The stinky mob in boating talk are those without mast or sails, (stick and rag), but have a diesel or iron jib. They usually congregate on the back of a boat and talk dirty. Ian, Malcolm, Trevor and Rob were sitting on Gofasta and beckoned Colin over.
"Listen, we have a problem mate and were wondering if you could help?"
"Me?" Colin suddenly felt like an old salt and wished he'd had the forethought to wear his peaked cap. He adjusted his glasses, puffed out his chest and smiled.
"I don't know if I can be of much help." Colin offered. He felt he was beginning to get a handle on things, but nevertheless to be asked his advice on boating matters was a big morale boost.
"Nah, she'll be right." Malcolm said. He picked up a boat scrubbing brush and Ian picked up another one.
"So which is softer?" Ian asked. All the men looked at Colin expectantly. Col felt the bristles, he rubbed his hand over the brushes, he looked at the colours and fingered the feathered ends.
"Er...this one I think," he said pointing to the yellow one Malcolm was holding.
"See, I told ya." Malcolm put his brush down and Ian shook his head.
"I've see the new double shanked, triple bristle with a twist and they say you can wash with confidence knowing they won't scratch, bend or break." Trevor waded into the debate.
"Yeah, but I still reckon my brush has, with its nylon bristles, more staying power." Ian said.
"Well it all depends on your choice of shampoo." Rob came into the conversation. "Without a wax treatment you're just wasting your time with brushes."
"Er..." Colin began, "Are you talking about washing the boat?" The four men stared at Colin as if he has just asked if they wanted to wash their boats in truck wash with a cheap synthetic chamois, God forbid.
" Mate...of course." Trevor answered.
What Colin failed to realise was that boat washing is almost an Olympic sport with stink boat owners. The talk moved onto buffing and here things began to get technical. Colin listened in while drinking beer and began to learn a whole new vocabulary. He left the boys talking on the merits of non kink hoses and squirters and staggered back to Moonlighting which would have needed a whole flock of sheeps wool buffers to get a shine.
"Where did you get to?" Vivian looked at her husband who seems a little worse for wear.
"Just chatting with the lads." Colin slopped down the stairs and kissed his wife. He threw himself on the blowup bed and closed his eyes,
"Just five minutes Viv," and he began to snore.