Just for a change it was Isle Ornsay,

Visitor mooring at Duisdale Bay,

Schnitzels for tea, washed down with shiraz,

Thereafter a haze – for five of our lads.


To shore in wee flaccid, motor on blink

But the Aberdour oarsman prevented a sink,

Ashore, to the house, a right posh hotel.

The rest is embargoed – strictly no-tell.


But amongst us it's safe to yield up our tale

Only twixt those who bravely set sail

On arrival 5 yachties (from Skip's gins they were smashed)

Encountered a wedding – and soon it was crashed.


Well ... Smolks tint his reason a' thegither

And roared out, "Weell done Ali and Matt!"

Were they thinking – "What a twat"?

No, they were clearly quite delighted

Thanks to Smolks we were then invited.

And scarcely had he nuptially spoken

When Skip's wee toast left glasses broken.


It could have been carnage, with fellas all brawling.

But Skip, he was charming, and the girls were soon sprawling.

Laid out for photies, all poses were set

But Smolks was all fumble – "I'm not ready yet."


The lassies were charming and humoured us well

But sadly their target was oot on the swell.

Bachelor Nav stayed back on the boat

And missed all the action – boring old scrote.


But here's for the record; of those there that night,

McPhail tried Heather – but she wasnae alight.

It was tricky to see where each of her eyes were

(Dan found it better to drool over Liza.)


Skip said to Findus, "Now no being randy"

He had got cornered, wedged in with Yolandi.

But he's neutered, he's snipped and now he's quite barren

And safe from the clutches of that delving one, Karen.


Shame that she wished for a meeting with Nav,

And he was at sea ensconced on the lav.

A rich girl for him – she's from Abu Dhabi

"I want to meet Nav and give him a babby!"


Now the blokes with the lassies seemed happy to drift

Yorkshire boy, Kilties and the edgy one, Cliff.

John Lennon was there but if not in name, he

Was there in appearance, in our fella Jamie.


And a cosy wee couple recalling their day

Wedded at Duisdale on a boat in the bay.

Anniversary stay for tranquil recall,

But poor Chris and Tosh had to suffer us all.


So sadly there's nowt to surpass the first night,

The rest of the cruise was as boring as shite.

Lying on deck looking up to the masthead

Is better than listening to those boring bastards.


Sunday was sunny and Skip took us Hourning,

Then up through to Kyle and onto a mooring.

At Plockton, the Princess alongside she was lain,

Later we heard her – "Again and again!"


A pissin' wet Monday with nae winds a howlin'

Bagged up an island over at Crowlin.

Findus was cheered by landing a Coalie,

Smolka was happy – he'd dropped a big toalie.


And at the Portree stop we went to the Cally,

And couldna believe it – a meal with free swally?

Burger, lasagne, but the catch of the day

Was being well served, by wee Miss McRae.


Big boat Columbus as we sailed away

North up to Rona, the boat was asway.

Then a rough crossing but Smolks is still gone

He's away down below – making us scones!


At Gairloch, emerging with flourish and glee

He holds up his tray, for all crew to see.

But Skip's made an arse of a pontoon and pier

Saying, "Fuck off wi' ya scones, I'm trying to steer."


But later we're settled and showered on shore,

And McPhail's in danger of ranting once more.

So off to the Inn and a few pints of grog

And next door is next door with schnauzer the dog.

Or was it a breed which came out with that moon?

Because werewolfish cackles were filling the room.


So the pace of the cruise is established and settled

We're knackerin' kit for McPhail to get fettled,

As ever there's Dan, just looking the wiser,

(Or is he quite sad and whimpering, "Liza"?)


Nav is reporting on seas not so bumpy

And getting right happy, now that he's grumpy.

Findus has lost it all, hook line and sinker

And Skip keeps on wafting, phwoar what a stinker.


Trawlerman Smolks recounts tales that give fear.

And on Thursday we realised, Frank was not here.

But then again most years, it's Thursday before

Anyone notices Frank is on board!


Wednesday is perfect, sunshine and sail,

Hebridean blues and mountains of scale,

Tanera Mor with outlines of Polly

We were stamping ashore, to have scones served by Holly.


Birthday lads of fifty and sixty

Are served up fajitas which Danny had mixed, he

Had chucked all together the left over bits

And had conjured a magical roll-your-own kit.


Two lassies, or trannies? joined in with this gig,

Nav and McPhail were wearing their wigs.

A blond, like a biker, was McPhail, quite a laugh!

Fat Nav with curls – more like Rory McGrath.


Thursday came and screamed out sore head!

And we are all happy, supine in our beds

But skipper is up and clanking the anchors

Shouting, "Wake up! ya lazy fat wankers."


Later, post breakfast, Smolks disappeared

Was it to shave off his 5 day old beard?

We fear he was seated for some sea-bowel motions

Cus the navy was warning of sub-water explosions.


Whatever he launched it rattled the nation

And attracted to us a big black cetacean

All glorious curves and a slow rolling fin

A dolphin? A minke? A fabulous thing.


We motored to Kyle and dined well at the station,

And the chaps had to listen to this recitation.

Last day was sunny and we set out for Rum

With another fine breakfast to put in our tums.

Wind was against so we went for the Forge

Another fine chance to quaff and to gorge.


So thanks to the skip and to the ablemen crew

From Smolkie and Slips, the cretinous few.

Good to be passengers and to try and find out

About sailing and charts – and just effing about.

We'll remember our lessons, from gybing to smut

As we sailed the Sounds – In the Countess of Slut!


Richard ‘Findus the Fisherman’ Slipper


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