Captain Silva

Saw this fine outfit in Covent Garden. Vicki was trapped in her favourite soap store which is filled with such intoxicating scentsas "Karmic Elephantiasis" and "Watermelon Urine". I was wandering around the stalls looking for fashion. I have become intensely worried about fashion since becoming a Londoner. For some reason, the wild bushman look which worked well in many a small-town bar in Northern Alberta makes me look like a soiled dish rag over here.

And so I'm a looking for a new look. I saw this and thought, "yes, perhaps nautical is the way to go". I already have a beard. Soon it will be turning grey. Unfortunately, the hat didn't fit and the jacket was too short in the sleeves and I'm just too damn cheap to ever actually buy anything unless I happen to be naked at the time or covered in diesel fuel.

The crazed bushman look will just have to do me for a little while longer. At my new place of employment (which I'm afraid to mention because it is uncharacteristically respectable) I have become known as the corporate lumberjack. (I've given up explaining that I planted trees, I didn't chop them down.) I doubt if the residents of this sheep-ravaged island would recognize a real forest if they saw one, anyway.

That's another reason to stay away from the nautical charade: these people have spent generations clinging to a battered rock poking out of the North Atlantic. They'd spot I was a fraud in an instant.