A word of advice

additional information - with moderate profanity

Anyone who has ever sailed, gone motorbiking or on road trip with me will know quite simply and without much fuss that the only plan, THE ONLY FUCKING PLAN, is to generally start and finish at a certain place. That certain place is only certain at the beginning, the end place is never certain although we might hope to return to whence we came, this isn't guaranteed. This is sailing. S-a-i-l-i-n-g. Which is dependant on the weather and mother-fucking nature. 

Now then.

When there's two weeks holiday booked from our regular day jobs working for other people, that means day one of the holiday ie, most likely Friday night is the time that setting off is most likely to occur. Everything thereafter is a mystery.
NOT fucking Monday.  Who the fuckety fuck starts a fucking holiday on a Monday?

If you bagsy a spot on the boat for the holiday duration but also at the preclusion of all others then you might understand that its really bad form to then fuck off back to work early. 

Now I probably don't  have to explain the next bit, but I will just for the sake of it because I'm an arsehole.
Holidays do not include work in any shape or form.
They also have no plan and no schedule. That's why it's called a fucking holiday.
They also usually involve being with friends and ya know, having a nice time.

PLANS? fuck off with your plans. 

If we can turn left out of Gosport, head into the fucking channel and go round in fucking circles for ten days straight then let's fucking do it! What I don't want to have to worry about is an early stoppage half way through caused by fuckwittery of the work related kind. The only exception is in the case of family bereavement and even then, they had better be a fucking close family member.

What I do not wish to hear is that upon your late arrival, having delayed the start, you must then depart after just five or six days to go back to work.  It is out of fucking order.
It is so far out of order that if we positioned a large banner saying "out of order" on the far side of the moon, visible only from the space station, it wouldn't be as far out of order as messing with a zero plan holiday. It's on the top step of the podium of being out of order.
Leaving me on holiday, alone, without the chance to rearrange for any other friends to come on the boat is quite selfish and possibly the saddest state of affairs I can recall for some time.

Almost. But then came the smart price bacon.SMART PRICE BACON.

If you earn two or three times more than my salary or have any self respect at all, you do not proffer this kind of insult. You just don't.
Never, ever, skimp on quality food. It is your only line between madness and sanity when sailing offshore. Good food onboard will prevent a whole manner of anger sustained injuries.
My anger. Your injury.

I was cunted so far off I was rendered practically incapable of anything but robotic twitchy movement while I gazed from the space station at the out of order sign. 

Fair share

Now you may think I seem a little miffed. I try not to let it show. 

But when you've been held back from the start line which then forces you to have to stay in an expensive marina, as opposed to say, a FREE marina just a day down the road, when you then go to the office to pay, it is standard etiquette to offer to pay a fair share of mooring fees.

Doing this once might be seen as an oversight. But frankly, if you come on board, a day late, hold everything up, add additional fuckeroonies by saying you have to leave early, then provision with the cheapest possible supermarket fayre and then don't offer to share the costs of mooring, or, on arrival drinks, don't offer to buy a single drink... 

well honestly. 

You're a cunt.

You can fuck off right back where you came from.
Then you can come back here and fuck off again.