To whom it may concern;
Over the past couple of days, you may have noticed in the news that one or two dead Sperm Whales have washed up on the shores of Eastern England. I think that it is clear that they have not been simply caught up in the “wrong type of current”; however, these are not, as some animal-hugging liberal types are suggesting, anything to do with you. How could they be? Norway has led the world in the noble pursuit of whaling for hundreds of years. The idea that the country that pioneered the harpoon, the whale grenade, and the extended middle finger to Greenpeace could be so careless in disposing of any Whales that their sailors encounter is laughable.
No. Norway is not to blame for the deaths of these proud, majestic sources of oil and weird-tasting meat. I am the one who is at fault here. I am responsible for the five dead whales that are dotted up the east coast of England. And I am deeply sorry.
Why did I do it? Why did I attempt to start my own Whaling enterprise with little practical experience and in an area which has clearly been Norwegian territory for hundreds of years? I suppose it could be attributed to a number of factors, specifically my despair at being turned down for yet another job and the fact that I had just finished reading Melville’s Moby-Dick and I assumed that what I did not know about obsessively hunting and killing Sperm Whales (especially white ones) was not worth knowing.
I will not bore you with the details of how I built my fledgling business; I doubt that anyone would be interested in the kind of boat I stole in the dead of night, the names of the disgruntled Fishermen I recruited as my crew, or the type of loan application I needed to fill out to buy things like Harpoons and eye patches. Nor will I trouble you with what happened immediately after the fishermen realised what I had hired them to do and promptly mutinied. Suffice it to say that I found myself alone in a life boat with nothing but sixteen harpoons and a box of Sainsbury’s Taste the Difference Shortbread in the middle of the North Sea. I had already given up hope of being rescued when my boat was nudged from under the waves by the majestic snout of a young sperm whale.
There was a small school of them-adolescents, judging from their size, exploring new and exciting hunting grounds. Here is where I made my first mistake. Instead of letting them pass, which would then of course mean a true Whaling Vessel could claim them as their prize, I leapt up and began throwing Harpoons every which way. The haunting Whale Song became screeches of pain and anger, and in retaliation the Whales rammed my boat, capsizing it.
I remember very little of what happened next. I must have been caught in a riptide, for my next clear memory was being hauled from the ocean, choking up seawater. The Greenpeace ship which found me drifting alone in the ocean was on the hunt for “some utter fuckwit” who had apparently stolen a boat and set up an illegal Whaling business. They were clearly out for blood, which led to my second-more grievous, you would probably argue-mistake. This was to feign ignorance of any Whaling but to suggest that it sounded like something someone from Norway would do, as “they hate whales, ammiright?”
The Greenpeace boat was kind enough to take me back to England. I put the whole experience out of my mind and attempted another series of job applications. However, when news started coming in of Whales being washed up on East Anglia coastline, I knew that some of my Harpoons may have actually found home. But what a disaster! Not only could I not claim the gallons of sperm that were rightfully mine, but also I knew that due to my dishonesty, blame for the quite frankly shoddy work would probably be laid squarely at the feet of the proud Norwegian Whaling Industry.
At the time of writing, no connection has been made between Norse Whalers and the five dead whales in Lincolnshire and Norfolk. In fact, it looks as though Nuclear Submarines may be blamed, which would suit us both if you really think about it. Nevertheless, I feel I need to apologise to you, Captains of the Norwegian Whaling Industry. Your fine efforts to keep the oceans free of Whales and sometimes Dolphins do not deserve to be linked in any way with my shoddy effort. I apologise wholeheartedly for avoiding being lynched by Vegetarians by blaming you for my clumsy, wasteful killings and hope that you can find it in your hearts to forgive me and to return any Harpoons you find drifting out there to my home address. Those things can be pretty expensive.