Friday 7th November '08 

Arrr! Success! A couple o’ days after firin’ Del E. Bell Leigh on board our victim’s ship, we drew up alongside and boarded her. Fearlessly, I climbed aboard behind seventeen other pirates who I’d sent up afore me to make sure ye coast was clear. The site that met me eyes when I clambered onboard were enough to make me want to dance a hornpipe with joy. So I did. After catchin’ me breath an’ havin’ a slug o’ rum we set to work. There on the deck of our enemy’s ship, which turned out to be called the “Naughty But Nice”, lay their stricken crew, clinging tightly to their bellies, their wincing eyes protruding helplessly from pale screwed up faces. Just one figure was standing proudly in the centre of the fallen, with a recipe book in one hand, an egg whisk in the other, and his ruddy red face decorated with a broad grin – it were Del E. Bell Leigh the chef. We realised that havin’ fired him on board their ship we were in a no lose situation. If Del had succeeded in feedin’ our victims his fetid food, we knew they would be in no position to defend themselves. If he failed, he’d be captured, and probably killed, but at least we’d never have had to ram his meals down our gullets ever again. However, he had succeeded, which meant we could easily plunder “The Naughty but Nice”, although still I had mixed feelin’s about the outcome. We had looted plenty of treasure from our hapless victims, but was it worth it? That evening, after forcin’ down the last of Del’s latest offering - sherry trifle, with sherry substitute but real jellyfish - I had began to have me doubts.

The followin’ mornin’ Captain Strawberry had turned from his usual bright red to a rancid shade of green, Captain Apple had turned from his normal green to a violent shade of red, whilst Seagull Sid’s eyes now both suddenly seem to be pointin’ in different directions, and operatin’ independent of one another. A terrible smell filled the air, and it weren’t just because we ran out o’ toilet paper two months ago. However, fear ye not! We have all recovered after another nights rest, and are now headin’ to shore to spend our ill gotten gains. ARRR!!

Mingo.

 

Sunday 5th October '08

Well me hearties, things be on the up! Shortly after our last adventure, One Eyed Tom spied another sail. Followin’ the debacle of Silva’s misdemeanour the last time we tried to take a ship, (when he got carried away with his Big Boy), we decided upon a change of tactics. As we approached our quarry, we had a fair wind behind us, and “The Faithful Ass” glided across the ocean, like a greased kipper sliding across a vinyl kitchen floor. We had decided that rather than firin’ a broadside at the ship, we would send one of our fearless crew to board ‘em. As we were still some distance from our victims, we fashioned a catapult from the elastic of several pairs of Greybones’ red spotted Y fronts. With our catapult ready, we simply needed to place the chosen crew member into position. Despite his heartfelt protestations, we had decided to send the most heinous, dangerous and dreadful member of our crew onto their ship: Del E. Bell-Leigh the chef, armed with his recipe book. We pulled back the elastic to it’s very limit, and as it creaked and groaned under the immense strain, we realised that it would never again be man enough to house Greybones’ nether regions. With Del E. Bell-Leigh in position, we let the elastic go. A reverberating pinging noise was swiftly followed by a pathetic squealing sound emanating from Del’s mouth as we sent him skyward. He took flight, and his legs flailed helplessly as he clung desperately to his chef’s hat. I must admit, I felt a smug sense of satisfaction, feeling that we had at least partially repaid Del for the meals he had inflicted upon us over the preceding weeks. 

 We are now rapidly closin’ in on the ship, and it be all hands to the pump, except for Captain Stealth and Squirrel who be playin’ a game of aye spy, and Micky No Legs, who be motivatin’ the crew by repeatedly runnin’ up to each pirate in turn until his nose nearly be touchin’ theirs, and shoutin’ “ARRRR!” at the top of his voice. We never tires of that. Next time I writes, I hopes to be able to bring ye good news!

Piratey regards,

 

Mingo.

 

Sunday 7th September '08

Good news! We caught up with the ship! T’were last Thursday. It was a still cool mornin’ and after a chase o’ several weeks we piled on the sail for one final push. So close we got that I could see the fear in the eyes of their crew, and on the back o’ their trousers. The ship’s ornate and complex figure head were a great hairy brown beast, peering out from behind a jagged rock. Ye name of ye ship were clearly inscribed on the hull – “The Bear Behind”. 

Well, impressive as it were, it weren’t long till we left the “Bear Behind” behind. “Let ‘em ‘ave it, me boys!” cried I, and Silva immediately lit the fuse of our largest, deadliest cannon, affectionately known by the crew as “Big Boy”. With a ferocious bang, “Big Boy” let rip with a brutal broadside. Silva’s aim were true – too true unfortunately. The cannon ball whacked into their stern, sending a shower of sparks and splinters skyward. When the smoke and debris cleared, we was somewhat dischuffed to see that the ship ‘ad sunk without trace. That good for nothin’ Silva has never done nothin’ by halves! I screamed at him “Silva ye dog, why can’t ye never do anythin’ subtly?”

Silva did not take too kindly to this; “Subtly?” he cried. “Subtly? Just ye try an’ subtly fire me Big Boy at the Bear Behind!”  

I really didn’t ‘ave no answer to that.

Until next time, fare thee well. 

Mingo.

Friday 1st August 08

Hello mates! 

It ‘as been some while since I last put pen to paper, but bein’ a pirate it might not surprise ye to learn that I ain’t that litrat. No matter! I be ‘ere now, and much has happened since last we met. Most excitin’ of all, we has spied a sail! Well, I say we, I mean One Eyed Tom spied it. He were on lookout duty, swears blind ee saw a sail through ‘is telescope. But we ain’t getting’ our hopes up too much yet. It wouldn’t be the first time old One Eyed Tom has led us up the garden path when he be on lookout duty. Last time we spent days fleein’ from the giant sea monster ‘e warned us about, which turned out to be no more than a squashed moth on the inside of his eye patch, which ee ad inadvertently put over his good eye. We is all hopin’ that he be right this time – we could do with a bit o’ plunder to take our minds off what be comin’ for dinner. Aye, tis true, the old belly timber still be a first class ticket to a land of gut rot and green puke. Resultantly, we seems to spend many an hour swabbin’ ye deck clear of chunks o’ bile laden recycled grub.

 

Meanwhile, Petite Pete the Puny Pirate has made the mistake of beatin’ Backbeard at a game o’ cards. Old Backbeard don’t take kindly to bein’ beaten, but he do have a softer side. He made sure he put Pete right, if ye catch me drift. He quietly took him to one side, and very gently shot him. Ohh, that Backbeard! What a character eh? 

Anyway, back to the hunt for the ship. Let’s hope it be a goodun, loaded with riches! I will keep ye posted with our progress. Fare thee well!

Mingo

Sunday 6th July 08

Awoke this mornin’ clingin’ to an empty bottle of grog, and as the sun blazed down, the stench of scorched flesh filled me nostrils. I felt the searin’ pain of sunburn on me cheeks and in a desperate panic, I knew I needed to cover them to shield them from the sun. Swiftly, I pulled me trousers up. Realising I’d dropped off to sleep on deck of me old ship “The Faithful Ass”, I set about findin’ the rest of me clothes. That good for nothin’ crew had spiked me rum again! I kicked a couple o’ the scurvy scallywags as I searched the sails and rummaged through the riggin’ for me piratey attire. Havin’ found me hat, shirt, and beard, I retired to me hammock for some proper kip.

After a couple of hours I returned to deck, where the crew was a flurry of activity, as you would expect to see on any well oiled pirate vessel ; Silva was snorin’, Backbeard was chewin’ on a lollypop stick he’d found on ye pavement near a bus stop, whilst Greybones, who was the most active of the lot of ‘em, had mustered enough energy to twiddle his thumbs. Meanwhile, the smell of me charred cheeks had receded, to be replaced by a much worse smell – it were comin’ from the galley. Me heart sank. I knew it must nearly be lunch time. Now old Mingo here ain’t one to grumble, but this new chef of ours, agreeable fellow as ee be, is lackin’ in a few areas. Mainly in the areas of sense of smell, personal hygiene, and cookin’ skills. He’s a well to do chap with a double barrelled surname. Though he be from fine stock he ‘as fallen on ‘ard times. His full name be Derek Edmond Bell-Leigh, but the crew likes to call him Del E. Bell-Leigh for short. Anyway, Del was chompin’ at the bit to unleash on us his latest assault on palatability. It looked disgusting! Nevertheless, I forced it down – “Chef’s Special Tripe Delight” he called it. Frankly, I’ve found greater delight in removin’ splinters from me eyeballs after sufferin’ a broadside, but that be another story.

As for the rest o’ the day, we was far too busy recoverin’ from lunch to do any proper piratin’. As the sun set I dejectedly trudged back to me cabin, to get some rest in readiness for a night o’ debauchery. Just as I was about to clamber into me hammock, amongst the plunder in the corner, I spotted an old leather bound book. Upon openin’ it and flickin’ through the leaves of dusty brown parchment, I realised it were empty, and was struck with an idea. So I has decided to keep a log. Lest ‘istory don’t relate what a fine pirate old Mingo were, this document might show ye that with everythin’ I has been through, I ain’t done such a bad job after all.

For now, I'll bid ee fare well,

Mingo.