Meet Prudence Fishwater — Marketing, Pink Gin, and Fleeting Dockyard Fame
Pru joined HamstersAHOY! in 2024 and quickly rose to become First Mate in the dockyard. Her impressive range of positions would have made anyone a millionaire by 25, but Pru prefers to command a flotilla from the poop deck with Pink Gin in hand.
A Little About Pru
♦ Marketing talent with creative flair and a dash of chaos
♦ Hands-on dockyard experience, briefly tackling boat building and welding
♦ Unerring commitment to the project’s morale and visibility
Pru’s Role in the Project
Pru brings energy, creativity, and occasional wild ideas to the conversion process. While she may not wield a welder every day, her influence is felt through branding, documenting progress, and keeping the team’s spirits high.
Next in the Series
Meet the one who prefers to remain unseen yet exerts influence behind the scenes. Next: The Invisible Partner →
It must be stated at the outset that Plymouth Hoe was, until recently, functioning perfectly well.
This, as it turned out, was precisely the problem.
“Too open,” Pedro declared, standing at the edge of the grass with the air of someone who had just discovered a significant oversight in national planning. “Too visible. No defined command structure.”
I first noticed the mist because it arrived like a bad idea: quietly, confidently, and with no interest in leaving.
We were somewhere off the North Pembrokeshire coast, where the sea looks perfectly reasonable until it very much isn’t. The kind of place that makes charts feel like polite suggestions rather than rules.
The sea had never seen anything quite like it.
Neither had common sense.
Pedro surged through the water with the unwavering conviction of a creature who had never once allowed reality to veto a decision.
The atmosphere aboard the vessel was unusually formal.
Even the wind seemed to have dressed appropriately.
Pedro stood on the bow, perfectly composed, impeccably groomed, and—most notably—wearing a brand new captain’s hat trimmed with gold.
The situation was, in Pedro’s opinion, extremely serious.
He stood atop the battlements of Dover Castle, clad in full knight’s armour, gazing out across the horizon with the intensity of someone expecting trouble at any moment.
“Yes,” he murmured. “As I suspected.”
It was, by all accounts, a peaceful patrol.
Pedro marched along the shoreline, hat secure, authority radiating in all directions. The sea shimmered. The breeze behaved. Even the sand seemed cooperative.
Then came the shadow.
I arrived in Hartlepool with the firm intention of being productive, which is always my first mistake. The marina was doing its usual impression of calm competence—boats lined neatly, gulls hovering like disapproving auditors, and a breeze that suggested both industry and chips.
