The Captain and I go back a long time. Many years ago when Tintin was in India investigating the mystery of the missing ruby, the three of us – Tintin, Captain Haddock and I – met at the Press Club to discuss some of the finer points of the case. Tintin described the Maharaja whose ruby had gone missing; the Captain looked lovingly at his first rum. Tintin then described the Maharaja’s scatty sister; the Captain beamed at his second rum. By the time Tintin had got to the ruby, the Captain and I were hugging each other and singing ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow….’
Such bonds forged over six strong rums last forever and the Captain and I became what would today be called BFF. Almost every Saturday, the Captain would call me around noon from his Marlinspike Hall, and we would discuss the world’s gradual slide into chaos; we would lament that despite such progress made in medicine nobody had yet found an instant cure for hangover, curse them; the Captain would then bring me up to date on the latest inventions of Professor Calculus; and then, before ringing off, he would tell me about how Thomson and Thompson had bungled yet again. It never failed to amuse.