Henry Fuckit Kills Time
by Ian Martin
When Henry blunders into the job of storeman in the Simonstown naval dockyard, he has no intention of doing any work. But he finds no one expects him to lift a finger. To alleviate the boredom of a futile existence Henry and his indolent colleagues while away the hours by drinking Vrotters, engaging in pseudophilosophical discussion and quasi scientific research using misappropriated naval stores.