047- Habit

Fed up with the everyday grind, Tired out from the summer heat, Wanna get away from it all? We offer you escape. Escape, designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure.

You are clinging precariously to a diving, pitching longboat, lashed by mountainous seas in the middle of a hurricane. And at the helm, driving you on, is a man bent on revenge, and willing to kill for it.

Tonight, we escape to the Open Sea with an ancient tramp steamer and its fighting captain. As F.R. Buckley told it in his ironic story, habit. The court has no more questions.

Step down please. Thank you sir. I mean your honor. Well Captain Weatherfield, you've just heard the complaining witness. Have you anything to say on your own defence? Yeah. Hit the man about a bit. No doubt of that, Yourna.

Thank with half chance I'd have mounted his busted head off. Quiet! Quiet! Have all done the court. Then you admit the charges Captain Weatherfield. Did I hit him? Yeah, but I had to stay with him in circumstances, Yana.

I'd see him. And what were they? He laughed at my ship. At the wakeling, Your Honor. As Feynor Freighter has ever steamed out of here on the Liverpool run. I don't quite see him. He stood there on the waff.

Squintade son of a land-lubbered lawyer. He said my ship looked like an old woman with her dress on backwards. Her hair not cooped. That's when I flattened him up. Yes, and I still say that's what she looks like.

Order! Why, you confounded little big squeak, I'll break your parts! Send down, Captain Weatherfield! I will not! Grab him, Eddle! Let go, Eddle! Come, hurry, Eddle! Let go, Massie! Order in the car! Oh, my God!