Gromit Vomit Rocket...ship
When I was 16, I decided with a couple of mates to go on a boat trip. Being intrepid explorers (see under:overenthusiastic nut-bangers) it was decided that it couldn't be an ordinary boat trip, oh no. In the increasingly cold and inclement weather of October we were going to SAIL FROM HULL TO PORTSMOUTH IN A TALLSHIP.

Exotic locations aside, a brief note to the uninitiated. A tallship is a traditional sailing ship, complete with masts, canvas sails, rigging, etc etc. and a full crew. We weren't on a cruise - we were volunteer crew! Oh, and you must NEVER call the ship a boat, on pain of pain - she's a ship...and female, apparently.

The entire journey took a week. We were taught to climb the rigging, haul in the sails, heave in unison, weight the anchor and steer the ship at the wheel. Every morning we had 'happy hour', which consisted of 'Always look on the bright side of life' being played over the tannoy while we scrubbed the entire ship with brushes for an hour. We worked in shifts through the night, the worst two being the midnight to 4am, and the 4am to 8am. Despite all this, the hard work was rewarding - the sea-sickness was not!

Some of the volunteer crew were sick for the entire week. My mate Cat was. I had a slightly extreme way of getting over it. I was sick non-stop for the first three days. On the third day in, I said I was feeling really bad - worse than normal.

"You'll get over it" says one of the permanent crew...
"mnnnrgh" I reply, before up-chucking over the side, wandering away slowly, then failing to vomit anything except yellow bile and collapsing flat out on the deck.

They carried me back down to my bunk.

I spent half a day recovering, but it turned out that not eating anything at all was rather effective. By the time night fell, I was awake and coherent enough to overhear all the guys in the bunk who had no idea I was there talking about how they watched all of us sleep at night and how creeped out we'd be if we knew...and they rated us.

After that, the trip was fine, except for Friday Night.

Being somewhat Jewish, I wanted to bring in shabbat somehow. I was meant to light candles, but lighting candles on a wooden ship with canvas sails is not generally a good idea. I decided instead, that I would just stand on deck and wait for it to get dark. Duly, I went up to the mainmast and stood, singing quietly to myself while the other crewmembers took fag breaks. The sun started to set, and the sea started to get choppy. It got VERY choppy. I tied myself onto the mainmast so I wouldn't fall of the ship.

Before I knew it, It was pitch black and raining hard, occaisonal bursts of lightning silhouetting the ship in eerie white electric light. The ship was sailing at 45 degrees and rolling from side to side as huge waves formed under it, then loomed over it and broke onto the deck, washing over it...and me! I was stuck tied to the mast of a sailing ship in the middle of a force eleven gale thinking

"WHEEEEEE! HAHAHA!! I'M GOING TO DIE!!!"

as the waves crashed down onto me and soaked me down to the bone.

Eventually, one of the permanent crew realised I was still out on deck. He burst out of the door that led down below, and shouted at me to catch the rope he was going to throw. I did, and tied it securely to the mast. He told me to untie myself, but then realising that I'd get swept off deck, he hauled himself hand over hand to where I was, clipped me to his belt, and only then untied me before retreating below decks.

When we finally docked at Portsmouth, we learnt that a small hurricane had hit the South. Guess who met it first?
( Hampster Squared has stuff at www.tilla.co.uk, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 0:15, Reply)