The reefs and shoals of the Strait of Monday have been successfully navigated by the S.S. BiffSockPow. Repairs to the ship are underway.
All unessential crew (which is apparently all of them) have been given liberty and told to please not get involved in drunken brawls or with people of dubious character. Unfortunately, that means that the crew cannot associate with themselves, and that is making for some feelings of isolation among the crew.
The ship’s Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Buck Uplads, has published a bulletin in which he advised them to, “just grow up, ya big babies!” Results have been mixed.
While in dry dock, the ship is being subjected to a long overdue hull-scraping to rid it of a year’s accumulation of barnacles. It was assumed this was covered under the ship’s extended warranty (which cost a pretty doubloon), but apparently it is considered routine maintenance and I was presented with a bill that took the wind out of my sails.
I told the port maintenance authority that I could not afford such an extravagance, and to please put the old barnacles back on the hull and that I would try to get another 20,000 leagues out of them. They did not seem happy and informed me that my old barnacles were showing signs of wear and that if I did not have them replaced it constituted a safety hazard and might void the ship’s warranty. But I silenced them by telling them that I had lost my booty while suffering from a bad case of the doldrums when in the horse latitudes. They nodded and said that would explain my long face.
The ship was eventually returned to me, the crew staggered back aboard, and preparations were made to set sail towards the Sea of Tuesday at first light tomorrow.