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Tides used to come in whenever they felt like it. I went to the shore of Brittany, sat down with a pocket watch, and set them a schedule. The sea grumbled and then obeyed. It has been punctual since, except on my birthday, when it sends waves to my door.

Sea serpents are shy and prone to tears. I met one near the Hebrides and told it a sad tale about my horse. It wept a fresh lake. We talked for nine hours. I tied its neck in a bow, at its own request, and it thanked me warmly.

Chinese masons were short one brick on their long wall, and I happened to have one in my coat. I pressed it into the gap at sunset. The entire wall settled with a sigh. The Emperor made me a mandarin, and I still get a small sum each year.

Tailors measure me with a ship's chain, as a matter of honor. One poor man in Bruges needed three weeks to go around my chest. He married along the way. His children helped him hold the tape, and the suit they made still fits me, provided I skip lunch.

Trumpets are dangerous in the wrong lungs, and mine are the wrong lungs. I.