Warning: Some of our more pedantic readers may find the following content distressing, due to the high likelihood of historical inaccuracies. Please accept that hyperbole can be a useful tool to create compelling fiction. Enjoy the latest adventure involving this repugnant reprobate.

Dawn descended upon the exotic English town of Harwich, which is in England. It is so exotic that it is commonly known as the Venice of England (the words ‘commonly’ and ‘exotic’ being used very loosely if truth be told).

The gradient of orange and red covering the sky created a tranquil backdrop as the ever-brightening sun reflected against the timid waves of the currently calm sea. The picturesque port, the comforting warm spring morning, blended with a refreshingly cool sea breeze, helped to create an inviting location.

Unfortunately for the residents of Harwich, that invitation found its way to the doorstep of none other than the notorious numskull that continues to contaminate the country with his incompetence. It was of course the disastrously dimwitted delinquent, Jim the Crim.

A man who is consistently as confused as a squirrel with a nut allergy, a man who thinks Iron Man’s superpower is removing creases from shirts, Jim is renowned for being bereft of any and all intelligence or common sense. He is genuinely the type of guy who thinks he needs to stand on one leg at the bank to check his balance. The man is such a liability in fact, that during his first day at Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat shouted, “go back to your own house!”

He is also known for being a highly unimaginative simpleton; for example his go-to luncheon is a bread sandwich, which involves two slices of bread with a slice of bread in between, without any kind of condiment or spread of course given that adding those would be much too complex for Jim to comprehend.

Sandwich tangent aside, Jim was staying at his mother’s house, watching the radio. Yes you read that right, Jim was watching (as well as listening to) the radio. Unfortunately the option of television was not applicable to Mrs Crim’s home as her television was recently stolen. Funnily enough Jim has a television which looks exactly like his mother’s back at his gaff but maybe that is just a coincidence (we all know it is not just a coincidence).

Jim was listening to a radio show that was discussing ports of the United Kingdom, on a station known as ‘Talks Port’. Today’s episode was centred around the seaside town of Harwich, which stunned Jim as he had recently seen a lesser known TV show involving Harwich called ‘Through the ‘Quay’ hole’.

Once he had learned that Harwich was the home of a really cool boat called the Mayflower, and that Harwich was also the home of roughly a million pubs, Jim decided that this historic town would be the next to be burdened by his presence.

Jim was most excited as he enjoyed going t’ pub, followed by a trip t’ pub and then finally a trip t’ pub – a fairly normal Harwich schedule given there are genuinely more pubs in Harwich than there are hair follicles on Jim’s air-filled head.

What excited him even more was the thought of taking the Mayflower for a spin. He had a fascination with boats as a young’un, having watched several episodes of Captain Pugwash. Combining his love of boats with his passion for burglary made Jim more excited than a vampire in a blood bank.

He ate his milk chocolate digestive biscuit with the sort of purpose reserved only for a master of his craft about to get to work – a moment undermined by the fact that, not only was he assuredly not a master of his craft, he would also choke on the biscuit as once again he forgot the necessity of chewing before swallowing. His face became as blue as an X Factor contestant’s sob story.

His mother’s lack of meaningful reaction was telling, this sort of nincompoopery ceased to be a surprise long ago. Deep down she has not felt this disappointed since Jeremy Kyle revealed to her that Jim really is her son. Jim was so rubbish, that when his parents dropped him off at school, they got fined for littering.

Once his mother Kim the Crim administered the Heimlich manoeuvre (or whatever it is called these days), Jim set off on his latest adventure, but not before one last nag from his exasperated mother…

“For the love of God this has to stop, Jim. Last week it was the custard cream, this week it’s the digestive. Chew before you swallow, you daft plonker!”

Jim’s childlike naivety somehow created an ambience of innocence that totally belied his frequent criminal activities. He quickly vacated the premises before his mother had a chance to ground him for his bewildering demonstration of biscuit-consuming incompetence.

Jim arrived in Harwich with the giddiness of a ravenous rottweiler in a Bonio factory, oblivious to the fact that the innocent people of Harwich needed Jim’s presence about as much as a bald dude needs a comb.

With the afternoon meandering into evening and the pastel blue sky beginning to sport a navy gradient, Jim set his sights on his target: the Mayflower.

Resting atop the gentle sea sat one of Britain’s most historically heroic mobile monuments. One of our nation’s most iconic and paradigm shifting inventions, stapled forever in the history books, is not just a system of transport but a physical work of art.

However this particular piece of artwork was about to be stained by an altogether more irritating piece of work, like a beautiful and impeccably appointed Ferrari 458 being soiled by bird dirt on the windscreen.

Jim excitedly trotted up to the Mayflower like a happy horse and sped towards the helm like prime Red Rum at Aintree. His undeserved sense of self-confidence led him to believe that he was the second coming of Sir Ben Ainslie and that any kind of nautical training was unnecessary for such a self-proclaimed expert.

The reality was that Jim was taking so long to decipher the controls of the Mayflower that it was in danger of becoming the June-flower before he finally left the quay. He showed all the speed of limbless tortoise.

Hampered by his own incompetence (as per usual), his leisurely execution of his latest crime allowed suspicious townsfolk (probably on their way home from t’ pub) to inform the Harwich Five-O of the Mayflower’s uninvited guest.

After what felt like about five billion years, Jim finally worked out how to get t’ boat out of t’ quay. His lifelong dream had finally been achieved (and by lifelong I mean a dream he had since this morning), he was captain of a ship and ready to enjoy a serene voyage on the Essex sea.

Sadly for Jim, serene would be a wholly inaccurate word, as slowly but surely, the unmistakable sound of sirens infiltrated his ears. Slowly but surely, the unmistakable combination of red and blue lights infiltrated his eyes. Slowly but surely, the taste of prison food began to stain his tongue.

The ravenous rozzers were in hot pursuit of the nautical nuisance. Jim attempted to set his new vessel to maximum overdrive, but his escape was thwarted somewhat by a combination of the ever-increasing headwind developing from the Western coast of the Netherlands, and of course his trademark dimwittery.

Rather unsurprisingly, Jim’s inexperience in the world of sailing played into the hands of the pursuing plod, who in truth barely needed second gear to keep up with this ocean-going omnishambles. Powered by perseverance and professionalism, the bill deployed the trademark PIT manoeuvre, causing the Mayflower and its plonker of a pilot to spin dramatically like a wooden whirligig.

“Oh great trumpeting trousers!” cried a despondent Jim, as the Mayflower ground to an undignified halt and the cop crafts surrounded it like pastry on a beef wellington.

The boating bobbies brandished their handcuffs that they would use to cuff Jim by the hands.

“Oi Plod! I don’t know why I’m arrested…” exclaimed a rather unjustifiably agitated Jim.

An exasperated Todd the Plod replied, “well… let’s see… oh yes… you stole a boat!”

“Oh… fair point,” said an embarrassed Jim, “what am I like?!”

The rozzers escorted Jim en route to the nearest criminal correction facility, praying to the lord that after failing to learn from his previous 45 prison sentences, Jim would finally become a law-abiding member of society.

Will 46 be the magic number? If you selected yes, then unfortunately you are tremendously deluded.