Barlow Jnr doesn't walk, talk or act like an ex-matelot in any way, shape or form.
If he did, his vocabulary would be a tad different as would his mannerisms.
A few years ago he fell off the wagon and ended up back at Carlas. The Battersby lass came round and Carla said "he's in the shower" and knocked on the door saying, "y'all rite in there Peter?"
Now had he been an ex-matelot, you'd have heard a grunted, gasped "Aye!" as he pushed out a truly vile-smelling, loose-in-form, hangovershit from his tender bumhole. It would verily leave Carla's bathroom stinking like a slaughterhouse in August and coated her porcelain with a thick brown compote, peanuts, sweetcorn kernels and tomato skins aplenty with a yard-long stool curled over the u-bend and out of the water both sides. Then, after using up the half roll of tissue, he'd then move onto her facial wipes then her hand-towel to cleanse his cleft.
He'd then get in the shower and stand motionless until the immersion tank ran cold.
pommpey