Day 12

Day 12 - Saturday, April 12 2008

Linda is a great devotee of Patrick O’Brien - author of the books on which the movie Master and Commander was based. The novels deal with the maritime adventures of Captain Jack Aubrey and his side-kick Stephen Maturin and make great reading, even if you’re not particularly interested in the sea and ships. O’Brien wrote with apparently consummate authority on the hey-day of sail, and was regarded as a vastly-experienced seaman and a No 1 expert on how men o’ war were built, rigged, and operated - whether in battle or heavy weather. Only after his death was it learned that he’d never been to sea in his life. His ‘authentic detail’ was sourced from reference libraries.

Still, O’Brien’s writing has obviously rubbed off on Linda. The influence became evident earlier today while we were on the bridge to watch our entry to Dalian and waiting for the pilot-boat to show up. “Why are we flying a yellow flag?” she asked, pointing to one of the port stays. “Isn’t that the quarantine signal?”

Well, well. I could only be impressed with such a display of sea-going knowledge, and Linda looked quite pleased with herself when I confirmed that she was right. Yellow certainly is the quarantine flag. However, much as I always try not to hurt her feelings, I had to point out that the flag looked more lime-green than yellow. Probably a good luck colour in China - being flown only as a courtesy on coming into port.

To reassure her, I indicated the bank of pigeon-holes where the signal flags are kept, with a bright yellow specimen lodged under the letter ‘Q’. Still, well-done on knowing the significance. Quarantine flags may have been run up on every second page of O’Brien’s books, but this is the Tosca, not HMS Surprise, and we’re hardly a hot-bed of plague and syphilis. Not yet, anyhow.

Just in case I had bruised her sensitivities (even if I am very conscientious about not doing so), I thought a word of encouragement wouldn’t go amiss by explaining that the mistake was quite understandable. Wasn’t I reading somewhere the other day that mild deuteropia - that’s the proper word for impaired colour vision - is becoming an increasingly common condition among women of a certain age? So no need for her to feel bad about it.

Linda was starting to tell me something, but it coincided with the skipper coming over to greet us, so I didn’t catch exactly what she said. Sounded vaguely like ‘cough’, but I could be mistaken. Cough? I do hope she’s not about to come down with bronchitis again. That really would be a pity as she’s so much enjoying this trip, especially having the benefit of my uninterrupted company 24 hours a day.

While I was trying to figure out the cough business, I became aware that the skipper was telling her about some kind of delay that was keeping us hove to in the harbour approaches. “He’ll be about another 40 minutes. I hope everything will be all right, but it will be another half-hour wait for the pilot after that.”

Who will be another 40 minutes, if it’s not the pilot? And what will be all right? Better listen more closely and find out what’s going on.

“The Chinese are very strict about quarantine regulations. That’s why we’re flying that yellow flag - it shows we’re waiting for clearance from the quarantine officer before we can enter port,” I heard the skipper say as he gestured upwards. “I just hope that when he arrives, your yellow fever exemption papers won’t be a problem.”

I suddenly remembered an urgent appointment in the engine-room, where the chief had promised me a close-up look at the mechanics of berthing operations, so I quickly had to make my apologies and hurry below. (Still looked bloody lime-green to me, though. Must remember to check with Mr Google whether or not deuteropia is gender-specific.)

By the time I came back topside, we’d passed the quarantine test with flying colours - lime-green or otherwise - and were secured alongside Dalian wharf. Just a short stop, so no time for shore leave, which meant I would able to resume work on your promised sermon.

Turned out the missing Famous Grouse had been roosting in the desk drawer last night, supposedly to protect against spillage or breakage. Not a very convincing explanation, as I’m sure you’ll agree, especially as conditions have been relatively calm. With hindsight, I realise I should have written the sermon at the time, while spiritual inspiration was still so alive and glowing. Alas, that essential state of internal enlightenment can’t just be conjured up at will. It’s like trying to find more of the Wee Low Flier when the ship’s stores are closed, as is the case today.

Consequently, I will restrict myself to a few observations on the news and comments forwarded by the CSO or email messages downloaded at Chiwan.

Peik, congratulations on yet another birthday. Sorry we missed it and that the customary dual celebrations could not be observed. On the other hand, missing the customary Friday morning aftermath was passable compensation. I’m sure you’ll have saved a wee drop of the traditional Finnish vodka, unless these voracious friends of ours flattened it all before you had a chance to set a glass aside for me. I’ve reserved a snifter of single malt for you from my on-board birthday bash, just to maintain our time-honoured toasts to each other in our respective national spirits. Unfortunately, my research has shown that sea air has a seriously detrimental effect on whisky, so I’m faced with the unenviable option of eventually throwing it over the side or drinking it myself. If you contact the CSO and send me your recommendations, I’ll do what you think best.

Mick, congratulations on yet another stag party. Does this mean you’re getting married again already? The CSO was not very clear on that point, but I’m pretty sure I was at the Red Lion for your stag do before we left. Perhaps your memory’s been blurred by the inexplicable collapse of the privet hedge where you and Valentina from the Rattlesnake were downing Flaming Ferraris and discussing post-modern influences on contemporary Russian attitudes to feminism? Loss of recall is very common after such trauma.
But knowing the malign influence of the chisellers with whom you associate - especially Colin and Gordon - it wouldn’t surprise me if they took advantage of your Scouser gullibility and conned you into funding another piss-up. Failing that, maybe you really are taking another wife, unless you’ve overlooked the standard rule of one bride, one stag party. Does Debbie know about this? Of course, variances are possible when you get married in a Muslim country where four wives are allowed. Could the answer lie in a Liverpudlian adaptation: one wife, but four stag parties? My expertise is in Islamic finance, not matrimony, so I can’t give a definitive ruling, although once you’re married you’ll find that the two tend to mean much the same. But that’s in the future. If I’ve read this right and the original game plan is still on, you’ve got another two stag nights in the bank. Make sure to save at least one of them for when I’m back.

Mike, what’s with this ‘OliPop’ business? Is this payback for mentioning that the pungent Rocquefort somehow triggered memories of your footrot? If so, I beg forgiveness. In hindsight, that was not the best of taste. Enjoyed the cheese, though. The Popeye and Olive Oyl reference has also been made by the Heid Polis, although now that he’s retired maybe he prefers to be described as Alfred N. Taylor, former Chief Constable, Durban City Police. I didn’t know you two were professionally acquainted but it’s the only explanation for both of you coming up with the same cartoon metaphor. Alf, did you once interview him under caution about serial offences committed under the Old Hacks Round Buying Act (1873 Revised), or was he another of your favoured media contacts to leak stories about major police breakthroughs in the war against parking offenders? (ie, issuing me with 127 summonses at the same time). Quick answers, please. I’d hate to think your duplication of ideas could be due to Mike being a copper’s nark on the side.

Graham, if that harridan Janet really is waiting for me in Shanghai, I think it’s time for us to switch positions again. You fly out to join Tosca and I’ll go back to Dubai hackery. Being in a bar-room brawl with the editor’s secretary really should be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Especially a secretary that size with a mean right hook and not shy about putting the boot in.

Jonathan, what’s this I hear about a representative of the Rattlesnake Business Women’s Association coming round to our flat claiming that Mr John had promised her a signed Harry Potter as part of a barter deal, and as she’d already made good on her end, and more than once, time to square the slate? She obviously meant Mr Jon, so you must have been using my address, you bugger. Is that why you left Dubai in such a hurry? And are there any more lurking surprises of the same kind? If so, I’m sure Graham will take care of them. He’s probably getting lonely anyway, looking after the place all by himself. And there are plenty more review books on the shelf for him to trade. I’m sure he can manage the signatures, even pass himself off as the author. Given a wig, he’d be a dead ringer for JK.

So, from the good ship OliPop - getting more like Loony Toons by the minute - ‘That’s all folks.’ (Until tomorrow.)


Noon position 38◦58.75 N - 121◦59.51 E
Day’s run to noon - 545 miles
6,115 miles out from Khor Fakkan
Heading 279◦
Local time GMT+8
Average speed - 22.7 knots

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