The Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists!

I'm not

really that bothered about the swab with the accordion, but that other fellow ... the one with a scarf -' the Pirate Captain really never seemed to be able to remember the names of any of his crew - 'the truth is, I'm at a bit of a loss without him. He cleans my hats, keeps me up to date with all the latest shanties, and he even knows all the proper nautical terms for things. I bet you didn't realise that on a sailing boat you're not even meant to say 'upstairs' or 'downstairs' or 'left' or 'right'. It's all 'port' this and 'star­board' that and 'galley' instead of kitchen and goodness knows what else. How am I expected to remember that kind of thing? Anyhow. What was the point I was making?'

'I'm not really sure,' said Darwin.

'Well then,' said the Pirate Captain, flashing the scientist his most winning grin.

The Royal Society's grandfather clock struck a quarter past ten. It was just a few minutes to go until Darwin's big moment, and the lecture hall

was fast filling up. Most of the audience had read the evening papers' controversial head­lines, and there was an excited buzz of anticipation throughout the room. The Pirate Captain's ploy had certainly done the trick in bringing in the crowds, thought Darwin. He stood at the door, greeting people as they arrived, whilst Mister Bobo paced backstage taking nerv­ous swigs from a flask of whisky.

'Nice that you could make it. Hi. Hello. Thanks for coming. Glad you could be here. Nice to—'

Darwin froze. He found himself face to face with the Bishop of Oxford. 'Darwin.' 'Bishop.'

'So you're going ahead with this?' 'I - uh - that is ... it looks that way' 'What a pity your brother Erasmus couldn't be here.'

'You villain! What have you done with him?'

'Mr Darwin .. . Charles. I haven't the slight­est clue what you're talking about. I just hope his health isn't suffering,' said the Bishop,

waggling his bushy brows and grimacing to show that he meant the exact opposite of what he was saying. 'It's not too late to reconsider,' he added as he took his seat in the audience, unwit­tingly right next to the Pirate Captain, who was back in scientist disguise.

The lights dimmed, the thick velvet curtain went up and Darwin and Mister Bobo came out to enormous applause.

'Ladies and gentlemen. He's hairy! He's scary! I would like to introduce you to the world's first fantastic . .. Man-panzee!'

The spotlight fell on Mister Bobo, who was so well turned out, with his hair slicked back, a breath mint in his mouth and his best dress shirt tucked into a pair of handsome trousers, that it looked like he was going on a first date. In actual fact, Mister Bobo had never so much as kissed a girl. The audience clapped again. Darwin coughed nervously, and started to explain how he fed Mister Bobo on a diet of pitu­itary glands taken from the cadavers of baby seals.

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'One might expect the pituitary gland to have some effect on the language capabilities of the simian brain, but I can't detect any. Mister Bobo just seems to like the taste,' said Darwin.

Ker-chunk!

The gigantic cog clicked on another notch.

'Shall we have a game of animal, vegetable or mineral? To take our minds off things?' suggested Erasmus brightly. The scarf-wearing pirate would have enjoyed a game of hangman more, but seeing as they didn't have any chalk, and their hands were all tied up anyhow, he nodded reluctantly.

'I'll go first,' said the pirate. 'Okay, I've thought of something.'

'Are you a mineral?' asked Erasmus.

'Nope.'

'Animal?'

'Sort of.'

'Sort of?'

All right, yes. Animal.' 'Are you a hoofed animal?'

'No.'

'Claws?'

'No.'

'Not claws or hoofs? What does that leave? Trotters?' 'Yes!'

'So you're a pig?' 'Not exactly

'Not exactly a pig? Then a bit of a pig? Are you bacon?'

'No, but you're getting warm.' 'Ham?'

'That's it! I'm a succulent piece of ham! But you took too many guesses, so I won, and I get to choose again.'

Darwin had finished his introduction and expla­nation of his training methods, and now he was leading Mister Bobo - who was doing his best not to knuckle-walk, because he knew just how vulgar that looked - over to a carefully laid out dinner table in the centre of the stage.

'Mister Bobo - would you be so kind as to show these ladies and gentlemen exactly which of these spoons you would use to eat a dessert?'

Mister Bobo held up the correct spoon almost instantly, and the audience let out some 'oohs' and 'aahs'. His confidence building, Mister Bobo proceeded to run through the rest of the routine with aplomb. Shown pictures of two different girls he correctly identified which one was more attractive, he made a selection of cock­tails called out by the audience, and he played 'God Save the Queen' and 'Crockett's Theme' on the piano, without hitting a single wrong note.

Ker-chunk!

'So you're not actually a cow?' said Jennifer, rolling her eyes in exasperation. 'No,' grinned the pirate with a scarf. 'Are you a steak?' 'No!'

T give up.'

'I'm a sausage! But one made out of beef

instead of pork. Right - I've thought of some­thing else!'

Ts this going to be meat-based again?'

'It might be.'

Darwin and Mister Bobo were building up to the grand finale. The lecture had gone well, and the audience seemed politely impressed, but it clearly needed something more to whip them into a frenzy. With a pre-arranged signal from Mister Bobo, a clattering noise came from off stage, and then a lumbering figure appeared.

'Wait a minute! Who's this?' said Darwin, looking surprised. 'Oh my goodness! Ladies and Gentlemen ... it's the Holy Ghost!'

'Wooo! Raaah!' said the Holy Ghost, a bit muffled, sounding a lot like Scurvy Jake with a sheet over his head. There was the plink-plink of gentlemen dropping monocles into their drinks and the gentle rustle of several ladies fainting.

'He's come to get me, because my theories are so blasphemous!' shouted Darwin, in mock terror. Nobody