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Here's the latest installment from Dick Headley.

People often ask me if I have a destination. Do you know where you're going Dick, they ask? Well of course I give them the old smile, like I know what's going on, but to tell the truth I don't have a fucking clue.

To be honest I don't know bugger all about navigation neither. Or should that be 'nor do I not know bugger all about navigation either.'? Always have trouble with those double negatives. Oh, I can read a chart and a compass of course but the finer points elude me. Sextant? No thanks. All that fiddly stuff with plotters and logs. I leave all that to Nyum. I trust her completely. She gives me a compass heading and I steer it. She seems to have an instinct for it. Funny that. Some people just always seem to know where they are.

The Carib Indians got around OK in their canoes. Island hopping probably. Never out of sight of land for long. Bloody amazing how those early Polynesians found their way around the Pacific with just a few shells and a couple of twigs. Me, I don't know where I am half the time. HahÔø?I can read the wind and the water but dates, tide-tables, windspeeds, headingsÔø?it's all bloody mixed up mate. Get to my age and you don't give a toss. Take each day as a bonus.

When I left Tahiti I had a vague plan to go to Barbados (where I have a house) via Aruba. Didn't work out. Ran into some very strong westerlies after we left Colon and decided to do the islands anti-clockwise. That means when we leave here we'll probably head for Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands. Then what? Still want to fuck Nok. Maybe give Oscar a hand with his treasure hunt. I do plan to end up in Barbados for the Mountgay Distillery Pilgrimage but not sure when. After that who knows. Back to Pattaya probably. Always plenty of odd-jobs at the Headley Hostel for Rehabilitated Sex Trade Workers.

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Sometimes I get on a nice long tack with a steady wind and I feel like I could go on forever. Go on what? Sailing of courseÔø?letting the wind take me wherever it wants to go. Just lounge back, watch the girls all in their matching Team Headley thong things, and think about the keel slicing through the water.

I met the King of Afghanistan once. At the Hudson's Bay Company fur auction in London. He was flogging still-born lamb skins and I was there to buy a string of wild mink pelts. Skinny little bugger he was with a big nose. We got chatting and he tells me he likes big girls and do I know any? So I took him and his bodyguard up West. We had a nice meal at Wheelers then it was back to the Savoy where I made a couple of phone calls and ordered up some tarts. "This is Christine and Mandy your Majesty." I said, "They will sit on your face." They settled on 100 quid each which I thought was steep but the King was happy. "Thank you Mr. Dick. You very good man" says the King, "Why you no come stay in my palace in Afghanistan?"

I never took him up on it, which was probably just as well. Christine and Mandy went on to become famous for shagging Jack Profumo. I don't know what happened to the King. Probably got a cruise missle (missile) up his arse (ass).

Way up in the sky I see the vapour trail from a Lear Jet. What's that about I wonder? World Bank officials winging their way to Washington to catch up on the latest tax fiddles? Colombians moving a bit of dope? Tila Ngyuen off for a photo shoot? Who knows? And I see Brian Clough died at 69. Good number. He was a nice fella... hope he's alright.

Dick Headley has now set up his own blog at http://dickheadley.blogspot.com

[Posted to Fiction by David]

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