By Straitjacketed

Chain links clanked softly along the metal rail as Midshipman Tommy Bell tried to make himself comfortable – or, at least, less uncomfortable. He was used to bedding down in his oilskin anorak and bib & brace trousers – his “’skins” as they called them – from time to time, when all hands were needed on deck and the crew had to sleep in shifts; he wasn’t used to trying to sleep in oilskins with both wrists cuffed behind him and chained to the hull.

With hindsight, it made sense. The new crew members they’d picked up in Fishguard, to augment the vessel’s skeleton crew, had seemed a bit … off, somehow, not quite right. Rougher than the crews he was used to serving alongside, and they all seemed to know each other. Tommy had got the sense of something in the air, nods and winks exchanged behind his back. Nothing sufficiently tangible to justify involving the Captain but now, shackled below decks, he wished he had done.

Continue reading Lashed and Stowed →

By Straitjacketed

Rules are rules. That’s the way we choose to play, but he had broken one when he thought I was out of town.  It was quite a simple rule, really: if it’s raining, wear raingear and wear it properly.

I had arrived home from a conference one day early, and was watching from the upstairs front window when he parked his motorbike in the driveway. It had been raining earlier that afternoon and there was still a fine drizzle in the humid air but his one-piece Rukka rainsuit was unzipped to the waist, exposing his bike leathers. Wet bike leathers.

I had been about to make a call on my iPhone; instead, I snapped a couple of pictures.  Containing my disapproval, I counted five minutes after the front door closed before going downstairs with a smile on my face.  He had obviously stripped off the Rukka suit completely and turned from hanging it up in the vestibule. For just a moment, a flicker of guilt crossed his face, followed by relief.

Continue reading Rainproofed →