Yet another winter passed and as I waited alone and uncared for, I got a surprise when Lil Cloud, Big Wessy and Cheesecutter came aboard one afternoon. Big Wessy of course settled down on the my port side mooring post as usual and I listened to their conversation with interest.

The latest plan hatched between them was marvellous in theory, in that the three of them had formed a charitable trust and named it the Scarlington Marine Heritage Society.

The object of the society was to save some of the traditional old craft which were being broken up, craft such as the Yorkshire Coble I suppose, which sounded good to me.

The three had appointed themselves as the officers of the society and registered it with the Charity Commission. They had also set up a website, with Big Wessy as "t' webmaster" of course.

The next stage of the plan was to apply to the national lottery for cash, ostensibly to buy endangered craft with some sort of link to Scarlingtons marine heritage and preserve them, or so the title of the Society would bring one to assume.

All wasn't as it would seem however, as I realised when I listened to the ongoing conversations. If the lottery grant application was successful Lil Cloud and Big Wessy were going to sell me, presumably so that they could spend more time working for the society.

My hopes soared at the prospect of escaping from my present owners perhaps into the care of someone who would appreciate my potential.

These hopes were short lived when I realised that their plan was to sell me to none other than the Scarlington Marine Heritage Society! What a ruse I thought, as trustees of the charity my present owners would buy me from themselves with lottery cash, and pocket it for themselves, notwithstanding that, I have no connection whatsoever with Scarlingtons marine heritage, they would operate me, drawing a fixed wage, with all the expenses paid for by the income of the charity.

What a scheme, clearly yet again I had underestimated the intelligence and business acumen of my owners.

Meanwhile I had to be got ready for my sixth season and needed essential work done if I was to be able to run at all.

The portside mooring post badly needed replacing where Big Wessies bottom had weakened it, and I urgently needed the sacrificial anodes renewing in my engines, and it was clear that there were no funds available for this.

"Don't worry", said Big Wessy, "I'll purran appeal on t' website for a donation to get t'work done".

Disappointingly no work was done, though I did get a paint up, mainly due to Cheese cutter who was still full of enthusiasm. To his credit he got stuck in and worked me hard, in fact too hard for Lil Cloud and Big Wessy they found it harder and harder to get me from my berth or to keep me shipshape, I became so dirty that rats took up residence aboard and even they had to wear boiler suits!

Never the less we kept at it until one day we went to tow a small boat in to harbour who had engine trouble, I must admit I was in my element, this is what I was designed for, Lil Cloud was loving it, when the tow rope was passed to us he made it fast to my port side mooring post, after prising Big Wessy from it! Lil Cloud then lit his pipe and with two puffs of Old Holborn, rammed my engines into gear and gave them full throttle.

I shot ahead at full speed, until suddenly as the slack on the tow rope was taken up, there was a terrible splintering sound, the air was full of dust and woodworms as my portside mooring post parted company from my hull, together with a large section of my topside and bulwarks.

It had of course been weakened over the last six years by the continual abuse of Big Wessies massive backside.

We crept into the harbour and there Lil Cloud and Big Wesssy left me alone and broken. What would become of me now?
                                                               
                                                                                                Billy Inkwell Ashtray