Was confusion. And thus it has been ever since. The objective, as Nelson said at Copenhagen, is not entirely clear.  But as with Nelson, if all the ships can be got in more or less the same place, then something may emerge.

The ships will have different cargoes.

One will be carrying a city gent or several, the Generous Host, some clever types in flat caps of varying antiquity, and of course B. He has to be there to tell the tales, though many of the aforesaid probably wishes he wasn’t.  Anyway, he hasn’t arrived yet because, because, well, because these things never start on time. There’s spaniels to gather up, black labs to wake up, sausage rolls to eat up, and shot glasses of sloe gin to tip up. Preferably down the throat.  More or less. Then the action will begin. But if you want a foretaste, find them all at http://www.bowlerhatsandflatcaps.blogspot.com. Hurry, the sausage rolls are going fast. When the motley lot all turn up here, we’ll do pork pies. And mustard. Lots of mustard. They are after all, slightly old pork pies.

The second ship is a fast schooner and will never put in here, but may unload a bit of cargo now and again.  You’ll have to row out to that one; by way of http://www.shawsheet.com.  Informed incisive background to what’s happening in the world. And ramblings by J.R. Thomas. Nobody know who he is, though his piccie suggests nights spent in too many dark clubs, pontificating, or fermenting revolution.  He says he’s B’s cousin, obviously an inexactitude.  Nobody, but nobody, would claim to be B’s cousin, or any form of relation.

But there’s more. Here, moored up by the icecream parlour, will be a trawler load of film reviews, ancient and modern, filed by Orson MacGuffin. He says he’s J.R. Thomas’s cousin. Where do they find these people? (The press gang finds them is the answer , of course.  Well, what did you think the press gang did?). Mr MacGuffin writes for his own amusement and because, he says, after a night out with B he can never remember what he has seen. He’s B’s cousin also. Well, he would have to be.

Then there’s an old tramp steamer, plodding round the coast. She actually is in the harbour at the moment.  You may notice that she was intending to set sail four years ago and you are, no doubt, saying, well at least something is going on.  Must be walking round Britain with such determination that he has not had time to file his copy. No doubt close to the epic return to Falmouth.  Good man. We are assuming it is a man. B says he met him, or maybe her, B had had several by then, in the Harbourside Inn. The not-entirely-surprising news is that she, or he, had not quite set off yet.  Next week for sure. Or in the spring, maybe. Once the missing boot has been located anyway.

So there we are.  Nothing to see here, you are saying.  But there will be. Coming soon…