Seven pence, times twelve

So, today we have a little breathing space.

Its called a decompression chamber. Ba-dum, tish.

I'm very fond of the rhyme 'As I was going to St. Ives...' and often preface it to many things, to see if I can get the funniest possible sentence to follow it.

So far I've had a few, one which I was very proud of in Norway, during a game of Mafia, but I'm not going to tell you what it was. Its more fun for me that way, and its all about me having fun.

Instead what I am going to tell you about is seagulls, or peanuts, or whist. I'm not sure which. You see, I was going to write about something else entirely, but decided that it was far too true and honest, and the purpose of this catalogue of words is entertainment, not honesty. That's the Pope's job.

So there I was, sailing the seven pence seas aboard the good ship dodecahedron when I sighted land. Or at least I thought it was land.

What it actually was, will shock and astound you. It beggars belief, it is so completely counter-intuitive it could be a Microshift Whatdows product.

I turned to my first mate - Three legged Willy - and said 'Is that what I think it is?'

'Aye' said he, 'as long as you are thinking it is what it actually is. Arr.'

'Thanks, Willy.'

So I called up to Herbert in the crows nest. Well, I say in the crows nest, he's so tall he actually is the crows nest.

'Is that thing out there what I think it is?'

'That group of highly trained Polynesian hippos doing a circular dance for the BBC? Around an invisible aquatic maypole? Yes.'

Ahh, I thought to my self. That's not what I had thought it was, but I shan't tell the crew that. In fact, I thought to my self, I'll keep it to my self.

'Good, that's exactly what I thought it was.' I said loudly, and not at all shiftily.

It was at this point I did something foolish, something I didn't think through, and have regretted doing ever since I made up this whole story, on the fly, about 1.47 seconds ago.

I shouted up to Herbert again; 'While you're there, you wouldn't mind shoo-ing away that Albatross, would you?'

Three Legged Willy gasped, but said nothing. He knew better than to question his captain. Unless it was charades, in that circumstance he's nothing but questions and no respecter of rank.

At that exact point, from stage left, appeared a man who looked not unlike Michael Palin shouting 'Albatross' a lot and swearing copiously. Luckily he was dealt with by two-tone Trev and Jimmy 'The shoulders' Mcgee.

Like the school fool eating gruel, I forgot my Coleridge and carried on.

Many nights I had lain awake, ruminating on 'Kubla Khan' and the mastery of language therein. I'd thought of his other works, his thoughts and ideas, all eloquently expressed.

And I'd forgotten the most important of all lessons. I'd forgotten all I'd been taught at Sea-Captain Pirate school for the Nautically deficient.

I climbed up on Herbert's back and began the shoo-ing myself.

Twelve times it dove and wheeled and dove again. Herbert bravely stood his ground, getting terrible wounds from its poisonous fangs and trailing tentacles. Finally I put away my broom stick and clambered down of Herbert's back. I had realised my error.

Never, ever, mess with an Albatross. For a sea captain they are a symbol of life, of hope and of a 'Yours is on the house tonight, my lad' at the Pig and Whistle.

I turned to two tone Trev. 'Ruddy Albatross, it won't leave Herbert alone!'

'Oh that isn't an Albatross, boss' he rhymed idly. 'That's the mystical offspring of a chance meeting and mating of a Unicorn and a Portuguese man-of-war jellyfish.'

'Ahh,' said in a revelatory tone 'is that all?'

'Well, man the cannons then, we'll have it for supper.'