I've tried to deny it, but I have to face up to an uncomfortable truth. I have been turned into a pirate by my recent misfortune in a road accident. My knee scarring means I have to walk with a one-legged shambling gait, especially comical when ascending steps one at a time.
Then, a hefty scar on my forehead lends a palpable air of mercenary proclivities. The icing on the cake of course is my penchant to currently sport an eyepatch. Fortunately, as both of my eyes do work, I have the choice over which eye to wear said patch, but wear it I must until nerve 6 (hopefully) recovers to the extent both eyes see the same view of the world (literally).
Mind you, things could be worse. So much worse. If reality had truly wanted me to join my Somalian brethren, it could have easily seen its way clear to depriving me of one of my wanking spanners such that a shiny brass hook now took its place. Equally, a freak lodging of shrapnel in my throat could doubtless have resulted in my voice adopting a fine Cornish burr and drawl.
My mind is a bit shaky as it is, so I could affect a vastly altered vocabulary with minimal embarrassment. Note to self.
Christmas as a Pirate. Yarr. There be pieces of eight neath that tree and no mistake, lest I taste a lick of the cat.
It certainly makes my next fancy dress idea a bit more straightforward.
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