The one part of my philanthropic marine salvage work which I find an absolute fag is retrieving the pesky cargo bobbing about on the briny in the dark. It is like trying to operate one of those grabber things in the amusement arcade, blindfold and balanced on a bouncy castle. The locals aren't very happy about the requisitioning of their craft, either. What do they expect? I can't ask them, as most of them are either in bed by that time or locked in the pub, and I can't use the harmonium in hovercraft mode as it causes too much of a racket for covert operations. Forget that last remark.
So I am highly delighted that Uncle Lucas has built me a device to bring the goodies inshore without all that fuss and rancour. It is a wire-guided, rocket-propelled harpoon with a night vision CCTV console and hydraulic winch, all of which sits neatly on the top of Y Nauci 14.
I was hoping to give it a trial in the early hours of tomorrow, practising on a few lobster pots or buoys, but I may have to rein in my enthusiasm for a bit. Auntie Pamela is doing us mince, mash and dumplings tonight, and as she usually makes enough to feed the five thousand we all will probably be immobile for at least eighteen hours.
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