IT BE GRUB TIME! YARR!

Since this day be Speak Like A Scurvy Pirate Day, Wilson has insisted that we taalk like band 'o scurvy freebooters…

'Tis dinner th' hour 'n we've come to this galley on th' waterfront fer grub to slake our hunger.

We chose a table wit' a fair view o' th' ocean, 'n Wilson asked me whether, in th' circumstances, he should address th' waitresses as serving wenches or lasses — I suggested that to err on the side of caution it might be better if he did neither. Yarr!

I wonder if I might ease up on the Piratical Lingo myself yet? 

When the food arrived, the portions were ENORMOUS, but W, as usual, had little difficulty packing it all away.

While we waited for our desserts to arrive, he pointed out that the new Doctor Who series begins this very evening, and as soon as we've finished eating we must rush straight back to the hotel, so as not to miss the beginning.

He even offered to eat my pud for me, 'Just to save time…'

So, farewell fer now, me jolly buckos!