"I'll never forget," said Sir Parlane MacFarlane, lolling expensively on Ruby Murray's sofa, having quite forgotten that he was still, supposedly, under the guise of Phelim MacFarlane of Variety, "that fateful day, when I first set eyes upon the Bangka Belitung Islands, having crossed the South China Sea on a pile of junk," and Ruby, eyes fixed upon him, asked, "one of those Chinese boats with the big sails?" but Macfarlane shook his head, "nope, a pile of junk, an old gate, a broken crate, a tin plate and a hogshead that had once contained 63 gallons of Baijiu but now only had room for myself and young Ned, my erstwhile Cabin Boy, after the scurvy crew mutinied and usurped the ship, tossing us overboard to feed the sharks, but all I needed was a large skip and a star to steer her by, and instead of a skip, I made do with the hogshead, once Jim and I had supped it dry, oh, oh me, oh my, what a voyage, what a crossing, and when we landed at length, at long, long, length, on that sandy beach and saw a single footprint, and knew that a one-legged man had obviously hopped it sharpish, when he saw us coming, and we never expected him to come hopping back round a pile of rocks, carrying a couple of deck-chairs, a picnic hamper, a wind-up gramophone and a record of Mitzi Gaynor singing, 'I'm as corny as Kansas in August, I'm as normal as blueberry pie. . . . .' which made absolutely no sense to Tuesday—the name we gave the guy, because it suited him better than Wednesday—who only spoke the most appallingly gallus basilect cross of Malay and Hakka, with no knowledge of Indonesian at all, nor even a smattering of Gaelic, or we might have saved him the trouble. . . . ."