Rumour in Uniform.

There is a persistent rumour going around in shipping circles that the only reason officers wear uniforms at sea is because a whiz kid from marketing in the blue building in the Bandra Kurla complex says it is a good idea. He likes the photographs he can arrange in brochures and annual reports.

Industry experts are tightlipped, officers are asking for a full enquiry and the DGS has refused to comment. However, reporters from your favourite magazine mounted a concerted sting operation: though they did get footage of a Shipmaster saying, "A Master, like a tiger, never changes his stripes", this is unconfirmed because the film turned out fuzzy, like his logic.


Okay, that was a bad joke.



Seriously, though, I dislike wearing a uniform. A psychiatrist would probably trace this back to the second ship I sailed on, where I was sent down to the holds (by a Chief Officer with a subtle sense of humour largely unappreciated at the time) in full blues, peak cap included, to remove hatch boards from the 'tween decks. For the youngsters out there, these were thick planks of wood laid between steel 'ribbing' on old tweendeckers. These hatch boards had to be manually removed, one at a time, to get cargo access to the lower holds. There seemed to be hundreds of them, and me all alone in my finery, jacket and tie and cap and all, sweating and cursing alternately.
Later on, on the same ship, the Captain barked at me once, "I want to see you in a peak cap at all times", resulting in my being then spotted by the same Chief Officer heading for the communal shower with just a towel around my waist, soap in my hand and a peak cap on. (My batch mate, a die hard guy from Calcutta, went up to the dark bridge at night in full blues. He went softly near where the Captain was standing, simultaneously saluted, slammed his feet to attention, and shouted 'good evening, SIR!' , all hard, loud and Marine style. I think he scared the bejesus out of the Old Man)

There was no television in those days. One found live entertainment where one could.


Later, as a junior officer, I realised that I found uniforms restrictive. For one, it was mandatory, sailing in foreign companies, to get your hands dirty all the time. Officers were seen as additional hands on deck during port watches, and, to be fair, few non Indian owned or managed companies had any uniform hangups. A British one did, but then we Indians have got many of our useless traditions from them.

I preferred no uniforms. Not all Indian Masters that I sailed with did, though; a couple insisted that Duty Officers in port come for lunch after changing into uniform, resulting in delayed lunches and packed Duty Messes. (One Master even insisted that he be called Sir instead of Captain, leading to a Second Mate asking him, "Why? Have you been knighted?")

I found working out of uniform more relaxing, more efficient and more fun. No white shirt to worry about, or dirty hands, or stockings (Who invented those? And garters too!) to rub against dirty ropes. No uncomfortable shoes to go up and down holds in, trying to squeeze yourself smaller so your white shirt doesn't touch either the booby hatch rim, the ladder rungs or anything at all. No taking ten minutes to dress up, a minute was enough.

My attitude didn't endear me too much with some superintendents and managers, because I seemed to live in boiler suits in setups where uniforms were mandatory. I guess the management types had visions of visitors being impressed breathless by a shipload of officers strutting around in sparkling whites looking importantly at distant horizons, or peering sexily into sextants with four stripes showing on their sleeves. Technical superintendents used to generally be more tolerant, coming from a boiler suited background themselves. Or maybe they appreciated a no nonsense approach to work more.


Years later, as a Master, things reached a head in a company which was changing to Indian management that was bent on making uniforms compulsory. I decided not to return rather than put up with this irritant: an irritant which is often the precursor of broader red tape and other unimportant things. In any event, they didn't want me back either, so I guess it was divorce by mutual consent, no baggage and nobody keeping the children.

Another company had a strict uniform policy. I joined a ship there, sailing regularly to the Persian Gulf in summer, small poky cabins with hardly a porthole, no ventilation. Air conditioning knackered and no fans. The heat used to make your eyes pop.
Wearing underwear there seemed like overdressing, so a uniform was torture. After a voyage under these hellish conditions, we were told that the uniform policy was not negotiable and that spares for the air conditioner were being sourced "under budgetary constraints". At this juncture it was pointed out to the managers that perhaps officers were cheaper to get than air conditioning spares, so maybe they should be looking for those suitable replacements already in uniform.

Why is it that mainly Indians are taken up with uniforms? Colonial legacy? Legacy of sixty man Indian flag ships and chhoti hazri days? An impractical upbringing? I think it is a mix of all these, plus one biggie: Indians are conformists by nature. Wearing a uniform, practical or not, lends itself to this natural bent. So does forcing others into uniform, in case one of them points out that the emperor has no uniform, oops, clothes.

This fixation with uniforms is not limited to managers alone. I know one engineer who carries his thirty five year old DMET id card, complete with uniformed photograph, in his wallet. Another Master got married in full woolen blues in hot and muggy Bombay; it is, more poetically, hot and muggy Mumbai today.

Whatever, I find working with Europeans and some other non-Indian organisations more refreshing. Less horse manure, and more comfortable too, uniform-less. The breeze seems to blow cooler when you are not in uniform at sea.

Finally, let me stop this anecdotal rambling and make my case more succinctly for a 'No Uniform' Policy, and why I think it is beneficial for both mariners and companies alike:

A 'No Uniform' policy is better because it is:
· More efficient. No taking care of uniforms on deck. Take care of the ship and cargo instead.
· More user friendly. Lends to a more relaxed way of working, which is not the same as a lax way of working
· Less time wasted changing in and out of uniform for meals etc. trying to be a marionette instead of an efficient officer. Besides, a boiler suit can be just zipped up. A uniform is best worn aka Jack Nicholson in 'A Few Good Men'. Looks good if you are in a movie.
· Easier to maintain boiler suits and civvies than uniforms.
· Short manned ships are the norm today. On numerous occasions and in many situations you need an extra pair of hands, not a uniform.
· In my experience, most seafarers prefer not to wear uniforms. Try giving them what they want, for a change. Maybe this will be another small reason they might prefer your company.
· The justification often used: that a uniform wearing policy lends itself to 'people from ashore knowing who is who' is as ridiculous as saying people in management ashore should wear uniforms because all outsiders will know who is who. Outsiders can always ask. Besides, as far as I know, it is better to know what is what than who is who anyway.
· An officer working more with his hands and less with his uniform gets more respect from his peers and juniors. Better teamwork results.
· In my view, uniformity is detrimental to initiative. A hands on person responds better and has better solutions to practical problems.


Anybody who insists on compulsory uniforms should be made to do an officer's not atypical routine during a twelve hour port stay: change from uniform on arrival to boiler suit for stations to uniform for lunch to boiler suit for cargo watch to uniform for dinner to boiler suit for departure stations to uniform for sea watch. I guarantee, all the sexy sextants will go sailing out the porthole.




I worked for a German company in the early 80's. They had simple rules regarding what you
should wear when and where:

- At least shorts and safety shoes on deck.
- At least shorts, tshirt and slippers everywhere in the accommodation except no slippers on the bridge. Shoes or sandals allowed there.
- Overalls and safety shoes in the Engine Room.
- Within the accommodation, all clothes and footwear to be clean.

Penalty for breaking these rules: A fine of a case of beer. Beer goes to officer's or crew's mess room, depending on the rank of the offender.


Ah, for that simple and uncomplicated life again.


"Wait a minute!" you say. "To change our present policy, we must first incorporate it in the ISM, get it approved, change manuals A B C X Y and Z in triplicate and produce twelve laminated photocopies to be displayed on each ship. We must also appoint a "Uniform Superintendent" to oversee the implementation of this path breaking new policy. We call this progress."

"This is too much work."

"Let them eat cake. Let them wear uniforms instead."









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Certifiable Insanity.

I started sailing in the seventies. ISM, checklists and computers did not exist, and-though there were load line and SOLAS and all other regulations and certificates- these rules, regulations and procedures were at a twentieth of what they are today. Paperwork was minimal- and what little there was, the Purser, Radio Officer or Chief Steward took care of.
And the Master was rarely seen except at the lunch table, during pilotage or when going ashore.

Fast forward to today. A dirrhoea of paper, computers, emails, forms, checklists, surveys, statutory and State regulations, payroll, accounting and mandatory record keeping and filing is an everyday part of a modern officer’s job. So much so, that more time may be spent on this than on any other single task, with more regulations and trigger happy shore staff adding to pen pushing without reviewing old systems and reducing paperwork requirements.
The skills required from seagoing officers have gradually shifted over the years. A lot of my cadetship was spent with a sledgehammer chipping rusty decks of a thirty year old ship (and gleefully making holes in them). A cadet today likely spends more time with a pen or keyboard than with a chipping hammer.

I haven’t even started on the increased workload in cargo, navigation and other requirements yet. The reduction of manpower and the incremental increase in the crew’s involvement with cargo- including lashing, sometimes tallying and usually cleaning up before and after- has a cascading effect on fatigue and safety. Short manned ships mean that at a time when most crew need to be rested and sharp- post departure and pre arrival port- is when they are usually most fatigued.

It is obvious that we need differently qualified officers today. The old sea dog is giving way to the babu at sea. Be that as it may, the new seafarer must be able to manage computers and electronic equipment, have a higher fluency in English to manage the myriad manuals, checklists, forms and regulations- leave alone read the ISM manuals written by Shakespeare and copied and pasted by a half dozen companies into their own manuals. We need sharper people to manage all this and more on short manned ships- and we need mentally tougher people to manage the pressures of present day regulations and long stints with no effective shore leave. We need more appropriately qualified personnel.

So what does the industry do to manage all this effectively? Well, close to nothing, actually. For a start, it does not ensure most people on board are sufficiently qualified or proficient in English and it does not gauge their multitasking or computer skills. It does not even always know an officer’s proficiency in keeping independent watch before he joins! This is regardless of the IMO saying that “The resolution notes that safe manning is a function of the number of qualified and experienced seafarers necessary for the safety of the ship….”

It gets away with this because of one piece of paper, small but deadly: the Minimum Safe Manning Certificate.
I suppose it’s better to laugh than to cry here. So, this is one of the funniest pieces of paper I have ever seen. The Safe Manning Certificate, to my mind, is like safe sex. You have to be prepared for both long before you walk in the door. Once the action starts, the participants really can’t do anything much about it, except just stop. And then they will all have to go home, or will be sent home.

Issued by a Flag State that does not want too many people to be mandated on board else Owner’s may choose another flag, used gleefully by managers to attest to the fact that they are meeting requirements by appointing the requisite number of heads on board, ignored by all the crew but not the Master, the Minimum Safe Manning Certificate should be renamed the Minimum Manning Certificate- not much is safe about it.
It takes no account of the ship’s run, complexities in navigation and manoeuvring, the crew’s involvement with cargo or the myriad other functions taken for granted in today’s maritime world. Just a small example: it takes no account of the number of people required to be involved in simultaneous cargo, bunkering and stores- and ISPS- operations, which are usually undergone in almost every port by almost every ship, day in and day out.

The various parties involved will undoubtedly cover their various sensitive parts with various appropriate statements- Safe manning is not supposed to cover cargo- that is the Owner’s business. Or, what can we do if a certified officer is found incapable of keeping independent watch? Or, Captain, use your overriding authority. Or, apologetically, we can’t convince the Owners why we should exceed the Manning Certificate and place another third mate on board the ship which is touching twenty ports a month and is always in congested waters and fog. Or, finally, Captain, let us know if you can’t manage (and we will take till the end of your contract and beyond to reply).

There is only one thing to be done to correct this problem, and that is this. I urge Flag States to review their Manning Certificate policies, if they have any- and on a priority basis. Ship’s must be appropriately staffed for their at-sea and in-port operational complexities, including the run and also including the owners or charterers dictated cargo operational requirements in port. Present manning certificates seem more of a one size fits all solution- Pamela Anderson will attest to the fact that this premise is false, and so will many seafarers on complex short-sea trade cargo ships. A car carrier on a short sea trade has totally different requirements for manpower compared with a cape sized bulk carrier in port.

Ignoring this port requirement automatically ensures fatigued seafarers at sea, with lower safety and resultant higher casualties. Casualties that the industry is bemoaning now, by the way.

Even as I write this, the recent announcement that Indian Flag Bulkers will have their Safe Manning Certificate reduced by one deck officer is doing the rounds. Indian ship-owners will undoubtedly welcome this move. Once again, this sweeping reduction takes no account of the age, condition, complexities of operation or the run of individual bulkers; once again, one size fits all.

And, while on Safe Manning Certificates, time for one of my favourite rants:
It is very rare to find a requirement for a cook on a Manning Certificate. Though suited and booted mandarins in various Flag States will undoubtedly point to the fact that a cook has no critical function impacting watch keeping or operational safety, this attitude is precisely what gets my blood pressure up. It showcases- with alarming clarity and the usual regularity- the cynicism and callousness of the industry. Seafarers do not need food for safety, so why put a cook in the requirements? Leave it to the owners’ and managers’ goodwill and good sense. Maybe they will open a McDonald's franchise on board instead.

Or wait! Maybe more artistic owners will combine two functions once again, and- voila! A new rank- a combination "Master and Chief Cook"!

The mind boggles, seafarers groan, innocent bystanders laugh, and accountants in shipping company offices drool at this possibility.

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In pursuit of excellence.

There are deck officers, and then there are Deck Officers. Almost everybody gets a Certificate of Competency, and, in today’s desperate world everybody gets a job. In my experience, however, there is another factor, another something, which separates the men from the boys and the wheat from the chaff at sea. There are some who survive, others who excel. One doesn’t have to look too far to sort them out- ask people who have sailed with them; excellence, rewarded or not, stands out.

To answer the question, “What makes an excellent Deck Officer?” I have attempted, in this article, to enumerate the intangible qualities of these stars; a list, if you will, of stuff outside the examination and training system, of attributes which, alas, are not too common.
These stars are unfortunate that they are in an industry which, like a prison, rewards time served over its quality. The stars’ reward is often in their pride and self respect- that will have to be enough. Excellence is its own reward.

In my opinion, these traits can be developed quite easily, but they are not taught in Harvard Business School. Hell, they aren’t even taught in Lal Bahadur Shastri Nautical and Engineering College!



1) Mastery over their subject. They understand rather than mug to pass exams. They ask questions on board from senior officers and learn- and, in the process, since to teach is to learn twice- the senior officers learn something too. They know the basics, and sometimes much more, of the wide spectrum of maritime subjects, rules, regulations, company procedures and recent developments. And if they don’t know the details, they know where to look them up. These guys are the ones solving the nautical problems behind D.A. Moore’s thin but excellent book, “Basic Principles of Marine Navigation” in college (all thin books are deadly). They have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge; they sit at the table and demand more after the rest of us have overeaten.

2) Integrity, both personal and professional. They are truthful; they don’t hide their mistakes or blunders. They are personally and professionally incorruptible. They are on time, perform beyond expectations and behave professionally at all times. This includes dealing with shore management, agents and stevedores; in fact, everybody they come into contact with in their professional life.
An uncommon quality connected to this integrity is their ability to say no with authority, regardless of whether they are dealing with their seniors or juniors. They will not bend the important rules- and they know which ones to bend. They will not compromise safety under commercial pressure. They will not try to ingratiate themselves with juniors, seniors or equals by giving way on important issues. They mean what they say, and they do what they say. Their word is their bond.
They do not fear saying no and consequently getting sacked, because they know they are good enough to walk into another- probably better- job.

3) Ship specific knowledge: These are the guys who take time to look up basic drawings and plans of the ship soon after they sign on. They know the equipment on the bridge inside out, its limitations, features and quirks. They roam around the ship observing, asking older hands questions and learning. They know the cargo gear first hand; they will often operate it to ‘get a feel’. They are an asset to the Chief Officer and Master. They will be the ones to answer the usual questions about the ship (like- which other compartments does leaking xyz tank share common bulkheads with?) first, without any reference to anything.

They also know thoroughly well their own areas of responsibility, and details are always at their fingertips. If you have ever taken a surprise round of safety equipment with a star Third Officer, you will know what I mean. Nothing will be not working or not requisitioned or out of place. No expiry dates will be unknown. No routines will be due. No stone will be unturned.

4) Initiative: They are always ready to embark on new ventures, different ships or challenging ones. They are the first to propose a course of action, or carry it out. They lead by example. They will suggest improvements to systems and procedures- and they don’t get fazed by problems. They are not lemmings, blindly following archaic or well trodden paths. They welcome the new and are not wary of change because they are confident that they can improve on the old.

5) Situational awareness: Rarely will a Master come up to the bridge on their watch and find GPS positions plotted blindly when coasting. Rarely will he ask ‘what is that ship doing’ (out of maybe two dozen on the visible horizon) and not get a satisfactory answer. Rarely will he find the navtex with two metres of unread spewed out messages, navigational equipment untested, VHF volume low, problems unreported, or the officer obviously not in control of circumstances. These stars will know which engine room alarms are silenced and why, how a planned change of course will affect the CPA and aspect of all vessels in the vicinity. Also, and most importantly, they will know when to call the Master and will not hesitate to do so.
Under pilotage or approaching pilotage, these are the guys a Master wants on the bridge. They will free him from keeping track of the mundane and concentrate on maneuvering. Nothing annoys me as a Master more than having to interrupt concentration to remind the officer on the bridge of routines like calling officers and crew on arrival stations, preparing checklists for pilotage, reporting in a VTS area- or a plethora of small tasks which have to be done at every arrival, departure and maneuvering. It is a pleasure not to have to think of the minutiae’ - else, in this day and age it is not uncommon for a Master to have to remind officers to fly the relevant flags when approaching port- a crime which would have been a hanging offence in my cadetship days.

On deck too, the Chief Officer wants these stars on watch at more critical or busy times, and for
similar reasons. They tend to get sent on ‘stations’ fore or aft dependant on which is more
critical, they tend to be the ones looking after ballasting operations.
They tend to know their value, too. Good for their ego, confidence and pride. Good for the ship. Not so good for the little boy who lives down the lane and who got replaced by the star. Bad for
his pride, because he knows he is not really good enough.

6) Multitasking ability: Essential in an era of short manned ships and increasing paperwork and rules. Short port stays mean an officer may have to almost simultaneously manage garbage, cargo, surveyors, bilges, bunkers, port officials, ship chandlers, repair service personnel, arrival and departure formalities and the crew- or an eclectic combination of these- every watch while in port.
At sea, too, bridge watches are more complex, paperwork is routinely tasked on the bridge, UMS means more involvement with the Engine room machinery alarms, coordinating deck maintenance at times- frankly, a person who can’t manage to multitask effectively is unemployable at sea today.

7) Interpersonal relationships: High performers, if one must generalise, tend to be impatient. They cannot understand why everybody is not as quick or efficient as themselves; frustration at a shipmate’s slow and steady approach sometimes shows. But most of them understand fairly quickly that shipboard work is teamwork. They will therefore go out of their way to promote an inclusive approach, and they will get away with a little bit of murder because they are good at their work and are willing to help others.

With shore management too, their attitude sometimes may degenerate to ‘this is unacceptable’, (and, often, they are right- it is), but here, too, they will learn to manage the outcome without getting abrasive. This is important; there are plenty of good workers who never became stars because they could not manage people. They just degenerated into prima donnas, nothing more.

8) Thinking ahead: Achievers think a step ahead while at work. ‘What’s next?’ is an excellent question to ask yourself on a ship, you set things up and make life easier for yourself and everybody around you. The smooth running of a ship doesn’t happen by chance- in the words of a friend of mine, if the answer to “Is the ship running on autopilot?” a yes, then many people are thinking ahead, doing the small things which increase efficiency and decrease stress, and which then leave you time to take care of the unknown when it crops up- and crop up it will.

These folk also generally think a rank ahead. As a Second Mate, they will be playing ‘shadow Chief Officer’ in their minds, preparing, learning and assimilating. They are ready for promotion long before they are actually promoted. I always look for these folk to promote; in their minds more than mine, they are ready. That makes all the difference.

9) Hard Work: Self explanatory, really, except that many youngsters today do not want to get
their hands dirty; they would rather be filling forms than climbing down holds to check the bilges.
Without hard work, all the rest is nothing. There are many quotes attributed to Indira Gandhi, however, ‘there is no substitute for hard work’, is, according to me, the only worthwhile thing she has ever been quoted as having said.

Oh well, maybe everybody has one good saying in them.

Chinese Water Torture

(in which water is slowly dripped onto a person's forehead, driving the victim insane)



Okay, this one is personal.


After a few decades at sea, there is a serious debate going on in my tortured head about whether I need to hang up my boots and quit. So far the nail in the wall is winning.

It would have been very nice if I had debated this in my dotage, or even at some unknown and mysterious superannuatory stage, but I am (as I like to think) in my middle age now. I am sure I have a few years at sea left in me, health issues notwithstanding.
It would have been equally nice if I had debated this in an overall aura of satisfaction and pride in the industry I have worked in for so many years. (And still might do so, because the debate is not over yet, and because man does not live by bread alone- he needs a new cell phone every two months).

But it is not so nice. Because, you see, the overwhelming sentiment I have when I think about quitting sailing is one of relief, and of “good riddance”.


That says a lot about to me about my profession – a profession I joined a few decades ago in great excitement, a little awe and a dash of fear. However, I had no doubt in my mind then that this was going to be a career; unlike the youngsters of today, I had no plans of an MBA, or a few years at sea leading to some business. I was a sailor, and so I remained, through the marriage and children, through the 80’s recession and out of it, through family emergencies and celebrations, and through thick and thin.

So what happened? At what stage did a die hard sailor get disillusioned, jaded and, yes, disgusted at the state of affairs at sea?

I doubt it happened suddenly, and I know it has not happened to me alone; like Chinese water torture, it happens drip-by-drip, drop by insane drop- till, finally, the sailor cries- enough! - and, being an all or nothing person, chooses nothing.

One drop was probably the eighties recession, when I saw, for the first time, how petty, small and mean my seniors ashore could be, and how blinkered and clueless many were.

Another drop was undoubtedly the incremental short manning as time went on, and the increased workload and paperwork, paper straw by paper straw until the last straw was loaded on this camel’s back.

A few drops were added by the arrival of the children, and the realisation that the price I was paying was getting too high.

A big drop was the criminalisation of sailors and the impotence of the industry- or was it negligent callousness? - to address the issue.

A small drop was the alcohol policy: not because I could not have a drink, but because Shipmasters were being treated like children by minor bureaucrats, bean counters and blinkered colleagues.
A moment of clarity was when I realised I did not want to recommend the profession to any youngster at all, except those who, through circumstance, had limited choice.

Another drop was when I realised that the seafarer had really no say in much, and that though on every ship there was probably more than a hundred years of collective seagoing experience, an accountant with a calculator and not much else had sometimes more say than the Master.

A drop was at the disgust felt in attending substandard training and Company Seminars- and being asked to pay for both.

A drop or two because of the authorities who issued and revalidated certificates, CDC’s et al -and who then treated seafarers like taxi drivers at the local RTO.

A smattering of drops when shore leave became a luxury because of short manned ships and hectic turnaround times. Another dribble at the restrictions placed after terrorism became a US problem. More disgust at the impotence and spinelessness of people who should have known better, or who didn’t care because it did not concern them directly.

A drop because of stories of a few casualties at sea - and the appalling behaviour of a few countries against all norms of acceptable behaviour and tradition, not to speak of common and international law.

A small drop for sheer boredom.

The realisation that a seafarer was being increasingly discriminated against, was powerless to do anything about it- and that platitudes were of no use to him in prison or in the grave- and that was all the Industry really offered him, a wage and platitudes.

Disgust at the way a few manning agencies in India behaved- and continued to behave, when the entire marketplace and other industries transformed around them.
Ridicule at their surprise at the downgrading of shipping as a profession. They didn’t see the train coming till it hit them?

A drop at the double standards of the industry with respect to safety at sea- and indeed with most regulatory matters. Minimum compliance, maximum certification. Way to go.

A drop at the “Cover your backside” philosophy of many at sea and ashore. Sure, that is a prudent thought. However, when it is the overwhelming philosophy, we have a problem. It leads too often to inefficiency, inertia and even paralysis in maritime operations. Usually it is paralysis by discussion or by information.

The blazing realisation, a year or two ago, that nothing was going to change in my professional lifetime.
The penultimate drop, when I understood that since I was not part of the solution, I was part of the problem.



One Master Mariner quitting is a statistic. But if a hundred are quitting for similar reasons, it may become a little more noteworthy. Add Chief Engineers to this. Add other officers who are dreaming of this and who never looked at sailing as a career anyway, and you are reaching alarming statistics already. You can choose to live with it, but being surprised at it is naiveté’.

From the little I know, it seems quite a few seafarers are quitting and thinking about it; and while our myopic industry is concentrating on advertising and hiring, perhaps it should spare a thought or two on retention as well.

And the final drop, the acidic one that made me pause. Can I, in all good faith, look for a job ashore, feeling the way I do? Will I make a difference, or join the multitudes of colleagues who crossed the Styx and made no difference? Can I digest being another brick in the wall?

The jury is still out on this one; so far, the defendant has not much hope.

Because it does not take much for the last drop to become the final straw, or the final nail.


(first published in www.marexbulletin.com)