Flossie and Vaisey started being the boat, and Blaise was yelling through the megaphone: “Splice the mainbrace!!! Clean the poop deck!!! MORE RUM!”

I started doing breaststroke.

Blaise said, “Oy, shark, look, no, don’t look because you can’t see, SNIFF …”

I started doing sniffing and breaststroke. Jo nearly fell overboard she was laughing so much.

Blaise said, “There’s some children playing in the shallows. Start sharking toward them. Children, keep playing around and splashing, you’ve nothing to think about except what kind of ice cream you will have … la la-la, la la-la … You don’t see the sharky yet.”

Blaise was yelling at me. “You’re getting a bit peckish and looking for snacks.”

She and Monty started a joint impro of the theme to Jaws on megaphone and drum.

“Der der … der der … Come on, shark, circle nearer … der der, der der … oooooh, look at those little legs waving about … der der, der der … ooooh, one of the children has seen your fin!!!!!! They are all trying to swim and make for the shore. One of them is swimming out to sea. Quickly, quickly, your supper is escaping!!!”

I don’t know what I was doing. I think it was mainly fast crawl and teeth baring.

Monty got carried away, flung down his drum, and tried to be a heroic surfer diving in to save the little children. But I gradually dismembered him. I have to say, he made an absolute meal of the whole thing. (Tee-hee, must put that in my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary.)

I had to sit on him in the end. Which is quite clever for a shark, I think. People say that sharks have brains the size of a walnut. Corker size, in fact, but …

I couldn’t think anymore because Blaise was shouting at me: “Rear up and bite his head off!!! Eat the boat, eat the boat!!!”

Two hours of it.

I’m exhausted. Everyone’s exhausted. I think Monty ripped his leotard.

And also I have a big bruise on my bum where Jo as the mad old captain stuck a mime harpoon in me.

Jo said, “Sorry about that, Tallulah—too much rum.”

She doesn’t know her own strength.

I’m so hot that my hair is sticking to my head. Flossie fell over a fire bucket because her fringe had glued itself to her glasses. I can’t tell you how red Vaisey was. Even her curls have gone droopy.

When we staggered into the loos I glanced into the mirror—a red-faced orangutan stared back at me. Its hair plastered down to its skull. It was panting.

It was me. Mr. Sharky. Thank goodness Alex the Good can’t see me now. As I supported myself against the sink, I realized I am surrounded on every side by notices from Bob.

Listen up, Dudes, forget the towel.

The towel is yesterday.

Shake your hands about a bit.

And even by the (switched-off) radiators:

Cold? You will be if the Ice Age comes again.