Friends, my scintillating, nay essential, thread on mouldy sails has gone all funny. It now has no title and I cannot even access it. Spare a thought for it, as it sinks nameless and unloved to oblivion.
Ha. Of course.
I should have realised that you Americans do not have horrible mould on your sails. Just as you all have perfect teeth, healthy tans, and a Charles Atlas physique.
Pardon us pitiful Cornish, denizens of the misty mouldy swamplands, bent deformed creatures barely recognisable as human, who shuffle through the cloying mud on the way to our rotting hulks . . .