" she beamed. "I guess you want me to pay for the fish for the café?"

"Yes, that's right," said Cabin Boy Henry. "Thanks for coming."

"Soooooooooo, I've got a tiiiiincy bit of a problem," said Mairi, indicating the small size of the problem with her thumb and index finger. "The café hasn't being doing that well, I can't think why, so I can't pay you all of it."

Cabin Boy Henry's face brightened as an idea entered his mind.

"That's OK," he said. "Look, just pay half, forget about the rest."

"Really?" Mairi beamed more than ever. "That's great, thank you Cabin Boy Henry." And with that she wrote a cheque, passed it to Cabin Boy Henry and bounced out with even more of a spring in her step.

"That was nice of you," said Skipper Bruce.

"Were you supposed to do that?" asked Deck Hand Chris, producing two long needles from his pockets.

"Er, no, but I thought I'd get myself into her good books, you know, she might give me a job if she likes me."

At that moment the door of the bar opened and Pastor Iain strolled towards them, briefcase in one hand and black, leather bound Bible in the other.

"Good morning, folks," he said, jovially. "I've come to pay my fish bill. We had lots last week for the Breathen fish supper you know, had it in a tree house and called it the Meeting in the Air, went down very well, you know."

"Good to see you, Pastor," said Cabin Boy Henry. "Look, don't pay everything you owe us, just give us a third, that'll see you sorted."

"Why, Cabin Boy Henry, that's very kind of you, the Lord will reward you dearly for your generosity. And hey! My fish have multiplied. Who'd have thought the Lord would multiply fish, eh?"

Pastor Iain handed over a wad of cash.

"Well, I'll see you all later, ta ta for now!"

And with that he was gone.

"Why are Christians always so bloody happy?" asked Cabin Boy Matt.

"They're not," replied Skipper Bruce, "look at you."

Cabin Boy Matt had no reply to that, so turned to Deck Hand Chris instead.

"And what the bloody 'ell are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm knitting," replied Deck Hand Chris.

"Knittin'?" spat Cabin Boy Matt. "Have you turned into some sort of nancy boy?"

"No," replied Deck Hand Chris. "Knitting's very therapeutic, Nat got me into it."

"Women'll be the death of men," muttered Cabin Boy Matt, eyeing up an attractive blond at the next table.

At that moment the door of The Lady's Head opened with a bang and Captain Campbell strode in, looked around and, clocking Cabin Boy Henry, headed straight to the table at which the four men were sat.

"Cabin Boy Henry," he said. "I've just had a call from Mairi at the café thanking me for cancelling half her debt. Half her debt which she says you," he jabbed a finger at Cabin Boy Henry's chest, "gave her. I then got a call from Pastor Iain. He was thanking me for giving him a discount, a discount which you," he prodded even harder, "gave him. They've both tripled their orders and say they're going to recommend us to their friends. Well done Cabin Boy Henry."

Captain Campbell gave Cabin Boy Henry an overly familiar hug that lasted just a little too long. "Have your job back," he said. "And let me buy you a pint."

"I won't say no to that," said Cabin Boy Henry.

"You never do," muttered Cabin Boy Matt.

"Great, thanks, Cabin Boy Henry," said Skipper Bruce. "Now they're taking even more custom off us. Come on, lads, let's go." Skipper Bruce downed the entirety of his previously untouched pint and left for another voyage in search of north atlantic cod.

__________

The real life First Mate Glen and Heather (First Lady Glen?) don't argue quite as much as they're fictional counterparts. I wish them the very best in their married life.

K.Y.

A Tale of Two Pretties

The sun was beating down on the crew of the Pride of Lamond as they lifted heavy crates of North Atlantic Cod off the deck and onto the quay. Sweat dripped from their foreheads as their muscles pumped in a manner somewhat reminiscent of John Major and Edwina Curry. Tourists strolled by licking ice creams. Skipper Bruce had tried to encourage Jannetta's to introduce a range of flavours, including cod, mackerel and tuna, but, inexplicably, none of them had been adopted by the famed purveyors of fine ices. Skipper Bruce had always thought it was to their loss, he was sure that the shrimp sorbet he had suggested would have been a hit.

The harbour was bustling with people making their way to the beach. One person, however, was not moving. A small, slightly dozy looking blond girl was sat on a bench watching Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen, Deck Hand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt work. She had been there for some time.

"Who is that girl?" asked First Mate Glen.

"I don't know," whistled Deck Hand Chris in reply. "She's been there for quite a long time and she seems to be watching you, Skipper."

"Don't be silly," answered Skipper Bruce, going red. "Just get this fash off the boat."

At that moment Harbour Master Gamble wandered along the quay towards them, clipboard in hand. First Mate Glen beckoned him over.

"Harbour Master Gamble," he said, "have you any idea who that girl is?"

"Well," Harbour Master Gamble looked thoughtful, "I've never seen her before, at least I don't recognise that I've seen her before, which of course doesn't mean that I actually haven't seen her, I may have seen her in passing but just not remembered her, so I may have just lied to you, though I'm not sure you can call it a lie if it wasn't intentional but was merely an accidental conveying of false information resulting from a failure of the memory, but if I have seen her before that doesn't matter because I still don't know who she is."

"We think she has the hots for the Skip," replied First Mate Glen, nudging Skipper Bruce playfully.

"Nah," squirmed Skipper Bruce, "don't want anything to do with them."

"Too bloody right, Skipper," Cabin Boy Matt interjected. "Stay well clear. Bloody Gregorian chants!"

Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen, Deck Hand Chris and Harbour Master Gamble just looked at each other and shrugged as Cabin Boy Matt lifted another crate of fish while muttering about tuneless music under his breath.

"I rather like Gregorian chants myself," said Harbour Master Gamble, "I have a CD of Chris de Burgh songs in the style of Gregorian chants."

Deck Hand Chris shuddered. "But you don't know who that girl is?"

"Not a clue," replied Harbour Master Gamble. "Perhaps he does, though," he said, indicating towards a policeman strolling through the crowds.

The policeman, catching Harbour Master Gamble's wave, strode purposefully towards them.

"It's Special Agent Warwick!" Stated Skipper Bruce, for indeed it was.

"Good morning," Special Agent Warwick greeted them.

"Why Warwick?" asked Harbour Master Gamble.

"It's a code name," First Mate Glen told him. "All secret agents are named after universities."

"You're wrong," replied Special Agent Warwick. "The head of MI5 left a laptop on a tram in Edinburgh, which was unfortunate because it wasn't going anywhere, as a result of which our secret identities are now in the public domain, so they had to be changed."

"And what theme did they use this time?" asked First Mate Glen.

"Castles," replied the secret agent.

"That's cool, that's cool. Which castle did they name you after?"

"Warwick."

"Oh. So you're still Special Agent Warwick?"

"No, I was Special Agent Warwick and now I'm Special Agent Warwick," answered Special Agent Warwick, patiently.

"Oh, OK," First Mate Glen thought about this for a moment. "So are you under cover as a cop at the moment?"

"No," replied Special Agent Warwick. "I decided to leave the secret service and they offered me a job as Inspector with the local police force, you don't need to rise up the ranks when you have a service history like mine. Unfortunately there was a mistake and I ended up as a Police Community Support Officer." He pointed to the back of his fluorescent jacket on which the letters PCSO stood out in white.

"Ah, unfortunate," said Deck Hand Chris, sympathetically patting Special Agent Warwick on the back. "Maybe we should just call you 'Inspector' anyway."

"Really it should be Reverend Doctor Inspector Warwick," replied Reverend Doctor Inspector Warwick. "I got a PhD not so long ago and I was ordained too so that I could go under cover as an Anglican vicar."

"Oh, right," answered Deck Hand Chris. "Well, we were wondering if you knew who that girl was over there."

"No," replied Reverend Doctor Inspector Warwick, "but I can find out." With that, he strolled over to the girl, asked her name and came back. "She's called Mairi and she owns a café in town," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me, that lad over there hasn't got his shoe laces tied properly, I should go and have a quiet word."

And with that Reverend Doctor Inspector Warwick was gone.

Skipper Bruce was about to pick up a crate of mackerel when he heard a small voice behind him. "Excuse me, Skipper?"

He turned around to see Mairi looking up at him adoringly.

"Er, yeah?" he said, looking down at her uncomfortably.

"I thought you might like some sausages," she said, smiling broadly as she held out a plate on which two black piles of soot which vaguely resembled lumps of coal were sat.

"Oh, er, thanks," Skipper Bruce replied, taking the plate from her. He stood in silence, unsure of what to say next.

"Do you like sausages?" Mairi asked him after a few moments' awkward silence.

"Er, yeah, they're all right, I guess." Skipper Bruce really hoped she wasn't going to wait for him to eat them.

Another silence ensued.

"I own a café," Mairi told him, unperturbed by the highly uncomfortable nature of the situation. "I do aaaaall the cooking myself," she beamed and waved her hands around as if to indicate her wide ranging culinary skills.

"Oh, right," replied Skipped Bruce. "That's, er, good, I guess." He glanced back at the sausages. "Well," he said, "I guess I'll, er, save these for lunch. Thanks." And with that he put the plate on the ground, picked up his crate and heading off towards the store.

"Oh," Mairi said disappointedly as she looked after him. "Don't let them go cold," she called.

Deck Hand Chris and First Mate Glen nudged their Skipper as they prepared the fish for market later that day, poking fun at his new admirer.

"Don't listen to 'em, Skip," Cabin Boy Matt said. "Chuffin' women and chuffin' Gregorian chants. Bah!"

First Mate Glen and Deck Hand Chris looked at each other again and shrugged.

"Anyway", Cabin Boy Matt turned to Deck Hand Chris, "you can say nowt, I've seen that lass giving you the eye."

"What? Mairi's been giving me the eye as well?" he said, his voice lifting to a pitch which could be heard with greater ease by dogs than by men.

"No, not Mairi, another lass. Aye, she comes by whenever we're unloading the cargo and casts her eyes over your rear end every time you bend down to pick up the crates."

"Don't be silly," he said, almost slicing his finger as he gutted a fish, his hands suddenly having become somewhat unsteady.

"She does, walks by two or three times."

"Who?"

"I dunno, do I? Small lass, glasses, brown hair, long skirt, looks quite humble."

"By humble you mean ugly?"

"No, humble."

The catch that Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen, Deck Hand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt had brought in that morning was quite large and the sun was low in the sky as they prepared to leave the store after a serious afternoon of gutting, a distinct smell of marine life emanating from their clothes.

Skipper Bruce, who was rarely shocked by anything, almost leapt out of his skin as he opened the door to find Mairi stood looking up at him, the same beaming grin on her face.

"Hey, Skipper," she said.

"Er, hey," replied Skipper Bruce. "How are you?"

"I'm fiiiiine, how are you?"

"OK."

"I was wondering if you wanted to go out later? Maybe we could catch a movie, or go for a walk, or have a drink or I could cook for you or..."

On the inside Skipper Bruce was panicking. His heart palpitated with fear, he desperately wanted to escape but he knew his crew were stood right behind him blocking his retreat, red spots began to form in front of his eyes and he suddenly felt extremely light headed. On the outside, Skipper Bruce looked completely normal.

"Er..." he said, the note of extreme horror in his voice totally inaudible so that he appeared quite calm.

"Only first I have to go and bury my fish. It died earlier after I decided it needed some exercise and took it for a walk in Kinburn Park. Maybe we went too far."

"I'm sorry," said Skipper Bruce. "I don't believe in burying fash, I believe in eating them. I couldn't be with someone who has their priorities wrong."

"Oh," replied Mairi, her smile disappearing momentarily. "OK, then, bye bye!"

Skipper Bruce watched her skip away as his vision returned and his heart rate returned to normal. "I need a drink," he said.

* * *

"So she owns a café?" asked Deck Hand Chris. Skipper Bruce nodded. "But did you see the state of those sausages?"

"Apparently all her cooking's like that," said First Mate Glen, who was trying to take his half-pint slowly. Heather still hadn't forgiven him for the Ethel incident which had, with great misfortune, occurred last time he'd drunk a little too quickly. Ethel, for her part, now approached the Pride of Lamond's crew with caution and always made sure that the word "JESUS" was prominent on her apron, just to be sure that they knew where she stood on such matters.

"How's the nounless Bible going?" Skipper Bruce asked Cabin Boy Matt.

"Bah, don't want to talk about it," replied Cabin Boy Matt dejectedly.

"Where've you got to?"

"Song of Songs. All about chuffin' women. And it's a nightmare. Listen to this:" Cabin Boy Matt pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. "Those of yours which can be sometimes large and sometimes small but which are usually round and attractive and which are in front are like two of those which prance and are shot and are run over and are young, like two of those young which are similar but which are not often run over as they rarely close enough to those which run over."

"What on earth was that?" asked Deck Hand Chris.

"Chapter 7 verse 3. Nightmare, isn't it. Still, it's all the Lord's work."

The others glanced at each other and swiftly downed their drinks.

* * *

When the Pride of Lamond came into port a few days later Skipper Bruce couldn't help but groan. There, on the quayside waiting for them, was Mairi. She waved excitedly as the vessel docked.

"Hey, Mairi," Skipped Bruce greeted her, throwing a crate of fish onto the quay a little too near her feet.

"Helloooooo," called Mairi. "How are you, Skipper Bruce?"

"Er, I'm well, thanks. How are you?"

"I'm really well, I've been preparing a new menu for my café as the old one wasn't very popular, people never came back. I've introduced some new and exciting dishes. I've got toad in the hole with real toads and choux pastries made of leather."

"Sounds... nice."

"So, Skipper, I just wanted you to know that, like, I really like you and would like to marry you and go everywhere with you."

Skipper Bruce felt panic setting in again.

"Er, look, Mairi, I don't really have a home, I kind of spend my life fishing, out at sea, you know. And, you know, fish have their, err, reefs, I guess, I don't know, and lobsters have their pots, but I don't have anywhere. "

"Oh," replied Mairi, her smile fading again.

"I just, you know, don't think you could cope."

"No," replied Mairi, her smile gone. "You're probably right."

"Bur I'll, er, I'll come to you café sometime," Skipper Bruce promised.

Mairi's smile returned. "OK," she beamed, and skipped off again.

"Did you just promise to go to her café?" asked Deck Hand Chris.

"Yeah," replied Skipper Bruce.

Deck Hand Chris pulled a face and bent down to pick up a crate of fish. At that moment, however, he remembered what Cabin Boy Matt had told him and whipped round.

There, stood admiring his rear end, stood a humble looking girl. She went red as she realised that Deck Hand Chris had noticed her looking.

Deck Hand Chris' heart fluttered for a second. Suddenly everything was very clear. The sun was dazzling, the wind picked out the feathers on the wings of the sea gulls, the fish he was carrying smelt more delicious than they'd ever smelt before, the laughter of the children seemed happier than he previously realised.

"Hello," he said to the girl.

"Hello," she replied. "I'm Nat."

"Hello Nat," Deck Hand Chris pronounced every single individual syllable of her delectable name. "I'm Deck Hand Chris."

"Hello Deck Hand Chris," said Nat, a humble smile appearing on her lips. And what lips they were! Deck Hand Chris thought they would taste amazing after a plate of herring.

"I believe we're going to set sail again soon," said Deck Hand Chris. "Would you... like to come?"

Nat smiled again. "I'd love to," she said. "But first let me say goodbye to my family, they'll wonder where I've gone."

"I don't think we'll have time for that," replied Deck Hand Chris. "No one who puts their hands to the rigging and looks back is fit for service on the Pride of Lamond."

Nat giggled. "Help me on board, then," she said, reaching out her hand.

Deck Hand Chris took it and smiled.

* * *

The real life Mairi is not a psychopath. She is perfectly lovely, if a wee bit dizzy, and the world would be a much worse off place without her. Her cooking has also improved somewhat in recent years.

K.Y.

Where have all the flowers gone? - Part 2

Skipper Bruce sat on a rock staring out towards the horizon. The sea lapped at his feet as he crunched on the pasta he was eating straight from the bag. When packing his supplies he hadn't taken into account the fact that he would have neither oven nor microwave with which to cook. He had tried to build fires, but with little success. The one fire he had managed to get started he had used to cook the garlic bread he had brought, but the three hours he had conservatively estimated as an approximate cooking time had proved far too much and the resulting billows of black smoke had nearly given away his presence.

As he sat crunching, Skipper Bruce's mind drifted to Deck Hand Chris. He felt desperately hurt that his friend had not only abandoned him but had preferred his death and the money which would result to their continued friendship. There would be no more games of Risk, no more shared guffaws at Doctors, no more piggy-back rides down Market Street. He felt anger that Deck Hand Chris had felt their friendship so worthless, but most of all he felt a profound hope that his friend would return.

His thoughts were interrupted as a familiar lilac reflection appeared on the water in front of him. Looking up, he saw the Pride of Lamond appear around the rocks and First Mate Glen fling a bottle into the water as it passed.

Skipper Bruce lowered himself into the water and swam out to reach the bottle. Inside was a slip of Tesco Value paper on which was scribbled a short message, clearly written by Cabin Boy Matt:

That which is used to pay for that which we either need or want has arrived and he who has betrayed us has gone. You can come back to that from where we come.

With that, Skipper Bruce began to scramble up the steep cliff face towards civilization.

* * *

Deck Hand Chris was relaxing on his huge sofa in front of a huge plasma television watching Doctors. It wasn't the same without the Pride of Lamond's crew, but that mattered little. He had everything he could ever want. A small black boy whom he employed at a very competitive rate sat on an exercise bike in the corner powering the plasma television by way of a dynamo. Out of the window of his luxury eco-villa he could see, in the distance, fourteen enormous wind turbines rising from the ocean, the source not just of the West Coast's energy but also of his fortune. He was surrounded by dreadlocked friends smoking herbal cigars which had come from Deck Hand Chris' cupboard and drinking organic wine, the grapes for which had been crushed under the feet of local neds undergoing community service, which had come from Deck Hand Chris' well-stocked cellar. This was the life.

* * *

Skipper Bruce stumbled into The Lady's Head dirty, ragged and forlorn. His clothes were ripped, his double cowlick was mattered with dust, blood and sweat and his glasses were broken. Silence fell in the church-run bar as all eyes fell on the Skipper.

"Ski... Skipper," stammered First Mate Glen, standing up. "We... we thought you were dead."

"Yes," piped in Cabin Boy Matt in a flat monotone which he thought was quite convincing, "how great to see you, Skipper Bruce, who was dead but is now, miraculously, alive, how can it be?"

Skipper Bruce fell into a seat and Ethel, the 87-year old barmaid, quickly brought him a pint of Best, which he downed in one sift gulp.

"I fell from the harbour wall," began Skipper Bruce wearily.

"No, no," whispered First Mate Glen a little too loudly, "you were washed overboard during a storm."

"Ah, yeah, that's right," said Skipper Bruce. "I was washed overboard during a really bad storm and washed up almost dead on a desert island. Luckily some seals found me and nursed me back to health until I was strong enough to sit on their backs and be taken to the shore, from where I walked all the way back here."

Silence remained as the packed bar contemplated the likelihood of the story.

"Err, quick!" shouted Cabin Boy Matt to prevent anyone having too long to think. "Drinks all round to celebrate, err, on First Mate Glen! What a generous chap he is!"

By the end of the evening everybody was pleased that Skipper Bruce was alive and well, though nobody could quite remember the story of how he had survived.

* * *

Deck Hand Chris stood in the doorway to what had, until a few minutes ago, been his villa. Global warming had come under sufficient doubt so as to have undermined the need for non-polluting energy, while vast oil reserves in the Falklands and England's crushing of South American opposition to British sovereignty had secured traditional energy sources for decades to come. Not only that, but it had become clear that wind turbines were incapable of supplying Scotland's energy needs. Revenue from the off-shore windfarm in which he had invested everything had dried up and the turbines were costing more to maintain than they made. Now he had opened the door to find a representative from Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs claiming that he owed the government hundreds of thousands of pounds in outstanding taxes from the income he had made and that his eco-villa, and everything in it, was to be taken as payment. Even the little black boy spat on him as he left.

"What did you say your name was?" Deck Hand Chris asked the scowling man who had given him the bad news and who now supervised the loading of his property into a large government van.

"To people like you it's Jay," he replied in a thick Northern Irish accent, scowling even harder. "Don't ask my real name. I know what you people are like and I don't want repercussions. I've lost enough teeth from begrudged reluctant taxpayers already."

"And are you sure you've got this right?" he asked, "how can I owe so much?"

"You make this amount of cash and don't tell Revenue and Customs, this is what happens," replied Jay.

"But, I've got nothing, what will I do?"

Jay looked at Deck Hand Chris and shrugged nonchalantly. "Not my problem."

With that, he took a bottle of the organic wine, popper the cork and took a swig. "Blah! Tastes like Clem's feet!"

* * *

The following morning, Harbour Master Gamble approached Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt as they scrubbed the Pride of Lamond.

"Can I ask you a question? I mean, I know that was a question and that I asked that without your permission, but, I mean, what I mean to say, unless of course you already understand what I mean because this is fairly commonly used phrase, the question I began with, that is, but what I meant was, do I have your permission to ask a subsequent question to the one which I have already asked you?"

"Aye," replied Skipper Bruce.

"Well," said Harbour Master Gamble, leaning towards them conspiratorially, "you weren't really washed overboard, were you?"

Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt looked at each other.

"Err, no," replied Skipper Bruce.

"I thought not, but I won't tell." Harbour Master Gamble winked. "I heard Deck Hand Chris wanted his share of the business back, and you didn't have it, so you pretended to have been killed to get the life insurance to pay him. Am I right?"

"Err, yes," replied Skipper Bruce.

"What are you going to do when the insurance company ask for the money back, may I ask, I mean, I don't mean to be nosey, I'm just a little curious, which, I know they say curiosity killed the cat, but given that I'm not a cat, as I hope you can tell, although I know that perhaps it is a little uncertain, I felt that it would be worth the risk, although I hope you don't think me imprudent for thinking so, I like to live life on the edge, if, perhaps, I may be a little impolite in doing so."

"I guess," answered First Mate Glen, "that we'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it."

"May I ask another question," asked Harbour Master Gamble. "I mean, I know that that is a question that I asked without first asking permission but what I mean is..."

"Aye," Skipper Bruce interrupted.

"Why didn't you just sell Deck Hand Chris' share of the business to someone else?" asked Harbour Master Gamble.

Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt looked at each again.

"We never thought of that."

* * *

Deck Hand Chris phoned all his friends for help, but nobody responded. They were either having their dreadlocks redone, tie-dying shirts or on a Greenpeace ship attacking Japanese whaling boats. Feeling very cold and incredibly alone, he spent the night in a cardboard box under a bridge and the following morning went in search of a job. He managed to find mundane work on a salmon farm feeding the fish. He longed to fill his stomach with the pink and green foul smelling flakes he was feeding them, but the owners of the farm refused to let him, saying that their insurance didn't cover their employees eating food that was unfit for human consumption, nor would they give him an advance on his pitiful wage, for which he was forced to wait until the end of the month.

Consequently, Deck Hand Chris continued to lay under the freezing bridge during the long, cold nights, his stomach cramping with hunger. He thought back to Skipper Bruce. He had had true friends on the Pride of Lamond, friends who stood by him during thick and thin, friends who had supported him after the doctors had told him he was unable to have children as a result of having received the sack whack, friends who would have helped him had he lost everything. Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt always had food to eat, even when catches were poor the Skipper had made sure that his crew ate. Why was he here, cold, hungry and alone? The longer he thought over his situation, the more obvious the solution became. He would have to swallow his pride and return to St Andrews, apologise to Skipper Bruce and beg that he offer him a job doing the most menial tasks on board the Pride of Lamond.

* * *

"No, Heth, we're not going to the Seychelles on our honeymoon..." First Mate Glen was pacing backwards and forwards along the deck of the Pride of Lamond, his mobile phone clamped to his ear. Wedding preparations were not going well. "No... no, I don't want you to feel bad... Heth, I'm not... It's just that I don't see the point in going somewhere expensive and exciting when we're not going to leave the bedroom all week... No, I'm not just being cheap... No... I'm not... There are some lovely hotels in Leith... Well, no, I haven't checked them out but... It can't be that bad... The what triangle? ...No, that's not the reason... OK... OK... We won't go to Leith... No I want you to be happy... I do... Heth, I do want you to be happy... How about Springburn? ...It's quite nice in August... It is... It is... Heth, I'm not being cheap... I'm not... No, I'm not saying you're a liar... I'm not... I'm not... OK... OK... I'm sorry for calling you a liar... I am... No, I'm not contradicting myself... OK... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Where would you like to go? ...The Seychelles? ...That sounds like a great idea."

Skipper Bruce was sat on quay with his binoculars out, scanning the horizon in all directions. He had remained there for a number of weeks, leaving only to sleep. The Pride of Lamond had come and gone on multiple voyages since his return, yet he had accompanied First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt on none of them, he just remained, watching and hoping that Deck Hand Chris would return.

Cabin Boy Matt sat beside Skipper Bruce fixing nets. "I think the best bit," he told him, "is when they open the boot and find Remington Steele in his tuxedo and a smooth grin holding a cocktail and he says..."

Suddenly Skipper Bruce leapt to his feet, flung his binoculars in the air and ran as he hadn't run since trying to get from from one end of St Andrews to the other so as not to miss the start of Diagnosis Murder. Cabin Boy Matt stood in shock and First Mate Glen dropped his phone.

"My friend, my friend!" cried Skipper Bruce as he ran towards Deck Hand Chris, who he had seen in the distance. The American tourists stopped and stared as he sprinted past, some of them taking photographs of the crazy Scottish sea captain. When he reached Deck Hand Chris, Skipper Bruce flung his arms around him and embraced him.

"Deck Hand Chris!" he cried. "I'm so glad you're back, come with me."

"Wait, wait," stammered Deck Hand Chris. "Skipper, I've been terrible to you, I've treated you badly, please take me back as..."

"Nonsense!" cried Skipper Bruce, "come on, we're going to have a massive party."

* * *

That evening The Lady's Head was filled with music and dancing. The entire town turned out to celebrate the return of Deck Hand Chris and witness Skipper Bruce giving him part ownership of the Pride of Lamond once more. DJ Vector and the Yorkshire Rapper even had a rap battle in his honour.

But First Mate Glen was outraged that Deck Hand Chris had been accepted back as an equal when he and Cabin Boy Matt had been working hard during the long months of his absence. He refused to go into the party and sat outside, listening to DJ Vector's beats and sulking.

Where have all the flowers gone? - Part 1

Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt stood looking up the hill towards the town in the early morning sun. Steven Seagull circled above them, perhaps also keeping a look out. The Pride of Lamond should have left the harbour several hours before, but Deck Hand Chris was still nowhere to be seen.

"Are you still here?" asked Harbour Master Gamble, approaching the trio with clipboard in hand. "Well, I mean, I can see you're still here, at least, I think I can, it could, of course, be an illusion, or a vision or a dream, supposing, that is, that I'm still asleep, which I'm not, at least, I don't think I am, but I could be wrong, but it was just a figure of speech."

"Aye," answered Skipper Bruce.

"Deck Hand Chris still hasn't arrived," said First Mate Glen, hoping that it wasn't because he had eaten the lemon which Deck Hand Chris has been intending to use to clean the wheelhouse. That had, he knew, annoyed him somewhat.

The crew of the Pride of Lamond had taken the previous week away from the high seas for a period of relaxation. They had, after all, been working very hard. Skipper Bruce had gone skiing with Oak Hall, Cabin Boy Matt had gone on an "adrenaline bursting" tour of local authority museums and First Mate Glen had gone and got himself engaged, but nobody was sure what had happened to Deck Hand Chris. He had, so they thought, been intending to go to the Glastonbury festival, where he was due to give a live whistling performance on centre stage, but he had yet to return.

"So, you still haven't told us how you proposed," Cabin Boy Matt said to First Mate Glen.

"Haven't I?" asked First Mate Glen. "Well, er, I didn't exactly propose to her."

"What do you mean?" asked Cabin Boy Matt.

"Well, she sort of proposed to me," First Mate Glen chuckled nervously. "She got angry that I hadn't asked her yet and so I asked her and she said no because she'd forced me into it and didn't really want to and wouldn't have done if she hadn't said anything and got angry that I wasn't willing to risk upsetting her by not asking her there and then, then she proposed to me and I said yes and then she got angry that she was having to be the man in our relationship, so, er, yeah, I'm really happy."

Skipper Bruce and Cabin Boy Matt stood in silence for a few moments, unsure of what to say.

"So, er, how's the nounless Bible going?" asked First Mate Glen to cover the awkward silence.

"I'm stuck on chapter six of Exodus," replied Cabin Boy Matt.

"Ah, right, shame," replied First Mate Glen.

As the men idolly chatted they watched a lone male saunter slowly down the hill towards them. He had long, greasy hair, wore sandals on his grubby feet, carried a jute bag and wore a green tee shirt with a picture of a wind turbine on it.

"I'd recognise that whistle anywhere," said First Mate Glen.

"So would I," replied Cabin Boy Matt. "It's either Deck Hand Chris or the bloke who used to do next door's garden. It can't be the gardener because he's dead, but I don't reckon it's Deck Hand Chris neither looking like that."

At that moment, the lone figure looked up. His face was filthy and he needed a shave, but his lop-sided grin identified him immediately. It was Deck Hand Chris.

"By 'eck, you need a bloody 'air cut," exclaimed Cabin Boy Matt.

"What happened to you?" asked First Mate Glen, equally astounded.

Deck Hand Chris took a small jar of parsley from his pocket, tipped some into a strip of recycled paper, rolled it into a thin tube and put it between his lips before lighting it with a match.

"I've seen the light," he said, sucking on his herbal cigarette. "We can't continue to live the way we do. At Glastonbury I met some people who told me all about the damage we do to our planet. They knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who was once a lecturer at the University of East Anglia who used to have a colleague who said that evidence one of her undergrads had unearthed but who for data protection reasons couldn't reveal the source of the said evidence showed that human activity, especially our production of carbon through energy use, is causing all the ice in the world to melt and that as a result we're all going to die and, more importantly, all the animals will also die, throwing earth's delicate ecosystems off balance, which will cause all the flowers to die. We can't let that happen, can we?" He took the herbal cigarette from between his teeth and held it in the air between two fingers. "We need to stop using fossil fuels, for the sake of the flowers. Renewable energy is the only way. We should also become vegetarians, animals take up too much energy to prove sustainable."

"He's gone green," muttered First Mate Glen.

"He's making me bloody green with them cigarettes," Cabin Boy Matt complained.

"Never mind this," said Skipper Bruce, "let's go catch some fash!"

"No, you don't understand," said Deck Hand Chris. "I can't come with you, I need to save the world, for the flowers. Skipper, buy back my portion of the Pride of Lamond so that I can invest it in a new offshore wind farm."

"What?" asked Skipper Bruce, shocked. "I can't afford that!"

"I know you can't, but you don't have a choice, I don't want to be part of this consortium any more. You'll have to buy me out."

"But I can't," Skipper Bruce stammered, shaking, "you'll bankrupt me."

"You can, I've thought about it," said Deck Hand Chris. "If you happened to be washed overboard, you'd receive a massive payout from your life insurance which should cover my share and then some."

"You want to kill him?" asked First Mate Glen, flabbergasted.

Deck Hand Chris just shrugged. "It's not really my problem."

* * *

Early the next morning, before any other vessels had left the port, the Pride of Lamond's engine started with a belch of black smoke which made Deck Hand Chris shudder. Hours earlier, in the pitch darkness, the crew had loaded their trawler with supplies to last two months. The hold was full of Campo Largo beans, Irn Bru, Homepride Pasta Bake Sauce, coos coos and garlic bread. Skipper Bruce stared glumly forward as he guided the boat onto the open seas. Once St Andrews was out of sight, he hugged the coast, eyeing the shoreline carefully until he spotted a beach which was remote enough for him to live there unnoticed but with sufficient shelter for him to survive.

"That looks like a good spot,"said First Mate Glen, sullenly.

Skipper Bruce turned the wheel and the Pride of Lamond approached the beach. He got as close as he dare to the rocks before flinging the cases of food into the water.

"OK, lads," he said, sadness in his eyes. "Go out away from here. Wait for a storm and then radio that I've been lost overboard. Throw over my life jacket. Once the life insurance money comes in, Deck Hand Chris can take his share and go. The rest of you, keep on catching fash. I'll come back when it's all blown over and as though it were some sort of miraculous recovery."

With that Skipper Bruce scrambled over the side of the Pride of Lamond and lowered himself gingerly into the cold North Sea. First Mate Glen took the wheel and directed the vessel away from the beach as Cabin Boy Matt watched Skipper Bruce make his way to the shore. Deck Hand Chris, a smile on his face, descended to the kitchen to make a cup of lemon grass tea.

* * *

St Andrews greeted the death of Skipper Bruce with great sadness. The Free Church held a memorial service at which all the psalms were sung to Fat Boy Slim tunes and The Lady's Head offered two-for-one carb feasts in homage to the much loved Skipper. St Andrews Museum put on an exhibition of the Skipper's life, complete with plastic lobsters and a badly constructed and oddly sized model of the Pride of Lamond, which Cabin Boy Matt had made from hundreds of cereal boxes he had collected but not used during his student days. It was supposed to have been made to scale, but Cabin Boy Matt's numeracy was non-existent and, while the boat was supposed to have been on a 1:5 scale, the wheelhouse had ended up only half the size of the original.

The insurance company were unwilling, at first, to pay out given that, in the absence of a body, the Skipper's death could not be proven. During this time First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt continued to fish while Deck Hand Chris stayed at home growing his hair, smoking thyme and decorating jute bags. After many months and a number of covert trips to replenish Skipper Bruce's stocks, the money from the insurance company arrived. Deck Hand Chris took his share and left St Andrews.

To be continued...

Photo of the Pride of Lamond's Crew

Steven Seagull swoops over (left to right) Cabin Boy Matt, First Mate Glen, Harbour Master Gamble, Skipper Bruce and Deck Hand Chris on board the Pride of Lamond.

Photo courtesy of Ewen Glen and Chris Arnott.

Life in Abundance

"Pull!" shouted First Mate Glen. "Pull!"

The nets were bursting with fat, juicy, north Atlantic cod as the crew of the Pride of Lamond used all their might to heave them out of the water and onto the deck. It was the hardest they had had to work in their whole fishing career, never before had the nets been so full. Cabin Boy Matt especially was struggling.

"Pull, Cabin Boy Matt, you big girl!" shouted First Mate Glen. The net was slipping from their grasp and every one of the crew needed to give their full effort. First Mate Glen could see that Cabin Boy Matt was at risk of losing the catch for them. "Retard!" he yelled at him in frustration as the net began to slip back into the water.

"I am pullin' reet 'ard!" shouted Cabin Boy Matt in return, leaning so far back as he pulled on the net that he was almost horizontal.

The sun was blazing, turning the arms of the men red as they slowly dragged the net and, more importantly, its valuable contents onto their vessel. As soon as it was safely on board the crew gave thanks to the Lord before tipping the fish into the stores below, into which First Mate Glen, Deck Hand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt immediately descended in order to gut and pack them ready for market.

The sea rose and fell beneath the Pride of Lamond as Skipper Bruce guided the vessel back to port. The sound of the the Wee Frees, First Mate Glen's favourite band, rose from the CD player on the deck below, where it jollied the men in their work. Skipper Bruce smiled. First Mate Glen had been dying to play their greatest hits album, entitled Now That's What I Call a Psalmody!, all week. The wind blew through the hair of Skipper Bruce, tugging at his double cowlick, as he leaned out of the wheelhouse window. He was happy. That week's fishing had been hugely successful and the rotting wooden hull of his vessel now groaned under the weight of the north Atlantic cod that it contained. He dreamed of all the ways he could spend the money he and his crew would gain from the haul and he allowed his mind to drift like a corpse in a river. He imagined himself in the Swiss Alps, skiing gleefully down virgin white slopes as the theme tune to Diagnosis Murder played as if by magic from the clouds. A week of that would indeed be heaven. Who knows, with this haul plus the money he was making from his DJing it may just be possible. He may even find himself a girl on his next Oak Hall trip.

He flicked open Your Two Breasts are Like Two Fawns, the book of Christian chat-up lines he had surreptitiously purchased from the top shelf at The Lady's Head. He had thought that one of them would gain him a nice young lady, but he was no longer sure. Telling a woman that he had been given the gift of tongues was not his style and he held Graham Kendrick in too high esteem to use the first line of any of his songs as a means of gaining a quick kiss. Nope. There was only one thing for it. He would have to learn how to do a rubix cube really quickly, that would impress the ladies.

His thoughts were soon brought back to reality as he saw a flare rise from the waters to his right. Following the line of smoke back down to earth he could clearly see, just a mile or so away, a stricken trawler. It had run aground on a rock and looked to be sinking quickly. Raising his binoculars to his eyes he could make out figures in the water. The situation was grave, which would be exactly where the stricken vessel's crew would be going if they did not receive help quickly.

Skipper Bruce rested his hands on the wheel of the Pride of Lamond. The grounded ship was close, but a rescue would take time. The massive haul of north Atlantic cod needed to be sold while still fresh and the catch the crew were working on at that moment needed to be prepared as soon as possible to prevent it from rotting. No. There was no way Skipper Bruce could help the crew of the sinking trawler. He turned the wheel of the Pride of Lamond to the left, towards the harbour, prosperity and rest.

* * *

"No Heth... no... that's not the case... no... it's not pronounced 'Kamchaatka', it's 'Kamchatka'... Yes, you are wrong... Yes, I did just say you were wrong... No, that doesn't mean that I'm calling you an idiot... No, it doesn't... it doesn't... OK... OK, I'm sorry, Heth... Yes, I am sorry for calling you an idiot... I am... I would prove it to you by taking you out for dinner, but I'm still pretty full... No, I had a couple of spoonfuls of Deck Hand Chris' porridge this morning and phew! I'm still stuffed!... OK, Heth... I'll see you soon... Bye... Yes, of course I love you... I do... OK... OK... Bye Heth."

First Mate Glen sighed heavily, turned off his phone and entered The Lady's Head. He spotted Cabin Boy Matt sat at a table on the other side of the room bent over a sheet of paper.

"Hey, what are you up to?" he asked his colleague, placing his half-half-pint, which would be more than enough for him, on the table and sitting down opposite the Yorkshireman.

"Ey up, First Mate Glen," replied Cabin Boy Matt. "I'm translating the Bible."

"Oh," replied First Mate Glen in reply. "That's really good, it's great that you're doing something so useful. There are so many people groups in the world that don't have the Scriptures in their own language. Wonderful. What language are you translating it into?"

"I'm putting into noun-free English," answered Cabin Boy Matt, proudly.

"What?"

"English, but without nouns. I reckon there's a real need for it."

"Oh," said First Mate Glen, a little stunned. "Er... how far have you got?"

"I've only managed the first verse of Gensis so far. It's pretty tough going, harder than it looks."

First Mate Glen swivelled the piece of paper round so that he could read it:

Very, very early on, incredibly so, he who reigns majestically and omnipotently created that which is above where those who follow him will dwell after they die and he also created that which is below upon which we now dwell, though, of course, we did not there dwell when it was first created for we did not then exist.

"It's... er... quite a mouthful, isn't it?" stated First Mate Glen.

"Aye, that'll be one o' t' drawbacks when we eradicate nouns from English. Still, that's evolution."

"Evolution?"

"Aye, we'll become more efficient by getting rid of the parts of language we don't need, like nouns."

"But it's not really more efficient, is it? We're really just beating about the bush."

"No, it is more efficient, a lot more efficient because we don't really need nouns, as the fact that I can write part of Genesis without them shows, it's just that the beating about the bush is one of the drawbacks of getting rid of them. Still, efficiency needs sacrifice."

At that moment Deck Hand Chris and Skipper Bruce, along with Ali, photographer with the St Andrews Citizen, joined them at the table.

"Ali's just been telling us what happened to that ship we saw yesterday afternoon, the one that had run aground," Deck Hand Chris informed them.

"You saw them?" asked Ali in surprise.

"Aye," replied Skipper Bruce.

"But why didn't you help them?" she asked.

"Skipper decided we had to get the fish back to port before it began to rot. We all think he did the right thing," said Deck Hand Chris.

"And we prayed for them," put in First Mate Glen. "We prayed for their safety when we'd got back to port."

"I'll have to tell Sam that," replied Ali, taking out a notepad and jotting something down.

"I'm sorry, who's Sam?" asked Deck Hand Chris.

"Sam Aritan, he's writing the report on the matter for tomorrow's paper and it's already up on his Jerusalem to Jericho blog. He's the one who told me all about it," Ali answered.

"So what happened to the boat?" asked First Mate Glen.

"Well, a few minutes after you lot had passed Pastor Iain..."

"Oh, he's a lovely chap," said Cabin Boy Matt. "Always reet jolly."

"Yes, well, Pastor Iain passed in his Abundance," continued Ali.

"In his what?" asked Deck Hand Chris.

"The Abundance is the name of his yacht. He saw them, but decided that he urgently needed to get back because he hadn't finished preparing that night's sermon."

"I've got verse two!" shouted Cabin Boy Matt.

"Excuse me?" said Ali, questioningly.

"Verse two of my noun-free English version of the Bible. It reads 'Now that upon which we now dwell was formless and empty, that which is dark was over that which is on top of that which is profound, not philosophically so but physically so, and that which is spiritual of he who reigns majestically and omnipotently was hovering over those which are wet.'"

"It's a bit repetitive," said Deck Hand Chris.

"And 'that which is spiritual' doesn't really define the Spirit of God, for surely all of God is spiritual, though N.T. Wright might not fully agree," added First Mate Glen.

"But how else would you describe the Spirit of God?" asked Cabin Boy Matt.

"Erm... I'm not sure," replied First Mate Glen. "You could try..."

"But what about the boat?" asked Skipper Bruce, becoming increasingly exasperated. "What happened to the sinking boat?"

"Oh, right, yes," said Ali. "Well, The Grey Friar passed next."

"Those scumbags!" exclaimed First Mate Glen.

"Scoundrals!" interjected Deck Hand Chris. "I bet they left them to drown like rats!"

"Actually, they stopped and helped them out of the water," continued Ali. "They let down their lifeboats and went to pick them up. The waves were apparently quite high by then, it was a bit dangerous. But anyway, they got them on board and dried and fed them. A couple of them were badly injured, broken legs and such, God knows how they managed to stay alive in the water, and they were all suffering from acute hypothermia. First Mate Fraser bandaged them up as best she could and they took them to port and paid for them to stay in a Bupa hospital until they recover fully. Captain Campbell said he'd go back in a week to check on them and pay any extra costs."

The crew of the Pride of Lamond sat in silence as Ali finished telling them what had happened.

"So the town's scum helped them?" asked First Mate Glen.

"Looks like it," replied Ali. "And you didn't. Nor did Pastor Iain."

Skipper Bruce stood up, mumbling that he had to prepare that evening's set for the club at which he was playing, Deck Hand Chris suddenly remembered that he needed to clean the oven, First Mate Glen said that Heather needed his assistance in some matter and Cabin Boy Matt decided that he needed peace and quiet to work on verse three. All left quickly, though none of them accomplished the tasks they had set themselves for the evening, each taking to his bed early, where they thought deep into the night.