There you have it, as I often say...a Wednesday afternoon and not a single pirate ship in sight. The roads of your village are strangely quiet, and pirate attacks have been rare in recent weeks. There was that time that poor old Mrs. Deerbush was hauled off after a particularly fierce raid a couple of weeks back, but when I think back on it, it was actually Danes (and not pirates) who took her. The last we heard, dear, sweet old Mrs. Deerbush had been sold into slavery, and was assembling athletic shoes in a sweatshop near Kuala Lumpur. At least it was a bit of a break from the monotony of her life as a cultivator of broad beans and gooseberries.
The last time the pirates landed on your street, they came looking for chutney, as far as you could tell. Did you have any chutney for them? If we are to believe Mr. Hargrove, the chemist, the answer would be an emphatic "NO." He seems to think that you held out on the pirates and the chutney they sought. Mr. Hargrove claims that you had a few spare pots in the larder and were just unwilling to give them up. As it turned out, Mr. Hargrove himself ended up forking over a batch of gooseberry chutney, made from fruit cultivated by none other than dear, sweet old Mrs. Deerbush, late of our village. How is that for irony?
Well, I suppose that you are probably thinking that the pirates are gone for good and that attacks will be nonexistent from now on. Ha! What premature hope! I have it on good authority that Black Sam Rackham, the fierce pirate captain from Barbados is prowling these waters in his man o' war, seeking out lemon curd and suet puddings. You had best be on your guard.
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