• No matter how much of the finest brandy, candy, pipes, tobacco, ladies or foley work is promised me; no matter what sartorial splendors are offered; no matter how many chief commanders I might view or sit with at tea---I will not go to Flanders.
  
  
• When the Captain is in the wardroom drinking gin, I do mind knocking, much less going in.
  
  
• I will not date or have intercourse of any stripe with women called by the following names--at least without seeing thorough background, medical, and psychological evaluations: Sal(ly), Betsy, Margery, Clementine, Elsie, Darcy, Ann(e)(ie), Flo, Eppie, Frankie, J(h)onnie, Tilly, Missy, Eglantine, Mary, Butterfly, Rainbow, Belle, Tinker Belle, Turandot, Mimi, Polly, Cleo, Catherine, Brunhilde, Persephone, Prosperpine, Brandy, Candy (or any confection), Franklin, Dandy, or Paul...(partial listing. A complete list may be drerived from the combined white pages of New York, London, Boston, Le Havre, Trinidad, Honolulu, and Hong Kong.).
  
  
• After leaving Liverpool, I will not think of thee, or any of the above names. I will not greive. I will drink rum.
  
  
• When personally addressed by bloodstains, harps, meat pies, fauna of any species other than homo sapiens, daggers, swords, flags or brick walls I will pointedly ignore them and proceed quickly to the nearest pub where I will tell my favorite sports/office anectdote(s) to anyone who'll listen. Normal, I will be Normal.
  
  
• I will not wish I was in Sherbrooke now...because I will never leave Sherbrooke. Certainly not on the strength of any promises from someone calling himself 'El Cid'. Look how the original of that name ended up: dead, stinking, and wired into his saddle under a hot Andalusian sun. American gold my a...foot. Feet.
  
  
• I will not walk alone by the seashore...or if I must I will wear earplugs and a Walkman playing a Chumbawamba CD at setting 11, and I will give all friendly sea mammals the cut direct.
  
  
• If they hang my Geordie in golden chains, I will certainly insist on taking the chains back with the body for a decent burial.
  
  
• Screw the hare and lofty pheasant. I'll stick to Spam and eggs. Even Fen Country gruel tastes better than the marsupial head cheese they serve convicts in Van Dieman's Land.