From the Poopdeck - Bobby Khan

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Dear Matey,

What's a girl to do? When I tell blokes I'm a radio officer in response to the question "What do you do for a living?", they immediately think I'm a disc jockey for a radio station on a cruiseship. Saying "electro-technical officer" instead puts me in the category of a serious boffin, complete with lab coat and enormous specs - think Bill Gates and the like. (Umm, not quite me I'm afraid). And the term "salty sailoress" prompts a twinkle in the eye of most men, who think "Whoaa, she must be a real firecracker". A flattering thought, but not necessarily the desired effect!

Mothers, on the other hand, tend to be rather suspicious and disapproving, especially if they have a son of an eligible age in the vicinity and that's before I have told a single salty yarn. Ha! If only they knew the half of it. I mean, come on! If it's a choice of sitting onboard doing petite-point versus going out for a night on the tiles in some dubious bars with the boys, then I have to confess there's no contest. One does after all have to uphold 500 years of nautical tradition. Needless to say, none of the mothers have worked on commercial freight-carrying ships where a night in port automatically means hitting the closest watering holes.

In Brazil this is invariably bang opposite the dock gates. Now I'm not going to mention any of the more infamous establishments of Rio on the grounds that I may incriminate myself, but I do find one aspect of them most puzzling. The working girls. (Err, I ain't referring to 9 to 5 at the office here). They are often the ones buying drinks for the guys. When I asked one girl once if she had her wires seriously crossed, she explained that she was only trying to improve her chances of attracting a foreign husband. I am not sure I wholly understood the logic behind this, but one thing for sure is that the guys onboard never had it so good.

For the duration of the ship's visit an appointed girl-friend usually ends up at home washing, ironing and slaving over a hot stove for crew members - just like a real wife but without any of the benefits. Some even go so far as to follow a ship down the coast from port to port. Of course, if the guy makes the mistake of glancing at another woman then all hell breaks loose. Chances are the girls will either physically fight over him - depending whether he's a bit of alright and worth the effort - or else they'll dump him and pass the word along, in which case he had better get used to washing his own damn socks!

Still I do know of one fairy tale ending. The sailor in question went out the very first night the ship was in Nigeria. When he returned the next morning, to the astonishment of everyone he announced:

"I'm getting married."

"It'll be an uphill struggle just to get the paperwork done in time," the captain and a few others said in an attempt to dissuade him.

"Maybe it would be better to wait a couple of months."

The older seadogs were divided on the issue.

"You'll be taken to the cleaners," said one who knew of a few cases where exactly that had happened.

"Don't listen to an old grouch like him," said another. "I know a couple who have been happily married 35 years and still hold hands."

In spite of all the opinions filtering down, I have to give full marks to our chap for doggedly persisting. Agents, government officials and clergy all bent over backwards to get the necessary permits sorted in time. Sceptical though I may have been and despite the three-piece suit he was wearing in the sweltering heat, our sailor managed to look quite the picture of the happy bridegroom at his marriage ceremony. As to how it's all going is anyone's guess. One thing for sure though, there's hope for me yet. So where is that Prince Charming?

Best Regards

Bobby Khan

Anyone wishing to read more of Bobby's columns is recommended to contact her directly or alternatively visit the library of the Institute of Marine Engineers in London.