I am not known to be quiet, yet I am. My modesty makes me so. I am the beating heart of Bushranger.

You have heard from those louder than me:
‘Arry, the speech himpaired hairconditioner. (He can get overheated which is not cool at all!) ;
Dinghy, who hangs over my exhaust all day. (Suck it up, girl!);
Radar, who thinks he sees everything. (Why don’t they turn you on much, mate?); and
Hanchor. Dammit, Anchor, who chooses to hide his head in the sand / mud / weed (and is difficult to hunderstand when working.)
Curiously, POOP Holden, with all his ‘onourifics – Honourifics, thanks ‘Arry, has a story to tell which I know (we are buddies in the engine room) but the rest of the boat union didn’t want it published. Suffice to say, the exploits of POOP and his colleagues on other boats are amongst the most talked about at boaters’ docktails.

But – back to me! I am celebrating my 21st which is why I have chosen to speak up. They have called me ‘Madam Yanmar’ in previous posts, but I am anything but a madam! I am hitting my prime – 2100 hours tomorrow. I have carried this little enterprise close to 15,000 miles with pride. I ask for little.

You might hear a tale of me stopping work in the St Lawrence Seaway. Ignore it! Ask the boss. He might try to hide behind the dinghy but there is no room.

So, tomorrow, with my 21st drinks comfortably in my sump, I will get on with what I do best. I will carry this crew, their hairconditioner, radar, hanchor, ‘olding tank and dinghy to the next destination.

Such is Life!