Sentence The Onehundredandfourteenth
Now, as is usual on planes – when the stewardesses, always looking delicious in their fitted uniforms, explain with superb grandiloquence and many extravagant arm gestures, which lift the hemlines of their dresses so interestingly, to the olio – their passengers being an eclectic mix of many different peoples, cultures, religions, genders, comprehensions, and lusts – the emergency procedures designed, one would be forgiven for thinking, by a chiropterologist intent on imparting his knowledge of the nocturnal activities of bats to a small boy who is only intent on sucking his thumb, their words fall less like manna from heaven on their captive listeners, but more like the grain cast by the sower in Christ's parable – some on stony ground, some among weeds, and others where the birds of the air will gobble them up and only a few, a very few indeed, on fertile soil where they will send their roots down in search of sustenance and their shoots upwards towards the light and so it was on
The Lady where Cristal Caddy – First Mate of the doughty tub – performed this task for the assembled passengers and Skipper Phemie despaired when, one after the other, hands were raised seeking clarification or more detailed explanation about the dangers of icebergs and killer whales, when the decks should be swabbed, where the sailor-girls rest-room is and the hazards of neglecting to belay the aft mainsail or batten down the hatches; and eventually she simply muttered to her strapping Mate: “sod this for a game of sodgers, Matey, just tellem which is the fucking front and which the buggering back and explain about Port and Starboard, if they need a piss just sit them on the rail and tell them to pee into the sea - and send a little prayer to Neptune, and we'll fuck off out of here – oh, and make sure they've all got their life-jackets on the right way round, I don't think some of them have the sense they were born with,” this last as she noticed one of the Famous Five attempt to put her feet into the armholes of her life-jacket and tumble to the deck as she overbalanced!
Now, as is usual on planes – when the stewardesses, always looking delicious in their fitted uniforms, explain with superb grandiloquence and many extravagant arm gestures, which lift the hemlines of their dresses so interestingly, to the olio – their passengers being an eclectic mix of many different peoples, cultures, religions, genders, comprehensions, and lusts – the emergency procedures designed, one would be forgiven for thinking, by a chiropterologist intent on imparting his knowledge of the nocturnal activities of bats to a small boy who is only intent on sucking his thumb, their words fall less like manna from heaven on their captive listeners, but more like the grain cast by the sower in Christ's parable – some on stony ground, some among weeds, and others where the birds of the air will gobble them up and only a few, a very few indeed, on fertile soil where they will send their roots down in search of sustenance and their shoots upwards towards the light and so it was on
The Lady where Cristal Caddy – First Mate of the doughty tub – performed this task for the assembled passengers and Skipper Phemie despaired when, one after the other, hands were raised seeking clarification or more detailed explanation about the dangers of icebergs and killer whales, when the decks should be swabbed, where the sailor-girls rest-room is and the hazards of neglecting to belay the aft mainsail or batten down the hatches; and eventually she simply muttered to her strapping Mate: “sod this for a game of sodgers, Matey, just tellem which is the fucking front and which the buggering back and explain about Port and Starboard, if they need a piss just sit them on the rail and tell them to pee into the sea - and send a little prayer to Neptune, and we'll fuck off out of here – oh, and make sure they've all got their life-jackets on the right way round, I don't think some of them have the sense they were born with,” this last as she noticed one of the Famous Five attempt to put her feet into the armholes of her life-jacket and tumble to the deck as she overbalanced!
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