Mittens

A bit of shopping about up town looking for finishing touches to the fine array of Christmas presents I’ve assembled. But I couldn’t linger longer as I’d some sober boat club business to attend to. For while some fifty seafaring souls were forming up at the quayside to pay their last respects to Robin, I’d been whistled up by the Commodore to join him in that old fashioned thing of representing the club at the funeral proper. Like with a club tie and white shirt and shiny shoes and everything. 
He’ll be well missed, will old Robin.