Living with a Pirate

The exalted leader has had an op on his eye. They tend to do this sort of procedure these days to those of a senior disposition - swapping an old clapped out lens with a brand new shiny plastic one. This heralds an age when we will soon be getting most of our body parts replaced with bits of plastic or brushed aluminium. I quite fancy a Bakelite nose - I like a retro look. The trouble is that I am now sharing the apartment with someone who looks like a pirate.

Ok! He doesn't have a moustache or an evil grimace on his face. Actually, now that I mention it, he doesn't have long hair, a hat, or any other pirate paraphernalia, but you know what I mean. He has an eye patch - therefore, he's a pirate. I was rather hoping that we could have driven around south Belfast with him leaning out of the window making menacing pirate sounds and threatening to splice people's 'main braces' or whatever, but apparently he has to just sit down and rest. Shame! These opportunities don't come around very often.

Well maybe that will have to wait for another time. For now, the streets of Belfast are safe. But he will be getting the other eye done some time in the near future and I may well get this thing organised properly for the next time. Anyway, gotta go. I think that I can hear pirate stirrings coming from the next room and you know what that means. I've got to go dispense some pirate medicine now. Ah-harrrr!