Beyond the farthest point inhabited by man, Homesea is still moving South.
Deep down below the surface of the sea, the current bearing against the bottom of the floating village is driving us towards the long Antarctic night.
The albatrosses have deserted the churchyard, and as the ice floes have thickened around the quaysides the penguins have taken over.
They are the most sedate visitors that Homesea has known on its travels - toddling up and down the cobbled streets in their neat black and white suits and peering with polite interest into the bow windows, still showing notices like 'Home made Homesea fudge'.
They even pop in, occasionally, to my tea shop - where I feed them sardine sandwiches.
The snow is piling higher and higher over the cobbles and against the old brick walls - a snow that will never melt.
The streets and houses are becoming encased in solid ice.
At last, frozen immovably into the great southern ice-cap, Homesea has reached the end of its journey.
This evening Beaver, Hitmouse, the Old Monkey and I sat by the quay and watched the mysterious Southern Lights play across the sky.
It was a magnificent sight to behold.
"Well, Beaver, time to go home - don't you think?" I remarked as we watched in awe.
"I suppose so Unc, not much point in being the boss of this ice-bound dump!" muttered Beaver in reply.
"What an ungrateful bunch those villagers were. When I think of all the effort I put into running this place - and then they just all upped and left!" he moaned.
I replied "Well, Beaver, I do believe you are beginning to learn the truth of leadership. It is a thankless burden that one has to carry - the responsibilities are great..."
"Can it Unc!...so we getting an invite to your Xmas bash, or what!" retorted Beaver.
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Front Page Apology
5 years ago