off the LeaSh

When the editor of this periodical contacted me with a complex series of fake and genuine deadlines for my next column, he said the theme for this edition was the Atlantic. For once, he didn't give me the usual option of writing whatever I damn well please.

I rampaged around the house, drinking heavily and kicking the furniture. I don't want to write about the freezing, kelp-strewn, shark-infested Atlantic which has tried to murder me on several occasions.

I've just spent five months in Central America. I