Between the security of childhood and the insecurity of second childhood we find a fascinating group of humanity called Sailors. They come in all assorted sizes, weights and sobriety. They can be found anywhere, on ships at sea, in shorebases, in bars, in love and always in debt. Girls love them, towns tolerate them and the government support them. A sailor is laziness with a pack of cards, bravery with tattooed arms and the protector of the sea.

They have the energy of a turtle, the slyness of a fox, the brains of an idiot, the stories of a sea captain, the sincerity of a liar and aspirations of a Casanova, and when he wants something it is usually connected with a request form.

Some of his interests are: Women, Dames, Girls, Females and the Opposite sex

He dislikes answering letters, wearing his uniform, superior officers, Navy food and working.

No one else can cram into one small pocket: A little green book, A packet of cards, A picture of his girl, A comb, And what’s left of his last months pay

He likes to spend some of his money on girls, some on beer, some on poker and the rest foolishly.

A sailor is a magic creature; you can lock him out of your home but not your heart. You can scratch him off your mail list but not off your mind.

His is your long away from home love and your one and only bleary-eyed good-for-nothing bundle of worries, but all your shattered dreams become insignificant when your sailor docks, looks at you with those bloodshot bleary eyes and says – “Hiya Honey”.

Haha a good one mate! I'll forward this to my fellow officers and crew right away...