So, there we were, June 1992, out in the South China Sea, miles from anywhere, out of sight of land. It was a stiflingly hot day, flat, calm sea, good visibility, not a breath of wind, the only sound was the gentle hum of our main diesel engines - when one of my lookouts came scrabbling up to the wheelhouse, his binoculars dangling around his neck. ‘Taxi…taxi,’ he shouts at the top of his voice, almost falling over himself as he did so. Everyone turned and looked at him. There was silence. Blank stares. Someone muttered ‘Chi sin.’ I nodded to my sergeant, ‘I think this lad’s been out in the sun too long. Give him some tea and send him down below.’ ‘No, no,’ protested the young lookout, ‘look, sir, look,’ he spluttered, now offering up his binoculars, ‘over there, it’s a f***ing Hong Kong taxi.’ And so it was, so we headed off to investigate. As we did so one of my sergeants, looking through his own binoculars, muttered, ‘Typical, you can never find one when you want one.’
Comments