And one must hope Rhino that you have the good sense to pack a sick bag as well. I'd take your own, a black bin bag should do the trick. You could wear it to keep every other f**k*rs spew off you.
As I may have hinted at previously, we went on a seacat last year, called the Pompey Scummers Express to Cherborg - P&O Motto "Retch for the stars". I may have explained some of the unpleasantness involved and even that I slipped over in vomit in the gents toilet. But I don't think I explained how or why. So if you will indulge me...
On entering said lavvy, I was surprised to see what appeared to be a perfectly good portion of scrambled egg on toast lying in the middle of the floor. On closer inspection, I realised it had not half an hour previously belonged to someone, who had washed it down with (my best guess) a large latte. With two sugars. Anyway, the pitching of the boat had seemingly induced a slight feeling of queeziness upon the owner of the eggs. No doubt to be on the safe side, he had set off to the bogs, just in case.
Now walking about on a boat when suffering from motion sickness is not a clever idea. I reckon a massive wave of nausea struck his guts, and the hapless fool picked up his step in a vain attempt to reach the relative safety of the gents. Clearly, the inevitable had happen a short four paces from the lavvy bowl. A personal disaster for the poor chap and I expect it was splashed all down his trousers and shoes.
Anyway, there it was parked on the floor. I examined it closly wondering what it could possibly be, but recoiled in horror when it became acutely apparent that it was, in it's purest sense, unadulterated sick. It had a bubble in the top which I'm sure winked at me.
I was trying to give it a wide berth, when the boat pitched violently. It was at that moment I trod in an unseen line of what I can only descibe as digestive mucus, no doubt done by somebody who had nothing else left to hew. It had the friction properties of silicone grease. In a movement that Laurel and Hardy would have been proud, I was on my arse in a trice.
Not realising what had happened I glanced down at my left wrist. I was a little disappointed to note that it sitting in the pool of cold sputum. And someone elses to boot. It was all stuck in my watch strap and arm hair. Talk about heave! And the egg-sick was laughing at me I swear! All I can remember thinking was "I'm ACK never GERKKK going on this GGWWWEEERRRPP fukin' sh*t tub HONK again!" Or words to that effect. And I bloody meant it, by Huey and Ralph!
