The Sinking of the Antipodean by Gyles Stanley A W;

Author:Gyles, Stanley A W;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
Published: 2020-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

Tied up for repairs at Sidi Ferdj, west of Algiers

The local police strolled down to check them out on the hour. This made the crew feel uncomfortable.

The tears and condition of the stitching in the main sail was causing concern.

“We can’t continue with this problem. We need to get the main sail professionally mended. I’ll ask the cops to take us to a sail maker,” said Kaffir.

The police kindly obliged. Kaffir and Sam were escorted into Algiers to a special marina compound that was out of bounds to Algerians. There, two old ladies spent two hours checking the sail and working their magic with a sewing machine. The boys were hung around and then were escorted back.

“Your sail’s fixed. Now leave.”

“We can’t. The bowsprit needs fixing, the genoa needs sewing and the bilge pump is rooted,” explained Kaffir.

“You have 24 more hours.”

That night in the local café they met three French couples who were really enjoying themselves singing and dancing to hit songs from the 50s and 60s. The crew joined them until the early hours of the morning.

“Why don’t you come down early tomorrow and join us for a pre-lunch drinks?” asked Roscoe.

“Sounds good.”

Sure enough on time their new friends arrived and another party began.

“It’s hard to work out who’s with whom,” said Peter. “I reckon there’re screwing each other.” More whisky was drunk.

“We’ll shout you all dinner tonight,” said one of the French women.

“I can’t stand it. I’m going to poke the blond one,” Peter said.

After dinner at about 10.00pm Peter led her back to the boat. Grot, already hiding aboard, was waiting for the show to begin. Peter laid her on the engine box slipped her bikini bottom to her ankles, unzipped his shorts and climbed aboard.

“Nice performance, Peter. Now it’s my turn.”

“No, it’s not,” Goldilocks said, adjusting her bikini bottom. “I’m going back to the others for more fun.”

In the morning, everyone was nursing sore heads. The police returned.

“We’ve told you we don’t want you here. Your time is up. Leave now!”

“You can’t make us leave,” said Kaffir gesturing. “Under international law we’re entitled to seek refuge and stay until the boat is safe to sail.”

“Either you leave now, or we’ll tow you out to sea.”

“Okay, okay. Start the motor and let’s get the fuck out of here,” Captain Kaffir ordered the crew. With no wind, little progress was made. Everyone sunbathed nude on deck.

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