Kaptain's Blog

Will someone rescue me
For I am lost
I need to glide upon the wings of purest love
To dive into the oceans of your soul
Please will you come and rescue me
For I am lost

Will someone rescue me –
I feel I’ve died
I need a hand to guide me through this dread I hide
To take away the cloak of grief that wraps my heart
Please will you come and rescue me
For I am lost

And when the memory
Of death’s indignity
Returns to haunt me
I will anchor to your rock
Whatever tragedy
Has yet to befall me
The love you give will surely
Help me overcome

Will someone rescue me
My heart is scarred –
My faith in equity
Has been put to the sword
I need to know that
This life isn’t just a void
Please will you come and rescue me
For I am lost

And when the dreaded hour
Of waking next arrives
To wield its torment
I will seek comfort from you
Whatever life then brings –
Dark nights or brighter things
Your presence at my side
Will see that I pull through

For my father George, 29 January, 1938 – 14 March, 2009

God bless, Dad

I closed the lids
Over faraway eyes of pale blue
Your skin now so cold to the touch

The taste of your lips
Was on mine –
Second-hand air blown
Into unwilling lungs

I know that you waited
For me to come home
Before you’d be lured
On the last journey of all

And I love you for that
My dear father –
If only love were a cure
You would know

I kissed your forehead
And said good-bye
I promised to see you again
And decided
That while this would haunt me forever
I’ll remember instead
All the good times

If only love were a cure
You’d still be here
Lighting us up with your charm

If only love were a cure
We’d not now be grieving
The loss of a beautiful man

It was a dewy-eyed Blake, then, who, moments after this seminal event, observed the fisherman begin gesturing to the skipper. The old man he had earlier wanted to rough up was now pointing to the horizon, at about 10° to port. And there, sure enough – situated some distance off, and surrounded by a gathering of eerie rock formations that speared their way up through the sparkle of the sea – was a huge white superyacht. Unharmed. Unharmed, he was instantly moved to repeat, over and again in his mind, his thoughts returning to the imminence of his unavoidable ordeal. My little girl’s gonna be okay… She’s okay…

For a fleeting moment, Blake felt he was so close to Sophie he could hear her breathe. His mind conjured the picture it wanted to: he saw her sleeping soundly in a cabin somewhere deep inside the vessel’s bowels. Unharmed, alone. Safe and sound. But a darker thought then began to take hold of him: who the hell was it that owned this fucking boat, anyway? And what kind of cunt would he be facing when boarding it? The hairs on Blake’s neck began to pucker up. And as the Glory then slowly grew bigger within his field of vision, he felt an involuntary shudder: it’s bound to be armed, he thought. Why wouldn’t it be?

“I don’t suppose they’ll just let us raft up to them: climb aboard, unchallenged,” he suddenly said aloud, while continuing to gaze wistfully into the near distance, towards her shining white hull. But his words, like Elle’s earlier, were drowned by the sea and the sound of the powerboat pushing through it. The love of his life, meanwhile, looked on unnoticing.