The gathering storm

It came closer and closer and it became evident it wasn't going to stop. It had started out near the Bahamas as a freshening breeze. As it tracked across the Atlantic it gathered energy from the warm Gulf Stream, picking up the evaporated moisture to form the increasing cloud layer. The Coriolis effect started to spin it so, by the time it had started tracking up the Western Approaches and passed Wolf Rock , it was a full on Atlantic depression with gale force winds swirling around the placid centre.

            Out of habit, he tapped the barometer. It didn’t like it as it was suffering from a bad case of aneroids but co-operated enough to show a rapidly dropping air pressure. He knew from his thirty years experience at sea that this meant bad weather. He was an old sea dog, from labrador, and understood these things. He waited, a long paws, and then jumped up, putting them on the peloris to check the heading.

            ‘Slow down a bit’ he ordered the helmsman, we’ll just poodle along for a while and ride out the storm. Left hand down a bit and head into the waves so we don’t get so much of a pounding.’

His first mate was out on the foc’stle swinging the lead.

            ‘Get back on the bridge,’ said the captain, ‘it’s not time for walkies yet, and put your lead away’

            The collie obeyed, putting down his sack of nutty slack.

            ‘I’ll just go and have a cat nap while things are quiet.’

‘OK,’ agreed the captain but make sure you are back here on time for the first dog watch’ He tuned the radio away from Terry Wogan as it was time for the shipping forecast.

            ‘Sole, Portland, Plymouth, Fastnet, gale force 8, increasing severe gale force 9, storm force 10 later, precipitation in sight, good’ intoned Donald Peteresen.

            ‘Nothing good about that,’  said Rover on the bridge wing, the old joke that the captain had heard so many times before.

            ‘You had better reel the kites in now, I know they save us a lot of fuel but we won’t be able to control them in the gathering storm.’ advised Churchill, ‘we’ll fight them on the beeches, Oh Yes, we’ll fight them……..

            ‘Yes, we have all heard that one, two,’ said three of the bridge team at the same time before bidding two hearts.

            ‘Who’s lead is it?’ asked Scotty.

            ‘It’s mine,’ complained the Staffy from Glasgow.

            ‘Well you should have put it away when the captain told you,’whined Scotty, who had missed his walk today and so hadn’t seaweed. He still had  some of the symptoms of bladderwrack and trumped loudly.

            ‘My trick’ he yelled.

That was the end of the rubber, the storm had abated, the sea was calm, the aspirins had cured the depression and the clouds parted to allow a sun beam to strike the bridge.

            ‘I thought we had finished with cards’ complained Scotty.

            ‘Shut up and deal’ barked the bridge team