Tuesday 22nd July 1808

Dear Diary,
I long to be back in my own chamber at the Grange surrounded by my own things and familiar faces. I awoke aboard 'The Hepatitis B' feeling a little dirty, and was sure I could still detect the odour of dead pig with a generous hint of fish. I wondered if Roger was close by and opened my door to hail him and found he was, bent outside my door as if he had been peering through the keyhole. He straightened with a smile and said,
"'Ello".
"Roger, I need a bath." I announced.
"Ah'll 'af ter take yer up aft then," he winked.
"I beg your pardon?" I asked, indignantly.
"Up the poop deck," he replied, "...it's astern." It was as if I was back in Germany all these unfamiliar words.
I resignedly followed his lead.
Thankfully the poop deck was not as alarming as it sounded but I was shocked to find no private bathing area. I was expected to stand upon the deck, in full view, beneath a bucket of sea water and pull on a rope to tip it's contents over me. I hesitated and glanced around. Most of the seamen seemed occupied so I swallowed hard, undressed and stepped forward.
"All hands on 'dick'!" came a shout from above and seamen erupted from every opening.
With whistles and cries of "Hard abeam!" "Avast behind!" and "This is one for the Captain's Log!", I washed as quickly and as thoroughly as I could under the circumstances then held out my hand. Roger handed me my clothing and clutching it to cover my modesty, walked off the poop deck to the sailors cheers. Even 'Effin Frank' gave me a wink as I disappeared below deck.
I dressed in my cabin and felt much fresher and not a little bolder yet something bothered me...
"Roger!" I called. He was there in a flash,
"Tell me, does my bottom look big in these breeches?"