Date: Tue, 25 Mar 1997 20:05:58 +0000 From: L Johnston Subject: Bio Continued (Len Johnston) Bio Continued Daphnie Men pee standing up. Women pee sitting down. Two biological facts of no importance except perhaps to explain the occasional wild yodel that emanates from behind a bush deep in the forest when some unfortunate lady accidentally sits on a thistle. It also explains why I was forced to drop a good friend deep in it and I don't mean roses. Men tolerate women's foibles. They do not object to a toilet seat being left in the down position. Women, on the other hand, scream blue murder if the seat is left up. We males cannot change this. It is the way things are. It is nature in the raw. These are two more useless facts that have nothing to do with the story below. I only mention them because I'm a male chauvinist pig and like to tell it like it is! *** The tide was still on the make and I was waiting for it to turn. I was lying in the cockpit of 'Sealion', a little four ton masthead sloop that I owned at the time, just enjoying the sun and reading, when Harry spotted me through his binos and began to wave frantically. Harry ran a sailing school near Carrickfergus where my yacht was moored in the roads below the great Norman castle that dominates the town and the mouth of Belfast lough with its huge cannon. I occasionally helped him out by taking the school's big ketch to sea with parties of tourists for a few hours. I saw the wake of his dinghy leave the jetty and head towards me so I was not surprised when he came alongside the yacht and asked me to take a small party of Americans for a short trip. He was short-handed as usual. Since he briefly mentioned money, the wonder wallet filler, I didn't hesitate. Inside five minutes I was being introduced to Daphnie and her friend Agnes. Both were spinsters of the parish and determined to die wondering. By the look of Agnes I was sure she would achieve her ambition. A walnut would have had fewer wrinkles. It seemed Daphnie was from Texas; that's in the USA she told me seriously. Agnes was from somewhere equally dreadful nearby. I told her the Irish had discovered America several centuries before Columbus and we knew where it was. Surprisingly, the girls had never seen the sea until they came to Ireland. They were not great travellers. Agnes got sick easily and Daphnie was always broke, a complaint I was already familiar with! She told me later an old uncle had died recently and left her some money. They were determined to spend it before they kicked off this mortal coil, hence this trip to the old sod to see the ancestor's little white-washed homesteads. The trouble was, somebody had put a motorway through the old homestead without telling them! Now they had a few hours to spend and since the ocean fascinated Daphnie they wanted a trip in a real sailing boat to tell the folks about back home. I took the ketch to sea with Daphnie bouncing around the decks like a two year old, poking her nose into everything and asking questions continually. She was unaffected by the motion and enjoying herself immensely. Agnes on the other hand went below to die as soon as the ship felt the ocean swell outside the harbour. We headed for Bangor, the little town where I live now, about ten miles across the lough as the seagull flies, with Daphnie at the wheel and firing orders like an admiral to hoist the mainbrace etc.. It was a pity she was from Texas, she would have made a real sailor in no time. A couple of hours later we came alongside the wall in Bangor harbour and made the ship fast while we headed for my favourite Chinese restaurant to allow Agnes to recover and I to refuel. This was another first for the girls. Incredible as it may seem they had never tried a hot Vindaloo curry! A serious gap in anyone's education for life and soon put to rights by me. An hour later, breathing fire, we headed for the boat and home - and trouble with a capital 'T'. There are two stages in sea-sickness. The first stage is you're afraid you're going to die. The second stage is when you're afraid you're not going to die. As soon as the ship left harbour once again Agnes went below to die with a bucket clasped firmly to her ample bosom. One drop of vomit on the bunks and I'd have you flogged, I warned. We Captains can do that sort of thing. I might as well have talked to the wall. The saloon was knee deep in sick in no time. Agnes took no further interest in the proceedings as she prepared to meet her maker. Even my generous offer of a chicken leg with cheese in a fresh roll only made her roll her eyes until the whites were showing and made her clutch her bucket even harder. As we headed for Carrickfergus the breeze freshened and the ship put her shoulders to it. She was soon taking spray as far aft as the cockpit and Daphnie went below and reappeared in a vast suit of oilskins that must have been bought about the turn of the century. I was forced to use a full roll of film as she went whooping around the decks like some ancient and demented fisherman with a larger than usual backside. We were soon closing the harbour mouth and Harry shot past in the sea-sled to give us a wave. He swung around in a wide circle intending to come alongside and see if we intended to come in right away. It was at that moment Daphnie needed to pee. See the opening paragraph. Being a lady she needed to sit down. Now, being a founder member of the bucket and chuck-it brigade I never attempted to use the ancient toilet that was jammed under the foredeck to save space myself but somehow Daphnie wasn't at all keen on this male bonding ritual. She shot below to do her stuff in private. I'd shown already shown her how to work the various valves that needed to be opened and how to pump it so I only told her to open the scuttle as she disappeared below. Harry came alongside and I told him we were coming in right away for Agnes was sick below. He nodded and opened the throttle to cut across our bows. This brought him past the open scuttle where Daphnie was quietly contemplating nature. On an impulse he reached inside and tugged her hair as he passed. You must have heard the air-horns on an eighteen-wheeler! Well, Daphnie made a dozen decibels past that easily. I swear the ship shook as she told me something was trying to eat her. She had obviously been seeing too many 'Jaws' movies! The screaming went on and on and I eventually went below to shut her up. 'It's got me! It's got me!' she kept yelling. 'What's got you?' I asked patiently. She was from Texas after all. 'Something's holding me!' she screeched. I opened the door a crack and she kicked it shut again, almost breaking my nose. Obviously being eaten by a giant squid was not as important as my seeing her knickers. After some heated discussion the door opened a crack and I peered inside the tiny compartment. She was sitting in a crouched position unable to move. I saw what the problem was immediately. When Harry passed and tugged her hair she had started forward and the braces of her oilskins had slipped down the pot. Even though she was terrified by whatever had grabbed at her, being an hygienic American she had pumped frantically before she left the compartment. Her oilskin braces were now firmly jammed in the sea-cocks and preventing her from rising from the seat. The ship was now almost in the harbour so I told Daphnie to sit quietly until I docked the boat and then I would cut her free. On the way back to the cockpit I turned Agnes on her back to die facing the sky and her God. It was the least I could do. I brought the ketch quickly alongside the club's pontoon, dropped the sails and went below to free Daphnie. That's when I realised there was another problem. Taken short, Daphnie was clearly in the process of re-cycling the Vindaloo we had picked up in Bangor. I could tell by the green fog rolling below the toilet door and the agonised yelps as her backside ignited spontaneously. She obviously didn't know a wait of at least twenty-four hours was necessary to allow the system to cope. And - it was with something like horror I realised her braces were now inextricably mixed with Mao Tse-Tung's revenge. It was not a job for a good looking young man like me. I did what any normal Irishman would do, I gave the problem to somebody else. I hurried off the boat and waved to Harry who was pottering about the sailing dinghy park. 'Have to catch my train. Will you put the boat to bed?' 'Sure.' The idiot began to amble towards the pontoon while I legged it at top speed in the opposite direction. 'And don't charge the girls for my time', I called over my shoulder. When I glanced back from a suitable distance I saw Harry striding grimly towards the diver's shop to borrow a tank of air and a face mask. Well, it served him right! It was his own fault after all. Len Johnston.