Port Visits #4
Segueing...
Ahahahahaha. I'm a wonderful person. Of course that's a self established
and undeniable fact of life. As all the world knows, Aidan is the very
center of existence. I can prove it. I can assure you that until my birth
nothing existed. And when I die, all shall cease to exist. Empirical
Evidence. The very corner stones of science dictate if you can't see it,
touch it or some other way detect it, it's just a theory. That's all you
were before me! A theory. And seeing I can't remember anything before my
birth, and I won't after my death, it wasn't and won't be there.
However, I may be wrong.
But anyway, there are more beautiful people! Lovely women, with sweet
words. I love you too hun, such dirty talk always gets me going,
although... your style needs a little work, they're meant to be said in a
slightly husky voice, usually followed by 'fuck me'. And great guys, who
give one sentence responses. And another woman, who actually responded with
an e-mail to match my verbose declarations of existence. (Told you I'd give
you nice words in my next e-mail if you responded)
But! Port Visits. Wonderful things that they are. For those non-navy ones
amongst you, let me give you an idea of how they go. First night in, then
entire crew finds a close bar/pub/alcohol serving venue that is large
enough to hold us all, plus numerous civilians. And then we get absolutely
maggoted. Except me, who has a responsibility to you all in maintaining the
universe and thus simply maintains a healthy demeanour and doesn't drink.
Because that would be a SIN. And sin is bad. Apparently.
So, the crew gets shitfaced and stumbles around, wenching, fighting getting
all the stresses of the time at sea out of their system.
Then it is the second day, people wake up at various times through the
morning and early afternoon wondering why they did it to themselves.
(Except myself. And contrary to my earlier statement, it wasn't because I
wasn't drinking, but simply because WA has this unconscionable idea of bars
closing at 12 during the week. I tried staying out but there was nothing to
do and thus I came back to the ship and slept till like 10am) But they get
up, grab some food, the greasier the better, and do some shopping.
Incidentally, I now have like 3 new pairs of jeans and new shirts and
belts. Because I can.
Some start drinking at around midday, others wait until dinner. But either
way there is less focus on the wharfside bars and more variation. People go
out in their little cliques, and some others attempt to escape other people
from the ship altogether. I'm in the second category, I look at visits to
FBW and Fremantle as a good chance to catch up with the mates who got west
based postings. So that's what I do. Rather than spend yet another day with
the people I'm forced to endure every day for months at a time. Besides, we
joined the navy, we automatically have the fuckwit designator installed.
It's something we get in recruit school. Can't escape it.
So that's a very long-winded way of saying: Last night I wasn't in Freo. I
went further north to some bar/nightclub that AGAIN insisted on closing at
midnight. It was like right across from the train station. Luckily enough,
so is the ship in freo so it's like this great way of getting home with no
effort required whatsoever. Anyway, apart from the fact that I haven't got
the slightest idea of what this bar was called except that it started with
'C' this was my night. We met some absolutely stunning girls, we walked up
started talking to them, chatted for a while, did the usual 'Hi, how are
you? How's your day/night been? What do you do?' And then it went horribly
horribly wrong. I did the usual, I do this, they do that, and one of the
girls goes, do you know Commodore Shalders? I was like uh no... not
personally, but I know of him. (Incidentally I think he's now an
Admiral...) Why?
He was one of their fathers. ALARM ALARM ALARM. NAVY BRAT ALARM! But I am a
gentleman. And have total control of my features and even as the blood was
draining from my face (Not that noticeable, one of the joys of being a
communicator that hasn't been doing bridge watches is that you don't need
to see natural sunlight, at all, so I am really rather alabaster right now.
Very good for my skin... I don't get bad things like cancer) I struggled
onwards, still maintaining the pace. And then they quizzed us on how old
they looked. We were like, you girls are first year uni, 18 of course. How
wrong were we? Enough. They were 17. Can this get any worse? First if we
didn't call afterwards it's like... "Daddy, there's this bad man called
Aidan, he did things to me and hasn't called me afterwards." Then it's:
"That's ok princess, you're underage, he's going to prison." Bubba and I
aren't going on a date. EVER. No prison dates. There's a time and a place
for deviant sexual acts.... 17 year olds whose fathers are flag officers in
your branch of the military aren't the ones you do it with. Maybe if she
was 20 I could survive the storm. Or even bend it to my will but there was
no way EVER of it happening last night. So somehow I managed to extricate
myself from this debacle, regardless of how incredibly good looking they
were. (That single bar has thrown my previous theory about WA girls into
disarray. Those of you who were on the mailing list for my ASWEX trip might
remember my rant about jawlines... Yes, that bar had a ridiculous number of
insanely hot girls.)
So I did what I always do when I'm in trouble, I danced, and let the girls
come to me. Then there was this cute little asian girl who started dancing
with me. And yes well.
So that's pretty much what sailors get up to in ports that they visit. Now
why am I being such a loser that I'm typing an e-mail rather than go out
and back it up a third night in a row? Because I am duty and have to stay
in the commcen for a little while. I HAVE NO CHOICE. THEY MADE ME DO IT.
Ahem, so yeah. Laters people, most know by now that if you send me a
response, I reply to it, usually with a phone call, although sometimes with
another e-mail. Personalised. That's so hot right now.
Later people, until my next moment of incipient madness.
Aidan