Pull up a sandbag lads (No Bints or poufs IThankyou) and I'll spin you a dit. Twas in the engine room of the Bulwark where he was born, fed on diesel rather than his mothers milk, he soon grew to be the foremost stoker in the Fleet.
He could complete any task better and faster than any other rate and so was soon promoted to Chief Stoker of the Fleet, his job to protect the T'interweb from invasion by queers, Aussiebints, kiwicnuts, civvies who didn't have a Regimental number to log onto an unofficial RN/RM site, forgetting that those with said numbers regularly spouted bollix and generally anybody else who got up his nose.
He would do this by composing humourous poetry in the Aft Paint Locker in the wee small hours and wondering outloud, in his oft serialised and reprinted Blog (The Musings of Uncle Albert (2007) Simon and Schuster 39.99), about why the Royal Navy had gone all pink and fluffy. And so the legend of Uncle Albert (The Stokers Friend) was born.
In todays Royal Navy the name of Uncle Albert is used to scare baby stokers if they forget to clean under their nails.