Busy old season. Oh, yes, busy. There we have been on the old Trader, wondering whatever next and I may say gathering rosebuds while we may by which I means stocking up on certain commodities and substances within the meaning of the act what as of the end of January suddenly got a lot more expensiver thus increasing a cntriproccnoor trader's margins by up to one hundred per cent which in the current shaky econymic climate is by no means to be sneezed at. I mean I got four ton of legal Golden Virginia at keen prices into the lockup down Dagenham and shifted the lot by the sixth of Jan. With the proceeds I went and bought a big lighter and in response to a call from some Scotch mates fitted it out so it was a roll on roll off facility for four reefer artics of lobsters what could not stand the queues no more and was running out of fridge fuel and was already attracting flies even though it was December and all. It would have gone perfect except for minor technical issues such as the artics rolling on all right but rolling off into Black Deep and there they will stay in forty foot of water plus mud. So I am writing this from the estuary of the Scheldt where having taken advice from Big Murdo as to the desirability of keeping our effing heads on our effing shoulders we decided to enter a bit of a reedbed and there remain concealed until negotiations have run their course. We cannot move because of being slightly locked down by the Dutch busies, they may hold hands with each other but they are quite sharp. Still, they recognize money just as easy as any other busies on the planet so if you could see your way clear to buying us a few tickets for the Policeverij's Ball, it - Ray. You are supposed to be reviewing some books about yacht racing.
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