Lady Marmalade

I have recently noticed that there is a recession going on. As a wise friend of mine pointed out on Tuesday it's quite a lot like Britain in the Blitz - the sandwiches in Pret are getting more expensive by the day, people are setting fire to their degrees in the street - all things that happened in war-torn Britain. Possibly. I expect we'll all be rolling round the City with wheelbarrows full of worthless banknotes soon.

Apparently one in ten people in London are unemployed. One in ten! I was pondering this statistic whilst I strolled into the office ten minutes late this morning. It is a little on the worrying side.

In the spirit of frugal fun, I was given marmalade chicken for dinner on Tuesday. I was rather alarmed when the chef opened the front door crying "guys! I'm covered in marmalade! It's your dinner!" but it was surprisingly delicious. Perhaps we should start eating powdered egg and covering ourselves with gravy too to further channel 1942?

I will give it some thought. Off to Cornwall now. A bientot. Or Kernow equivalent.

Long John Silver

This weekend I took to the seven seas. Coming from Cornwall you may assume that I have spent lots of time on boats. You would be mistaken.

We spent Saturday morning putting the entire contents of the house into the car and driving to Portchester to find the boat. I mean, they knew where it was, but I didn't. It seems that sailing and travelling light are not compatible and I was most grateful for all the extra clothes and tea when we were out in the elements.

I soon realised there was more to this sailing malarky than I initially realised. You have to wear comedy clothes and adopt a casual air despite being in constant danger. I found a little smoking seat which was practically on the outside of the boat, and got ready to drown. We considered doing a "man overboard" exercise with a bucket but decided we'd rather have a sausage sandwich. It's important to have clear priorities at such times.

We spent the evening in a pub where everyone gets pissed and dances on the tables. It's actually not enormously sensible to get drunk when you have to get back on a boat a few hours later but when in Rome etc. Joe and I almost came to blows with a man dressed as a crocodile who ordered 35 drinks at the bar. Reptiles are selfish. And thirsty.

We had a jolly good time despite the near-ruckus and the sea-sickness/hangover/general horror of waking up in a small triangular moving bed. I think next time I might even pull a few ropes.