The Everyday Lore Project

19 September 2020 – Talk Like A Pirate Day

19 September 2020 – Talk Like A Pirate Day

Ahoy there me hearties! ‘Tis Talk Like a Pirate Day! Gaaarrraggh, avast ye, for I has a tale to tell. ‘Twas an ordinary Saturday, one o’cackle fruit cakes an’ nipperkins o’grog, whens I decides to gets me a tattaw. Not ones that would a-pain me or empty me coffers, but one o’those temporary shipmade fandangos, savvy?  

So, I takes me onto the bilge-sucking internet, and shiver me timbers! It’s a thing! All’s I be needing is a printer, some paper, a computer, water, perfume and a design. Arrrrrr, but what design should that be? After much searching, I hit upon a beauty, a nautical star compass. For it is said that one possessing such an ink shall ne’er be in want of a guide to find their way safely back home. 

Smartly, I set about assembling me kit. Printing off me star, I doused it with perfume before dunking it in the warm water. After, I dids spray me arm with another nip o’perfume and laid the wet paper upon it. Then putting in some heave ho, I pressed me a damp flannel to the tat for what seemed like an eternity. 

Gently, I did peel away the parchment, and ‘Sink me!’ says I. Naught. Me skin was as clear as a mermaid’s eye. 

Sose, I did try me hand again, but this time printing onto parchment that be greaseproof, for that son of a biscuit eater internet, did tell me this method too.

Gently, I did peel away the parchment, and ‘A pox on thee, ye hornswaggling, fish stinking, landlubber!’ says I. Naught again. I could not fathom me mistake, and me face did hang the jib. I reckoned someone be running a rig on me. 

They says that third time’s a charm, but seeing hows I was near choking on the perfume fumes, I decides to change tack and try another course. Ink drawn straight onto parchment. But as I do suck like an killick-brained kraken dodger when it comes to freehand, I did find something easier on the eye to trace off me computer screen. A swallow, for it is said amongst other things that a swallow carries hope and the bearer’s soul home after death. 

Me first attempt brought faint, patchy relief to me arm, but me second, thar she blows! As splodgy as an overexcited squid cracking Jenny’s tea cup, but legible nonetheless. Me guess is that should I’s be trying a different brand of ink, I can expect a bounty bigger than Blackbeard’s head on a bowsprit.  

Now all’s I have to do, is scrub meself free o’the stench o’this perfume. That is everywhere. But maybe I might splice the mainbrace first and have just a wee clap o’thunder to dip me hardtack in. Might even treat meself to a dash o’lime. Wouldn’t be wanting to get me some scurvy, now would I? You, savvy?


Published by Liza Frank

Author of My Celebrity Boyfriend. Obsessed with hula hooping, sons of preachermen and fresh dates, sometimes all at the same time. Curator of Folklore Agony and The Everyday Lore Project.

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