A Tale of Two Titties!

[slim]

In a similar vein to write yer own poetry I am presenting a write yer own novel!
I will start it orf and leave it to you lot to finish it (or not).
Hopefully Billy no mates will step in occassionally cos he is sh!t hot at stories.

A Tale of Two Tittties.
A modern tale of two naval recruits.

What follows is a story of two navy newbies and their life in the RN.

A little bit of background history of our two fine specimins.

Algernon Ponsonby Bowden-Cable was the grandson of Admiral Sir Norbet Bowden-

Cable. Algernon had been Eton and public school educated but was completelly

lacking any educational qualifications. In fact to put it bluntly he was as thick as two

short planks. Despite this he was convinced that as he was the Grandson of an

Admiral the RN would welcome him with open arms to the officer Corp.

Barry Andy Lewis Larry Smith was the son of some sailors, his mother didn't know

which sailor so named him after four of them that she remembered sleeping with that

night she got herself knocked up. If she had a better memory he would have had

several more given names. For obvious reasons Barry became known as Balls Smith

to his mates.
Balls did well at school and when he left his mother persuaded him to join the RN in the

hope that he would bring plenty of his oppos home for her amusement!.

So thats the background of our two heroes. What happened next?
Suprisingly both were accepted for the RN and fate decided that the two would meet

each other on the train to Plymouth where they would be joining HMS Raleigh to

complete basic training.

So Algernon and Barry found themselves on the train from Newcastle Central bound

for Kings Cross. They would have to change stations and get to Paddington station for

a change of train to Plymouth.

What you going in as Barry asked Algy?
An officer said Algy.
And you Barry?
A stoker said Barry.
Rough and dirty job that said Algy.
Great said Barry I like being in the sh!t.
An officer said Barry magic, give us a skeg at you paperwork so that I can see if it is different to mine.
Here you are old bean said Algy.
Barry read Algy's paperwork and smiled to himself, he new sweet FA abut the RN but he knew one thing, The job title on Agy's paperwork was indeed for Officer................................................................................But it was Officer Steward!
Would he tell Algy, would he feck!


Thats the start up to you to continue, if you don't then these two fine lads won't even get to basic training

 

[Stirlin]

LIGAF LIGAT LIGAS.

 

[slim]

LIGAF LIGAT LIGAS.

Looks like nobody else gives a feck either

 

[sampost]

Several months later, after successfully completing basic training, and an incredible incident where Algy’s IQ shot up to somewhere around the national average, Algy and Barry were walking along the quayside in Portsmouth in search of their ship.
“Notice how all these ships are grey”, Barry remarked. “How are we ever going to find our vessel?”
“That’s easy”, Algy replied. “Our ship is called the HMS Kalahari, and it’s crest is an Acacia Tree. Be careful not to confuse it with the HMS Kalamata, whose crest is an Olive Tree”.
“OK”, Barry said, jauntily strolling ahead. “I think this must be it.”

Later in the day the two chums met up on the quarterdeck and discussed their impressions of their first ship. “I’ve met the Captain”, Algy confided. “Captain Roger English, he seems a good bloke. And I heard some conversation in the Wardroom about some scandal involving an Admiral and a belly dancer. There’s also talk among the officers of some tribe in the South who have been sending smoke signals to passing ships. Seems like they periodically burn down their houses in some peculiar ritual. Apparently, they haven’t learnt semaphore, but the builders all seem to enjoy the bonanza because no sooner than the houses are burned down than they build new ones.”
“How very curious,” exclaimed Barry.
“Yes, it is” agreed Algy, solemnly. “Well, I’ll see you later then”.

The following day Algy had more news about the tribe in the south. He told Barry how, many years previously, the tribe had given some shiny stones to one of the Admirals girlfriends, except back then he wasn’t an Admiral – that only came later. “Gosh,” Barry said, “I am impressed. Shiny stones, eh? Do you think they were valuable?”
“Well, maybe” Algy replied, “because now the feeling is that perhaps they are sending these signals because they want some form of reciprocation. The Captain has received orders that a keg of beer is to be delivered to their nearest beach as a sort of a peace offering.”
“Wow, that’s exciting” Barry whispered. “Any particular brand?”
“Yes”, Algy replied. “The Captain has been told that they must secure a keg of Blue Ensign from Breakwater Breweries. The reason for this is because we have a man on the ground there called Nobulet, and he is going to open a pub nearby called the Keg and Cockle.”
“Gee, he sounds very brave,” Barry said, “what with those fearful fire fiendish tribesmen about.”
“He is,” Algy replied. “The officers all think very highly of him. He was once almost hit by a Coca Cola bottle falling from the sky. They say he has a girlfriend called Molly Malone”.

Suddenly Barry got all poetic, looking towards the horizon and reciting:

“I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and sky,
And all I ask is for a keg of beer, to float in on the incoming tide”.

Algy was astonished, not expecting his stoker chum to have the soul of a poet.
“Well, must be off then,” said Barry with a smile. ”It’s time I went down below to grease up the pistons”.

 

[sampost]

That very evening Nobulet, as was his custom, was walking along the beach towards the mouth of the estuary. It was a calm sea, the horizon lit up by the many lights of the squid fishermen who were out at sea, whatever the weather, throughout the year. Nobulet was no fan of the squid fishermen. He recalled one morning when he had gone down to the beach and found about 14 bodies washed up on the shore, the result of a boat capsizing in rough weather during the night. He hadn’t felt much compassion. In his opinion their presence had changed the whole character of the bay. The bay was no longer how he had remembered it in his youth.

He had only recently returned after many years away. Sure, a lot had happened since then. The old hotel had gone, the population had grown, and there were a heck of a lot more houses. But the river – that was shallower than ever before. As a boy he had been able to drop a centreboard and sail some way up the river. You certainly couldn’t do that anymore, and besides his sailing dinghy had long since rotted away. He’d kept the sails, of course. Those he had fastened to the scaffolding on the site of the proposed new hotel, before he had been taken away. Who knows what had happened to them since then?

These days, he spent most of his time on his surfski, fancying himself as something of a hydrographer. Damn, he could chart that river with all its sandbanks, if anyone asked. If anyone cared. Mainly they looked at him as if he was some sort of ghost. “Didn’t they take you away?” their eyes seemed to say. Maybe he just imagined it. Still, his companions now were mainly the dolphins, and an occasional turtle, especially since the Staffie had been put down. One time his companion was an octopus that he had picked up on a sandbank, stranded in a shallow pool by the outgoing tide and not risking getting chowed up by the seagulls circling overhead. He smiled at the thought of it. They had spent a good afternoon together, but at the end of the day his love of pickled octopus had overcome his affection for the fella.

That afternoon he had watched as a tortoise had walked down from a dune on the sandspit and gone into the sea, tumbled in the shallow surf, then walked back into the scrub covered dune. A tortoise! So close to Remembrance Day, it had made him think of a tin hat. Well, now the breeze was picking up, the sky still clear, Orion easily discernible, and a couple of other constellations that he seemed to remember being told about while watchkeeping on the open bridge, salt spray crashing into his face, the kye and the fruitcake. Damn, he missed his mates. Never saw any of them these days.

On his port side was the precarious sand spit, and over that was the lagoon where the keelboat had run aground years back. Some circumnavigator, and his wife. He’d watched a movie of their voyage up at the old hotel. But now, shuffling over the dune was a dark figure in a greatcoat. He was heading straight towards him. Not anyone he particularly recognised, but no cause for concern. The beach was fairly safe. True, the Commodore had recently been murdered – some bunting stuffed in his mouth, then taped, and the fellow had suffocated, and there was the panga-gang that had invaded the school, but that was way up at the railtrack. He wasn’t carrying a cellphone, so why worry? He always walked to the estuary at night, to pay his respects to his Dad, now at one with the ocean.

“Nobby”, the stranger called out. “Fancy a swig of Pussers?”

If there was one thing Nobulus could not resist, it was Pussers. He’d never seen the stranger before, but the stranger clearly knew him. “Sure,” Nobby replied. “I don’t suppose you have any fruitcake with you as well?”

 

[sampost]

Later that night, in his wee Butt and Ben, Nobby was gently breaking the news to Molly.

“I’m sorry, love, but I’m going to have to leave. Rodney Laing says I really have to go and take over the base from Commander Gloop. He’s been doing a terrible job. The place is in a complete state. It might even get pulled down to make way for a shopping mall.”

“Oh, Nobulus,” Molly sighed. “I knew this would happen eventually. Damn that Augustus Gloop. Damn his eyes. But how are you going to get there? You’ve been walking everywhere since you crashed your cab into that flagpole, and the train doesn’t run anymore.”

“Well, I’ll just take the bus, Mol, but the best thing about it is this. There’s this ship, the HMS Kalahari, that is going to call there, and it is bringing me two fresh recruits to assist in restoring the base. One is a steward and the other a stoker. Rodney told me quite a bit about them.

“Oh Nobulus, I am going to miss your cheery smile, but I know you are much more intu the city than this little dorp. I just hope I have made your time here a little more bearable. It’ll be some time though before I will feel cheery enough to take to the streets with my barrow again."

“Sure. I’ll miss you too Mol, but I’ll be back and next time, maybe, I’ll sail here. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a boat, Mol."

“Well, we’ve still got tonight, Nobs," Molly replied, "so how’s about we sing our little song together before we hit the sack?”

 

[sampost]

Algy was getting well oriented on the HMS Kalahari, and was enjoying his role as the officer’s steward. It came easily to him – he’d been a batman in his junior year at that posh school his parents had sent him to, but he had always yearned for the school he had started at. After all, that school had offered woodwork, which he enjoyed, whereas the posh school hadn’t. Still, it had been an education, all in all, but he hadn’t regretted dropping out of University. That he hadn’t told Barry about. The fact that he was a year or two older than Barry gave him a bit of an edge, and he saw himself as something of an older brother to the boisterous boy. Algy had started doing a degree in History and Economics, but all the bullshit going on on campus had made him re-think what he wanted to do with his life. He’d arrived home to a frosty reception from his father, but that changed after they had spent a month or two together, and he had set off for HMS Raleigh determined to make a success of it.

Algy had recognised in Barry a natural talent for business, or at least for business ideas. He wasn’t so sure about the follow-through. You mentioned beer to Barry and he immediately thought beer-mugs. “Hey, we could commission a whole range of beer-mugs for that weird tribe you talk about,” he had said. “What about Reversible Republic Boardshorts, beach-towels and bandanas?”

“Slow down”, Algy had said. “you should go and talk to the Purser. Fact is, any idea you come up with while you’re in the service belongs to the service. They own you, Barry, and they own your ideas.”

“That’s ok with me,” Barry replied. “Saves me doing all the paperwork. Fact is, I’m sure I’ll prefer the throbbing of the engines to slaving away in some sterile air-conditioned office, at least until we arrive in the Promised Land. And, by the way, when are we due to sail?”

“We leave next week,” Algy replied. “Our first stop is Tenerife, then Ascension, St Helena, and then Namzambique.”

“Namzambique?” Barry blurted. “Never heard of it!”

“Well it’s down there somewhere. It stretches from the Atlantic to the Indian Ocean. We’re going to exercise with the Royal Namzambiquan Navy, and part of the exercise is to float that keg of beer ashore for the Namzambiquan Bicentennial or something. Special request of the Governor-General.”

“Well, fuck me sideways,” Barry exclaimed. “You live and learn.”

 

[witsend]

Just off the line with the Noble Prize guys for bullshit. They tell me that a few more chapters are needed. But it’s looking good....!

 

[witsend]

These new fang dangled supermods are shit. @WreckerL @Dredd get this bollocks in the barge, WTF.

@Blackrat Your also shit....!

 

[witsend]

@Blackrat the lack of administrative action here leads me to conclude that slims bumming you....!

 

[Dredd]

@witsend It's already in Lil's. Weapons free.

I haven't read any of it so far. Unlikely to either. Using small words and a limited choice of crayon colours, please state your objections below and outline why this needs to go to the Barge.

.............................................

 

[WreckerL]

These new fang dangled supermods are shit. @WreckerL @Dredd get this bollocks in the barge, WTF.

@Blackrat Your also shit....!

Like Dredd I haven't read any of it, perhaps it may help your blood pressure if you did the same

 

[WreckerL]

Anyway, nice to see you back Wits

 

[witsend]

Good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humour. I hope you’re keeping well after the wee attack.

Any chance of banning slim, sumo & sonar. I want to witness the whining and tears again haha. Especially slim...!

 

[WreckerL]

Good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humour. I hope you’re keeping well after the wee attack.

Any chance of banning slim, sumo & sonar. I want to witness the whining and tears again haha. Especially slim...!

All fine after throwing the double six

If I ban them, how would you see the whining (there's a lot I haven't covered in the Supermod Part 3 book yet!) plus by the time I've worked out what Sumo has said the thread has moved on!

 

[slim]

I don't mind been banned as long as I have my bezzie oppo Witsend on the naughty step with me to keep me entertained

 

[Sumo]

All fine after throwing the double six

If I ban them, how would you see the whining (there's a lot I haven't covered in the Supermod Part 3 book yet!) plus by the time I've worked out what Sumo has said the thread has moved on!

Hoy I may resumble the remurk

 

[sampost]

Captain English was in a quandary. He’d received a letter from Admiral Dashwood and wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Everyone had heard about the Admiral’s son, Bruce Dashwood, and the scandal in the City. You couldn’t miss it if you read the headlines. And now the Admiral was asking for a favour.

Bruce Dashwood was a high-flying executive in the City, doing something, maybe law or fund management, English wasn’t sure and it didn’t matter much to him. What he did know, however, was that Bruce had been caught going at it hammer and tongs on the boardroom table with a young intern when a senior partner and client opened the door in order to have a private conversation. Dashwood wasn’t going to be interrupted at that stage, and the senior partner had made a hasty retreat, the client mortified. Of course, the client had told her journalist cousin, in confidence, who promptly broke the news in her disreputable rag and the story had spread like wildfire. It didn’t seem to matter that the intern had taken a bet with her colleagues that she would get Dashwood’s trousers down, that would ruin a good story.

The firm was embarrassed of course, but they weren’t going to lose a mind as sharp as Dashwood’s, and they had offered him a cooling off period by transferring him to their branch in Billabongwe, the capital of Namzambique. That would keep him far away from trouble, the Admiral confided in his letter. The problem was, however, that Bruce was a keen sailor. He sailed an International 14, and that was a class they had never heard of in Namzambique. Bruce didn’t intend missing out on his sailing, and had asked his father if he couldn’t organise for the yacht to be transported to Namzambique somehow. So the Admiral had given it some thought and had remembered that the HMS Kalahari would be sailing southwards shortly. Did Captain English perhaps have room to strap the yacht down on the deck somewhere?

As Captain English pondered this request, Algy entered his cabin with a cup of tea and a plate of Hobnobs. “Do you know anything about dinghy sailing, Algernon” the Captain asked.

“Well yes sir, actually I do”, Algy replied. “I learnt to sail a Mirror and a Laser is great fun, but I really prefer something bigger like a Fireball or a Flying Dutchman.”

“Well,” the Captain continued,”Admiral Dashwood has asked me to collect an International 14 from Itchenor. We’re going to take it with us to Namzambique, though I can’t tell you why. I was thinking, perhaps you and your chum Barry could go and fetch it. I’ll send the Midshipman with you, of course. Couldn’t trust the two of you with the car and trailer. Midshipman Donkin. Have you seen him about? Tell him to come to my cabin, will you?”

 

[witsend]

All fine after throwing the double six

If I ban them, how would you see the whining (there's a lot I haven't covered in the Supermod Part 3 book yet!) plus by the time I've worked out what Sumo has said the thread has moved on!

That’s good news yer feeling better...!

That‘s easy, just throw snake eyes and log into another site.

 

[sampost]

Bruce closed his eyes and tried not to think about the over-zealous oral hygienist who was scraping away at his teeth. He only knew as much of Billabongwe as he had read in the Rough Guide to Namzambique, so wasn’t sure when he would next get his teeth seen to. Best to have them done before he left then. His thoughts drifted off to the Jezebel. She’s belly-danced her way into his life at the office party the previous year, and he had been transfixed. She’d seduced him of course, encountering little resistance. The mother of his children had, at the time, recently departed to live in cloud-cuckoo land and he’d been feeling a bit bereft. Anyway, that was history. Later in the day he’d have to get down to Itchenor to make sure some midshipman loaded the right boat onto the trailer to take to HMS Kalahari.

The hygienist was gabbling on about her brother who kept a yacht in Gibraltar and was looking for crew to sail it to someplace, had he heard correctly, Namzambique? He tried to ask a question, but it was difficult with her chiselling away with her various tools. Eventually she indicated that he could rinse and spit so he asked, “seriously, he’s looking for crew, when does he leave?” She wrote down her brothers cellphone number on a piece of paper, told him to floss daily, and recommended a mouthwash to control the plaque buildup. With that, he left, elated in the knowledge that he had sufficient leave due to him and could score a few carbon-offset stickers in his passport. He sure needed them.

In the late afternoon he was directing the Midshipman and two junior rates as they hooked up the trailer to the old Toyota. He thought of offering to buy them a beer, but decided against it and waved them off as they trundled down the road. Best to get back to London, he thought, call the bloke in Gibraltar, and make a start on packing up the old flat. He’d been impressed by the Navy lads, they seemed a competent bunch, could have left it entirely up to them and saved some petrol, but the drive down had blown out some of the cobwebs and made him appreciate just how helpful his father, the Admiral, had been in getting this all arranged. He owed him, big time, would have to show his appreciation somehow, someday.

He turned the key in the ignition. No response. He tried again. Nothing. Bugger it, what did he know about mechanical matters? Pity those Navy lads had left! Better call for roadside assistance, he thought. Maybe there was someplace nearby where he could spend the night if they took too long to arrive?