12 February 2027
Friday. Couples. All week, couples. Two by two up my gangplank like animals into a very romantic ark.
A crew, in my day, was forty men and a cook. A crew of two is not a crew. It is a picnic. And yet tonight a pair of newlyweds escaped my hold, emptied my treasure chest and left holding hands. Holding hands! With my gold!
They wanted to come back tomorrow. Tomorrow is Saturday, and on Saturdays the management wants four or more to a booking. Pairs can still ring the venue or turn up and try for a spare slot, which I consider a loophole and the management considers customer service.
Scarface says couples do well on my ship because they are used to finishing each other’s sentences. I said I finish other people’s sentences all the time. He said that is different. I do not see how.
Duchess has fallen in love with a feather duster. It is a difficult time for all of us.
— Captain Calico Jack, Terror of the Seas (all of them)
