It was the last stinking bastion of hope adrift in the north sea that had attached itself to him so firmly. "I will never go north again" he cursed and flicked his roll-up end out of the window. That bastard will rue the day he ever tried to entice me into a life of servitude and starkness. The roving heart cannot be suppressed just the same as a canary will die after too long in captivation. A wild one will flourish.