Once upon a time, there was a man named Mr CFC. He was a nice young man and, one day, he and his friends needed to cross a river in a boat. Instead of building his own boat and learning how to row, he understandably enlisted the help of an enthusiastic young rower named Mr Pitchero.
Mr Pitchero began the journey, rowing effectively, if not entirely smoothly. Sometimes he would apparently ignore Mr CFC's requests to slow down or change course, which infuriated Mr CFC and his friends. In spite of this, he was largely functional, and did Mr CFC and co well for the first bit of their journey.
Then, one stormy afternoon, Mr FLi turned up and asked Mr CFC whether he would like to hop aboard his ship instead. It was, after all, much larger than Mr Pitchero's boat and there were lots of other passengers on board and lots of treasure too. Mr CFC, jumped at the chance, especially once Mr FLi had offered some of his treasure.
"I'll give you some booty, if your friends will work for me for free," growled Mr FLi. "Then we'll take the fruits of their labour and we'll sell them for more treasure, and I'll even let you have some of that, too."
In the face of such a generous offer, Mr CFC looked past the fact that Mr FLi's ship had for ten years been an horrendous, un-navigable eyesore that no ship-lover would be caught dead on. There were stickers and graffiti all over the place, and none of Mr CFC's friends could find anything they needed on board.
In time, Mr FLi had his ship renovated. The designers introduced some bizarre new bells and whistles, whilst leaving most of the clutter. Mr CFC started to find in his cabin, items and photographs belonging to other passengers, as the decorators had managed to muddle up everyone's possessions.
"We're all in the same boat, us and the other passengers," cried Mr CFC to his friends by way of defence. It was, however, a feeble defence, for Mr CFC had chosen to board this particular boat in the first place.
All along, sailing way out in the distance, was Captain Mansley. A man who had been sailing long before Mr CFC was even born. A sailor who had, for years, been carrying out a stirling job. A sailor who would have happily had Mr CFC and friends on board, and made no demands whatsoever. His boat was lovely. Basic, perhaps, but clean and tidy and did its job perfectly.
Mr CFC's friends looked wistfully at the horizon, where Capt. Mansley's boat cut a beautiful silouette. If only Mr CFC would just think about the sailing, they could have been on it. Unfortunately, for them, it had all become about the treasure. The gold chains and shiny coins that Mr FLi could offer.
"Oh for a comfortable ship! Disregard the riches, and give me a ship that works!", one cried.
But it was too late.
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