Okay, so spin the meat on this ship on which we serve. Kebabs in the boiler-room. The funnel's on fire!

A fog-horn sounds as The Captain arrives on deck, pushing an empty pram. "Where's my daughter," he sobs, "someone's stolen all the pork-chops."

There's a muffled explosion off the starboard bow and a mini-sub in the shape of a tin shark surfaces, its hinged-jaw slowly opening and snapping shut.

A heavily-accented voice comes from a loud-hailer: "Avast ye! Prepare to be boarded!"

We throw uncooked sausages at the enemy until an unconvincing prop sun disappears beneath the boating-pond horizon.