Typhoid Dave,
Early yesterday morning, my brother and I were trying to stay awake long enough to watch the qualifying session of the Japanese Grand Prix, so at some ungodly hour we were both hunched in front of the computer, reading about the Phoenician Tea and laughing at the tragic fate of Sir Robert Hargreaves-Smythe.
Being a proud father, I am sure you know all about sleep deprevation. Congratualations, by the way.
This afternoon, I was reading a book called 'Kingdom Of The Octopus'. In it there is a reproduction of an extraordinary painting depicting some enterprising salvagers who were using a live octopus to retrieve some ancient pots from a sunken ship. I want to say that the pots were Phoenician in origin, but I don't have the book in front of me, so I'm not entirely sure. The Octopus was attached to a line, which was lowered onto the wreck - immediately it took shelter in one of the pots and clung on with its suckers. The salvagers then pulled the octopus and the pot back to the surface.
Honestly, I'm not making this up.
Now, if we can just train an octopus to scour the sargasso for any sealed jars, we can eventually restore Phoenician Tea to its rightful place, on the shelves of upmarket grocerys and of course the cafe at the British Museum.
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""All my friends are soldiers
and they are getting drunk
Oh, Johnny come and save me
I believe my luck has sunk.""
- Jeffrey Lee Pierce"
