Call Me Ishmael...

I am an Ancient Mariner but if I stop you - as it might be at a Wedding Present gig - and fix you with my glittering eye, my tale will not be of an Albatross nor of the slimy things that crawl with legs. I will tell you of the Narwhal. Of the Kraken. Of the monstrous beast that, this past twenty years has carried my own leg with him. Yes! You see this stump? Finished with no living foot but with a hook of iron? I curse the dark day when our paths crossed - to his gain and my greater loss. And I curse the lighter, but still overcast, day when I was tempted by the special offer on hooks and, like a fool, elected to forgo the traditional stump. Ever since that day, I have roamed the seaways in search of my nemesis. To what end, I know not. It may be that the search is enough of itself? Or, perhaps, I still harbour the hope that I might, one day, avenge myself upon the monster. And retrieve, once again, my Grandfather's watch that stopped, short, never to go again when the beast removed it along with the limb that was its home.

Not sure why I was wearing it on my ankle in the first place...