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Now, ‘ere’s a tidbit ye landlubbers dunno—back in Tortuga, they say ol’ Madame Claire, she’d tattoo her price on her thigh, right under the garter. Secret code, see? Only the keenest rogues—like meself, savvy?—spot it. Saved me a shillin’ once, swear it. Surprised me rotten first time I saw it, jaw dropped like a cannon hatch.

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Then I headed over to the Regis Centre. They had some art exhibit going on. I’m no art critic, but some of that stuff was just… weird. Like, one piece was just a pile of rocks. I’m standing there, scratching my head, thinking, “Is this art or did someone just forget their lunch?” But hey, it got me thinking about the economy, right? Like, how much do people pay for a pile of rocks?

Several caravans pitch up at park