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From the Mouths of Deckies

Since I have been writing this blog, my attitude towards life has changed somewhat. Like an artist who sees beauty everywhere he looks, I find myself appreciating a relatively mundane scene as a sort of unintentional theatre.

A lot of people disapprove of swearing. They think it limits the vocabulary, sounds crude, and robs a sentence of its gravity. In many cases they are right, but the solution isn't always to cut out cursing entirely. Sometimes, you just need to swear more.
The deckhands on the ships are notorious for being the roughest of the crew. There are exceptions, naturally, but the majority of them seem vaguely out of place unless they're slurping tea out of a chipped white mug, farting heartily, and talking loudly about tits and sport.
Of course, to paraphrase Orwell, all deckies are rough, but some are more rough than others.

It's breakfast time. The mess is serving up the usual ladles of grease and processed animal genitals, and everyone is tucking in with gusto. A deckie appears with a heavily laden plate. He sighs with contentment, turns to his mate, and unleashes the most excessive use of swearing I have heard in a long time.
“You fucking can't fucking beat a fucking fresh fried fucking egg fucking straight out of the fucking pan.” he says.
My fork pauses on its way to my mouth, its load of minced pork trotter and sawdust quivering slightly as I take in the unintentional poem. It's an ageless truth, powerfully stated with a raw emotion and muscular prose worthy of Hemingway himself.
'Fucking hell, that's so fucking true.' I think.

Posted by TimDudman 10:35 Archived in United Kingdom Tagged ship swearing fuck eggs deckhand cursing curse

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