The Fat Controller (or a lucky escape)

21/7
The Skipper is a lazy bastard (guess who washed the deck?). And dangerously fat. And alcoholic. And he has diabetes, so he has a bit of an excuse(damn). We went to get all of the stuff from the supermarket today - I have never met anyone who was so slow at walking - he said I was not being "Spanish" enough about things. I should have said he was just a slow cunt. Half way along he went hypo (or is it hyper) glycemic. Thats what he said, but I think he just wanted to sit down and eat a mars bar washed down with spanish lager. It did get me worried if he had a proper "do" out 2 sea, I would be administering mars bars and lager whilst trying not to smash into a cruise liner.

I am dead keen to get moving but "Skip" wants the ´perfect wind´. I think he lacks confidence. This town is ok (Melilla) but just ok. We were supposed to go tomorrow, and then that got delayed by the weather, it looks like it may be delayed futher unless I can persuade Skip to bite the bullet - he is on for *very*

easy passages which is contrary to the "we could do it in 3 weeks" bollocks he spouted to me on the phone. On top of that, he is(/is not) splitting up from his wife, so I got my ear chewed off about that and then she turns up, seems nice enough and they end up shagging! He is in a topper mood for the following morning, she is apparently coming with us and then then it all goes pear-shaped by the end of the day and she ain´t coming now!

20/7
Skip´s wife was never coming he made it up. It all came to a head last night when he was arseholed on the boat and his wife was there (rolling her eyes) and I´d had enough of his shit (haven´t even sailed anywhere - talk about false starts) so I started taking the piss. Then he started making childish threats ("If you go to the pub, we don´t sail for another week") so I fucked off to the pub. I don´t think he wants to leave anyway, so what am I doing here?

This morning we agreed to part company. The prick. While we were discussing this, he started clutching his chest and then he doubled over. I was about to freak at the possiblility of him throwing a seven right on front of me when a gruffled voice whimpered "it´s okay - it isn´t my heart". I was about to sail with this medical nightmare. He will be brown bread in a few years, just not before I leave the boat tomorrow (please!).

Now I have to decide where to go next. Greece sounds okay.

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