Bobbing along on the wide expanse of the world’s seas and oceans offers you the very rare opportunity to completely switch off from global events. Arriving into the latest port is similar to having awoken after falling asleep during the crucial act of a movie; you’re left confused and desperate to work out what’s happening. Certain characters have died, others have come out and whole countries have inexplicably exited the world’s largest trading bloc. It’s difficult to keep up, although in fact it’s been wonderful to be away from the drama. Sea life is a simple life, with nothing but sailing and the occasional heads housekeeping issue to think about. But sometimes the hardships of them there land people infringes on our ocean idyll. Case in point: Coronavirus.
Your mind can wander when you spend weeks at end staring at the passing blue. I’ve long since been prepared for the zombie apocalypse if/when (definitely when) it happens. My Grandpa’s always said that if you’re ready for the undead then you should be able to handle most things life can throw at you. And whilst he didn’t actually say that, I think he still makes a good point.
Despite seemingly being masters of our own destiny we do have to bow to the want of nation states when it comes to where we dock. Not long ago we had no fixed destination, no wind and very little idea of when we’d get to where we were or weren’t heading to. It’s a slightly odd feeling and given the fact we were privy to limited information it’s human nature for us to fill in our own blanks. Combine that with the fact I’m a simpleton who’s concerned with the zombie apocalypse it didn’t take long before various scenarios started running through my head.
Firstly, I assumed there was a small chance we may end up being the last outpost of civilisation and it would be up to us to repopulate the earth. Despite my generous and selfless offer of being put out to stud we decided upon reflection that it would be best if mankind was allowed to slowly die out with dignity. My second concern was food. What happens if our 18 crew make their way through all our supplies and we’re unable to dock to re-provision? Suddenly my mind turned to the final taboo – I’m not talking about finally cracking into all those tins of corned beef, I am of course talking about which of my delicious crew mates I’m going to tuck into first.
I’ve long since had my eye on Kiwi Keith for all my cannibalistic needs. He’s just so tender and would almost certainly have the most fantastic marbling. A slice of Kiwi’s rear end would be the perfect accompaniment to the fava beans and fine Chianti I’ve been saving for such an occasion. Alas, Kiwi completed his journey after Leg 3 and thus is off the menu. Perhaps he could send a small piece of himself as a care package. Maybe just his left buttock. Kiwi, if you’re reading this, remember, one team one dream mate. In short, send me your bum, I’m hungry.
Assuming Kiwi doesn’t send me his posterior, I’ve got to say it’s pretty slim pickings onboard. There’s Steve, a great guy, but he’s all gristle. I suppose if I slow cooked him for 48 hours then I’d have something vaguely passable, but who on earth plans their meals two days in advance? Sure, I could go for a bit of slow cooked Steve right now, but who knows what I’ll have a hankering for in a couple of days? Chances are I’ll just fancy a quick bit of stir fried Angie and an early night.
Luckily for everyone we’ve since been routed to the Philippines, have plenty of wind and should be arriving with only family friendly stories to tell. This hasn’t stopped the crew putting me in a straight jacket and strapping me to a gurney though. I have graciously been allowed to dictate this blog, my words only occasionally being lost as I mumble them through my new muzzle. I do think it’s all a bit of an overreaction. I only talked about eating them, I didn’t actually do it. Damn thought police.
All supporters should know that we’re very well stocked with socially acceptable and nutritious meals, so fear not. I just like to have a back up plan. Should I have to enact Operation Tasty Crew then I will do so with a heavy heart. That heavy heart being flash fried and served on a bed of couscous (we’ve got plenty of that). And should the worst happen and I have made my way through everyone onboard and am sat there in utter despair as I suck the last of the marrow out of my beloved skipper, then, and only then, will I consider breaking into all those tins of unused corned beef.