Oslo Whaler Quits Arms, Legs and Job

Dear Mr Strangewave,

I type with some difficulty, having recently had all of my limbs removed. Do not concern yourself about my well-being, I can assure you I have been involved in no traumatic incident or spontaneous dismembering. Oh no, this has been my choice. For as long as I can recall, and most acutely throughout my adult life, I have hidden a secret longing to be free of limbs.

We've never really clicked, my arms and I. My legs have always got on top of me. Someone had to go and we all agreed it was me. The doctors have a name for my curious discomfort, body dysmorphic syndrome. Look it up. I can tell you, it is as though a weight has lifted from my shoulders and, of course, also from my hips. I am comfortable in my skin for the first time in my life. I am that rarest of breeds, the happy amputee. I wear a smile on every stump. Be pleased for me.

Of course, my career as a whaler is finished. It is with some regret that I give you a month's notice. I will miss the sting of the sea spray as we split the waves. Alas, no more, the deathly clatter of barnacle on barnacle as one of my cetacean prey turns around inside its own blubbery hide. No more whittling of whalebone into elegant filligrees as you play a shanty. The grievous cleaving as harpoon slices fin, t'is only a memory now. I hope we can remain good friends. Bring straws.