Home sweet home, and a pile of bills. I get home just in time to see my entire pay go zip into cyberspace via the internet bank. I don’t get fleeced through the letter box any more, just by the computer. But my credit card limit is not yet reached and Christmas is around the corner, I don’t know what will be first my limit or Christmas. Soon find out.
I handed over my post to my relief yesterday, and left via launch to murky Gothenburg with the crafty colourful cadet and the cook who handed over also. It turns out that the cadet has no intention of pursuing a career at sea, explains the lack of interest in the job and dislike of petrol fumes. He instead wants to go to acting school and become the next big thing on the silver screen. I hope they teach him how to get out of bed and move a bit quicker, or maybe they have roles for statues or other slow moving creatures. Best of luck to him anyway, however I have a feeling he might be starring in “DOLE Q”, unless he has hidden talent. Maybe the stage will suit him better.
Enough judgement passing on others, it is easy to correct others mistakes and forget our own. I have forgotten all my own failings, it keeps me more sane.
While climbing the stairs to the bridge I noticed a bubbly brown mixture foaming out of the deck drain in the bridge toilet, the smell was a mixture of washing up liquid and coffee. (I must point out that the toilet is a half deck down from the bridge, and the drain is just by the door)
On reaching the bridge about a half second later I mentioned this fact to the mate who happened to be making coffee at the sink whose drain can only pass by the drain of the aforementioned toilet. I said - did you see the coffee bubbling out of the drain ? he said - NO (slight panic in his voice) I said -did you pour any coffee down the drain? he said -NO ( worried expression developing on his face) I showed him my findings and he said- (almost shouting, extreme panic in voice)IT WASN’T ME, THAT WAS THERE BEFORE.
I know what I saw, and it happened as he emptied the old coffee down the drain. I didn’t really think it was such a big deal either, just an interesting phenomenon. But he stuck to his guns in true merchant navy fashion. Deny everything, even when caught red handed, blame someone else, the last watch, whoever has left the bridge, the old man, the watch AB. He nearly blamed me, and I nearly believed him!
In the end I just shrugged my shoulders and asked if the coffee was fresh, he said YES just made fresh now.
Only 48 hours to go………….Â
I realise today that there was no amnesia or any form of forgetfulness, it was much simpler than that. The reality is that they don’t give a shit. Who can blame them, it is a happy position to be in, not knowing anything is a kind of freedom in itself.
“How happy is the moron, he doesn’t give a damn, I wish I was a moron, my God perhaps I am.”
And I forgive and forget, because I’m going home in 2 days.
Yipee!
Third time in the same Norwegian load port in a row, you would think that things would start to become familiar. Same jetty, same mooring plan, same weather pissing down with rain, same time middle of the night a pattern, right? Wrong. Another case of mass amnesia. Chief mates question time, “what side to the quay?” “how many ropes?” “what size connection?”  I was close to bashing my head against a blunt compass binnacle but decided to complain to the “old man”(or Captain in landspeak) himself about my experience of repeating myself, he said “thats what you get paid for, answering stupid questions” I thought to myself all I need is a feckin’ parrot, then it dawned on me, the preverbial penny dropped , thats where the parrot connection comes in.
Why bother repeating when Polly can? Squak.
Pretty clever polly.
I work on an oil tanker. We carry vast quantities of oil, various types for example petrol, diesel, kerosine and the likes.
The colourful cadet came out with a good one the other day, and I quote ” I don’t like the smell of petrol, never have…..”
Well the top of the list for hard smells to avoild on a ship carrying 19 million litres of the stuff is guess what? Petrol.
Methinks he’s in the wrong place.Â
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