It was Talk Like a Pirate Day last week, the equally fun and silly “holiday” whose profile and popularity increases each year, despite it having no apparent purpose.
We were confronted by some pirates on the day, no higher than my waist but twice the size of my two boys, it seemed. One brandished a plastic sword, flourished a cape and repeatedly yelled “Imagine That!” (is it a quote?). The other *kapowed* and *boomed* a toilet roll/musket at us with one hand, and hiked up his striped boxer shorts (worn on the outside of his trousers, with red galoshes) with the other.
“Only pirates are allowed here,” we were told. I was proud at the defiance shown by my kids in the face of such formidable and flamboyant danger. Or perhaps they just didn’t understand. They simply stared while I got them off the hook by pointing out various clues that they were pirate allies. Spotty pants, skulls on sneakers, the usual. Since then, whenever the little guys are dressing up in their most crazy combinations, they shout “argh!” and declare themselves as pirates. They seem to have missed the real point of the pirating business.
Their dad took them to the Tall Ships Festival, which is taking place on the Hobart waterfront. It’s like days of old down there at the moment; masts and flags standing tall and dominating the skyline. In addition, and coincidentally, I have been reading about treasure-hunting in old National Geographic magazines.
These images of glittering skulls, dreamy beds on boats, military jackets, puffed sleeves and scarlet heels are probably quite far from the mark. But if you’re going to miss the point of the pirating business, you might as well be glamorous about it.
Centre image: Marc Jacobs ensemble from some years ago (I think the bed is on a Kerala houseboat).
(Click on images for greater detail).