The Flemster was annoyed now. He had finished the last of the small supply of lager on board the Thames pleasure cruiser. Dave lcearly had no idea how to operate the long catamaran and they now sat, drifting, in the middle of the Thames. They had already bumped into the supports for Tower Bridge and there were trickles of water oozing in at the front of the ship. Five days they'd been in this predicament and The Flemster, now that he had run out of beer, was getting angry. He was just about to go up top and shout at Dave when he spotted a crate of cider stashed under the small bar's counter. He bgrabbed it and settled down in one of the plush chairs, deciding to while away another few days in fermented apple oblivion.