Ariel (The Little Mermaid)

Tattersall Castle (Embankment)

You might ask yourself: what's the world coming to when a fishy-tailed little redhead spends all her free time drinking herself to death on a floating River Thames pub? It's a question I often ask myself as I prop the bar, sopping evening gown covering my soggy bottom, dripping all over the wooden floor.

As a near-topless 16-year old I could've had my pick of guys, even after the prince dumped me. They were falling over themselves to get to get under the sea with me, if you get my north Atlantic drift. Tail or not, boys were queuing up for a fish supper.

Things have changed now though. I got a real alcohol problem and, as the years have worn on, water retention's been cruel. My tail's as scabby as a 70-year-old washer-woman. Worst of all though, I eventually made my waterbed with that filthy, old crustacean, Sebastian. Now I just gotta lie in it.

Some advice for my sisters. Never let a charming little lobster-crab get his crumby claws into you, however many times he wins the X Factor. I was watching a TV documentary about these duplicitous shell-boys just the other day. Chap arrives home to find seaweed on his doorstep. He climbs the stairs only to find his sweetheart up to her neck in salt-water, with some dirty little bottom-walker's tentacles all over her.

Disgusting. Boy I felt for that guy.

Half a chance and I'd put my little red menace in a pot of boiling water too! Or maybe just put in a call to my old buddy Madison, and get her round for dinner.

I'm too nice for any of that though. I simply make my escape when he's taking an afternoon nap, surface from the Thames and climb aboard the Tattershall, shuffling into the airy bar on tippy-flipper.

Two reasons why I try to arrive before the after-work crush and leave when the last punter is well and truly gone. Firstly, I avoid comments from the pub's crueler drinkers. Long dress or not, they seem to sense something different under the surface (maybe it's the sopping wet dress, or soggy floor trail?).

"Oi Flipper, get back to Florida, ya watery tart," that's what some jerk yelled last week.

Secondly, the longer I'm in here, the longer I'm away from Sebastian's filthy, grabbing claws. True, being out for so long makes the abuse worse when I return to the son of a crab, but words are just words and I don't care so much if I'm tanked up to the eyeballs.

"Where de hell you been all evening, hybrid freak show? You been up on deck drinkin' your fishy ass sick again, haven't you," that's the kind of thing I get every night. But for the alcohol, it'd more than a little mermaid could take.

Sad thing is, I should be happy. I'm ten yards away from home - upwards - and the Tattershall has some of the best views in London.

And if I try hard, I can even convince myself that it's not the flesh of my brothers and sisters I can smell frying in the restaurant downstairs.


Ariel the mermaid's rating for the Tattershall Castle - 7 / 10

Sputnikski

Which half-man, half fish is trying to have his way with Ariel? Click here for more