Plus the toilet rolls and children blocked up the river - which is how the sea keeps full, and I'm not sure but I think that there'll be no water left anywhere by 2042. 

Anyhoo, my name is Log. That is not my real name. My real name is Jonathan, but there's three syllables in that, which is a bit too much. Log is a good name, it is a stout, honest name, and it is mine. It came about after a stint working for Exxon. They gave me my own tanker, which I wasn't expecting, as I was suffering from rabies at the time. I'd told them, but they must have thought I said "babies", they way they tutted and nodded sympathetically. So I think having rabies actually worked in my favour, which is something! Anyhow, my tanker capsized, and you could have knocked me down with a feather - .

We were carrying 1000 tons of Ribena to Israel in the hope it would stop all the fussin' and a feudin'. Well, I say "we"; sadly, my entire crew was killed by metal monkeys on the first day. I didn't dare go back to shore to tell anyone, though - that Mr Haversham's got it in for me as it is, because I was sick in his hat, and then he put it on. It's so unfair. So I was doing everything on my own, except for this stowaway beagle who befriended me after I tickled his nuts.

So me and this beagle just drifted around for weeks, hanging onto a big bottle of gin that we had to drink so that it would float. So we were really pissed up. After two months, a school of mermaids rescued us from the purple sea,  and revered us for making their world taste of salted blackcurrant. Me and Moschops (the beagle) lived for three years with the mermaids, until I was expelled for flicking whelks, which is forbidden. Back on the surface, I had to relearn how to breathe air, and using this talent, I secured a job in a bar. And it was there that I was given the name Log. Moschops stayed on with the Mermaids, and I believe he is now their King, although his postcards are becoming increasingly few.

Before returning home, I did happen upon Israel, Ribena-less but glad to be alive. I saw that things had gotten well out of hand. The Palestinians had already taken their coats off, and some of the Jews were starting to step outside. I solved the situation by explaining to them that we are all human and that any distinctions made by the mere accident of birthplace and parentage were trivial indeed compared to the myriad wonder of humankind. This worked wonders, mostly by focussing their hatred on me. They cut my lips off - apparently they're quite fond of their birthplace and parentage (although nobody told me; we should have team meetings or something). Now I have to use especially peeled orange rind as lip substitutes. But they were made by the cast of Cats, on a hot tin roof, so they don't fit very well. Sometimes they drop off and scare the children I never had. 

I was never 13. I didn't like it. I jumped straight to 14 and stayed at 17 for two years. Then I went back and did 12 again, because there were bits that I had forgotten, and also I was trying to avoid someone. They'd been following me home from the supermarket. God knows what they wanted, this sort of thing always happens to me. I bet he thought I was Frankie Vaughan - but Frankie's dead - he's been dead for months. There are some sick bastards in the world.