Kerry's Member-ship at the Black Swan

When Bill and I went looking to purchase a vessel over in Gibraltar, we spent a great deal of time in the pubs dotting the main street of ‘The Rock’. Those of a skeptical nature might be inclined to construe this as a waste of time—as nothing more than an excuse to pour copious quantities of grog down our throats. But nothing could be further from the truth.

The Rock

It is a well documented fact that seafarers are rather partial to a drop—Bill and I simply capitalized on that fondness in order to enhance our knowledge of the marine market. We also met some interesting people—some of them being members of the fairer sex.

We’d been in Gib. about a week when the two of us walked into the Black Swan one evening for a couple of relaxing beers (as opposed to those consumed in the line of research) and were greeted by a group of five ladies. I had a couple of words then detached myself and headed for the bar to get our drinks.

Standing there alone, scowling into his beer was one of the seafarers we’d met during our travels. His name was Kerry and he’d lost most of his teeth in a car accident. “I can’t believe it,” he said forlornly, his voice slurring through toothless gums, “I’ve been here two years and I hardly know anyone. You and Bill are here for a week and the girls are all over you.”

Instead of telling the truth—that Bill simply had the gift of the gab when it came to flattery and bullshit—I said, “Didn’t you see what we did when we walked in the door?” Kerry replied in the negative. “We gave a quick flash of the merchandise. Girls like to see what they might be getting.”

I don’t know how I kept a straight face but I did—and incredibly, Kerry appeared to believe me.

Me and Bill

I rejoined Bill and the ladies and we chatted with them for a while then went to stand at the bar. We were at one end—Kerry was at the other. I had my back to him when I mentioned to Bill what I’d told him about impressing the ladies.

Bill glanced over at Kerry and his eyes went wide as saucers. His mouth dropped open and his face flushed crimson. I turned around.

There was Kerry, facing the bar as he swilled down a pint of beer with his private part hanging out. He was obviously quite drunk and attempting become even drunker in order to work up the courage to turn around and introduce Mister Dick to the ladies.

Choking back the laughter that threatened to overwhelm us, we waited with bated breaths to see what would happen. As it turned out the beer did not measure up to the task of steeling Kerry's nerve. He finished it, tucked his appendage back into his pants and left the bar without a word.

Bill and I agreed it was just as well—the man was endowed like a horse!

(Edited by Davina Chapman.  Comment: If these blogs get any ruder, I shall be exercising editor’s right of censorship!)