Seven tagged whales who could easily help the Sherrington Ocean-Adjacent Research Laboratory relocate to its new headquarters, in Boston, if they weren't busy doing other things (plus the plucky spider crab who did help)

by Mark Sadler

Call me Sadler, or by my pronouns, which are Ish and Mael. The chances are that you already know me anyway, from season one of the moderately-successful reality TV show, Whale Taggers.

That was before the show-runners decided that a curvaceous blonde, with a marine science degree from Stanford, would pull-in more viewers than a grizzled, fifty-year-old, veteran of the sea lion wars, with a 5-inch scar where his nose used to be. All I can say is, enjoy the fame while it lasts, Linda. Sooner or later, everybody in this game gets their nose bitten-off by a sea lion.

In 1993, I founded the Sherrington Ocean-Adjacent Research Laboratory (SOARL) in the back-room of my parent's independent comic book publishing business. Last year, I decided to relocate to larger premises in Brookline, Boston. To keep down the cost of removals, I put out a call for assistance to the whales who we had tagged with tracking devices over the years, requesting that they each swallow a few pieces of furniture and then swim these items up the coast to our new HQ. At the time of writing, not a single recipient of these texts and emails has so much as acknowledged my appeal.

Below, I reluctantly name and shame seven of these whales, and celebrate the plucky, long-legged crustacean who has stepped-up to help in their absence.

Clive (Sperm Whale, dick)

When given the opportunity to live up to the name of his species, by transporting refrigerated flasks of whale semen to our new cold storage facility in Boston, Clive instead plunged headlong into the briny depths, where he is presumed to be stuffing his face with giant squid. Apparently, he has forgotten that it was I who personally untangled the lifeless body of Captain Ahab from his harpoon-scarred flippers and, if necessary, I can put him back there too.

Laura (Stuck-up Orca Whale)

They say that elephants never forget, and what are whales if not the elephants of the sea. I wonder whether Laura remembers that weekend when I was supposed to be travelling to wine country with my wife, but was instead brow-beaten into driving my flatbed trailer to Kentucky, so that her highness could be moved from her 'lagoon' at Neptune Brothers Magic Ocean Adventure Kingdom, to the North Atlantic Ocean.

It seems that your keepers were so busy training you to jump through a large hoop, that they neglected to teach you any manners.

Herod XVI Jr. (Sperm Whale with a Walter Mitty complex)

Claims to be a descendent of the allegorical biblical whale who swallowed Jonah, right up until the moment when you ask him to help move your life-size cardboard standees of characters from Star Wars and The Simpsons, then suddenly swallowing anything man-size is a huge deal.

Kevin (North Atlantic Right Whale and heartbreaker)

After I removed the tracking device that had been attached to Kevin by my arch rivals, Durrant Whale-Location Solutions (DWLS), it seemed like we were set to be soul-mates for life. As a prank, we fastened the old tag to the tour jet of the British heavy metal band, Iron Maiden (see Durrant's peer-reviewed article that breathlessly describes the annual migration of North Atlantic right whales to various large arena venues in mainland Brazil, and then weep for the current state of science).

Together, we picked out one of those heart-shaped satellite tracking tags that split in two, so we would always be connected. I wore my half on a cord around my neck. Kevin wore his half as a fin piercing. Incidently, Kevin, that's how I know that you aren't anyway near the old Sherrington offices, helping me move this enormous pile of cardboard boxes.

Barry (Blue Whale, asshole)

As an adult blue whale, Barry has the stomach capacity to accommodate the contents of my study. It seems that, on his list of priorities, attending to his harem in the South Pacific comes before providing me with temporary office space.

Andre (Fin Whale, 'The Pigeon Hill Bay Butcher')

Okay, so maybe this notorious whale serial killer, who is currently serving twenty-six consecutive life sentences at Maine State Prison, can't actually help us move, but he could at least have the decency to tell me where he buried my wife's body.

Daniel Craig (Humpback Whale, has blocked me on Twitter)

Would Daniel Craig's humpback whale namesake have won the coveted Nobel Prize for Best Tagged Whale without the help of the Sherrington Ocean-Adjacent Research Laboratory and Late- Night Detective Agency (the latter ran for two seasons between 1995-1997). It seems doubtful. Who would have provided the exonerating evidence after he was framed for murder by corrupt cops?

Now a four-times Grammy winner, Daniel Craig currently duets in hologram-form with Celine Dion at her Las Vegas residency, but he doesn't work on Wednesdays. Surely he can manage a dash along the east coast with a pair of filing cabinets on his back, for old time's sake.

Lionel (Spider crab, modern-day saint)

I would like to end this list of selfish whales on an upbeat note, with a tale of true altruism: Enter Lionel, a 15-year-old spider crab with arthritis, who is gamely dragging the safe, containing the annual SOARL payroll, across the sea bed towards Boston. Some of my staff have expressed concerns about Lionel's recent change in direction, out into deep water, beyond the range of our tags. I have reassured them that he is probably just avoiding a rough area of the ocean floor, so that he doesn't get robbed.

On the basis of Lionel's generous assistance, I am seriously considering ending our whale-tagging program and diverting the funds into spider crab research.