Oh absolutely ES. Fine navigator too! always saves a maiden me as well.

I think you miscall Sir W, E-S. He meant it went like shit off a shovel not that one had to shovel it to get it to go.

Happy to see he meets all your stringent requirements.

The vacuum powered wipers were a load of "poop", too. Especially when ascending one of those big lumps in the road on the way to Brighton. "Camping" in Brighton is very de rigeur these days.:big_tongue:

Blue Funnel blue I think would have been used if the Ford Company had been a little more nautical.

Mine will be Blue Funnel blue.

He has never been unable to speak for himself before, I fear the other vessel may have suffered a blackout as his transmission stopped midpost. Perhaps they are now taking to the boats and breeches buoy as we speak. Perhaps Ssr might pop over to see if we might give succor? Or is that the lovely smell of warm paraffin I can smell already?

I mixed with only the finest people -- weeknights playing solo whist whilst consuming Kentish cider out of a one gallon stone jug, The car was always pristine, as it was the modus operandi, if one was so inclined, after over consumption of spiritus fermenti, to wind down the window and vomit outside the vehicle. What an insult to use the term "French Letter" in the singular - the minimum inventory on hand was always a "packet of three"! :bounce::bounce:

Indeed TA.
As my Barber used to say, A packet of three for the weekend Sir.
It is well known, and much talked about, that a man of your virility buys them by the gross and demands XXL.

Always on hand? Sounds as if you might have been.

Oh dear I hope this is not happening on here. I did notice extra vents on the engine room skylights.

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-australia-47702527

Tmac is a serial breaker of wind, I will not use a working class word. I myself don a BA set on St-By's because it's tough down the stokehold. Mr V carries his EEBD/ELSA on a strip of cow around his midriff, Marigold and Daisy did not die in vain, what could not be made into burgers could be fashioned into a belt.

Sir William, I can assure you that none of the crew would defile the GDII by farting unless it was either necessary or amusing.

It isn't the farts that bother me rather it is the follow through that causes the difficulty. In a hot injun room I usually just walk around until it hardens and chip the residue off later. :smoking:

Stop Stop Stop.


Under Marpol Annex IV you cannot chip off such residue willy-nilly. It must be disposed off properly. It is suggested you buy a pair of bicycle clips for your boilersuit , drink less Guinness and less Weetabix for breakfast. Our elders put great store in the solidifying properties of hard boiled eggs. Sweet sickly pong but no slurry.

Guinness Double X, boiled eggs, curried prawns, fresh willicks (welks) and a big pot of baked beans. One fart and you were in court for chemical warfare. I dropped one of those in a girlfriends house and watched the paper peel off the walls. :chuckle:

Bicycle clips !!!! have you ever tried to ride a bike around the injun room?... you are a braver man than me Gunga Din :thumb:

I tried to obtain a po for the injun room, just for the convenience like (geddit ???) but couldn't find a shop selling them. Sir Billy said to try Boots, but it was no good the crap ran though the lace holes:chuckle:

Tank yew I'm here all week.

The residue, E-S, should not be on your willy! Did you consult Jake against my advice?

Flatus does seem to amuse the plumbers more than those of us who occasionally come up for the light (or to mend it). We had a second in Fyffes who would perform his ablutionary discharges with a sheet of Bronco over the sanitary vent in order to savour the perfume for as long as possible. There was also Harpic. Another second or junior chief. There would have been no trouble at all should Tmac have left anything around that needed chipping. His fluidic evolutions were both frequent and sufficiently industrial to take the metal back to SA two and a half.

A bowl of flowers, a well cooked meal, a fine wine, beer well hopped, the smell of the good clean earth, a salt laden wind from the sea. C'mon, it's not all farts in life, you know.

Though quite a lot of it is.

Ah how we miss the Late Commodore Briggs. ne could hear him comming with his long raspy farts.

No raspberries for a month or two yet unless frozen ones. Could the pan take a slack bowelfull of those without cracking I wonder.

And you could tell where he had been for days after. :(

I think we could close all those injun room vents so that when we sail, if there is no wind, we can enlist the injuneering department to provide the necessary propulsion power ---- in the words of the song:

The Captain's name was Carter, He was a dirty farter,
When the wind wouldn't blow and the ship wouldn't go,
They sent for Carter, the farter, to start 'er.

Also at our next concert"

The Captain's name was Carter, he was a dirty farter,
He could fart anything from "God Save the King" to "Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. :)

A well cooked meal, a fine wine, beer well hopped,


FJ, you may not know it but you have discovered the recipe for slow, silent, biological warfare type of sneaky fart. Patent it and you will be a rich man. Few friends but a big banky balancer.

I don't know about raspberries -- BUT - Blackberries --

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ii0PNk4DjQs

I think my Ladm takes the biscuit for "Cushion Creepers". Little Devil dropped one in the car and I had to anchor up and abandon ship while it cleared.

What biscuits have that effect? They have never done it for me. Curry and porta. Now there's a sure fire recipe.

(I haven't unpacked my raspberry pie yet, perhaps it will be uneatable when I get round to it).