This text has been pieced together from green tea slips found in the papers of the (presumed late) Gillian Finks, sometimes known as GANTOB (the person). Her written output and computer files are being archived by her daughter Fiona Finks, AKA The Masters Student. The Little Grapefruit At Sea tea slips were serialised on this blog (November 2025 to February 2026), with further annotations and listening notes. I am sure that some clever person could put the suggested tracks into a Spotify playlist.
(It should also be noted that a couple of standalone pieces by Gillian Finks have also been found by her daughter, and are being worked up for potential submission to Tangerine Press’s The Hempen Jig).
| You are invited to submit drawings based on your reading of the following Little Grapefruit As Sea text (in 33 chapters), emailing your picture(s) (any medium, taking a high resolution photo) to 100percentvinyl2@gmail.com (specifying the chapter of the book, your name and address). If sufficient entries are received, and they are of a high quality, then this will become book 6 of the GANTOB canon(+). The reward for making such a submission will be a copy of the printed Little Grapefruit At Sea book in full colour (one copy per household, regardless of how many submissions are made from that household – you can share a copy). (+) I cannot guarantee that this will be completed. It is a Drummondian or perhaps I should say Gowansian idea that might not bear fruit, citrus or otherwise. That said, GANTOB (the project) has a pretty good track record, with 5 books completed in 2.5 years, each with their merits. But we no longer have The Benefaktor, and his will remains contested, which rather puts things like publication and distribution up in the air. I – the only member of the GANTOB committee who still turns up to meetings – remain committed, however, to the model of “paying” artistic contributors with a copy of the book. |
If you have read the 4th or 5th GANTOB book (GANTOB’s 25 Paintings (2025) and Who Killed GANTOB? (2026) respectively), you will see some cross pollination between the books. If you are interested in reading these books, but are not in possession of a copy, they might be made available on special request. Books 1-3 are out of print, which is a pity as there are some themes that stretch across the whole GANTOB oeuvre. Accordingly, I have made a web-based version available separately. Indeed, the more I see of the GANTOB project, the less convinced I am that Gillian Finks and The (definitely late) Benefaktor were primarily focused on The KLF at all. It seems that they/he were/was rather more interested in TNK, but perhaps you had already spotted that.
I should say that Little Grapefruit At Sea is not a children’s book. It contains some rather upsetting themes, and it has at times an almost Benefaktorial focus on grammar and Gadus morhua philosophy. The illustrations may alter the balance – that is part of the excitement of throwing a project like this open. There is, of course, plenty to learn, from some of the chapters. Fiona has added scientific names for the species listed (after her mother’s own elaboration of the name for heather in the original green tea slips). There are some fascinating and/or beautiful creatures here that warrant further exploration in your own time, and which might form the basis of some of your artwork. (In passing I should mention that I attended an illuminating session on academic drawing last night, where I learnt more about drawing implements and techniques in an hour than I thought possible).
Furthermore, while the transition from Cushionpaw Bay to our version of the universe is not straightforward, the Liverpool and Isle of Man references have been kept as accurate as possible, providing an extension of GANTOB’s travel writing.
Maureen Katz, 25 February 2026
1: DOLDRUMS
Little Grapefruit (Citrus × paradisia) and Michelle the snail (Cornu aspersum) were in the doldrums of Cushionpaw Bay, with no wind to propel their little pea green goat with its crimson sail, and no help from the two cats (Felis catus) who peered at them from the white room at the top of their tower.
2: TURNIP GREENS
The little boat in which Little Grapefruit and Michelle sailed was advertised as pea (Pisum sativum) green, but it was actually constructed from carefully fashioned leaves growing out of the tops of turnips (Brassica rapa subspecies Rapa). So perhaps we should say turnip green, because that is what these leaves are sometimes called, albeit in the plural. As the boat bobbed around in Cushionpaw Bay, under the imperious gaze of the two cats in their tower, Little Grapefruit and the snail were feeling rather peckish.
3. CRUNCH TIME
There is little documented about the dietary requirements or mores of an anthropomorphised grapefruit. We can speculate, from the cargo in the pea/ turnip green boat, that Little Grapefruit ate grapes (Vitis vinifera) during the journey. The cats presumably looked on in disgust from the white room at the top of the tower. They cannot eat grapes, or raisins, because of the risk of kidney failure. They tend to stick, instead, to their strict of 23g of kibble (Salmo salar flavour), twice a day. Crunch, crunch.
4. MUNCH
As we were saying – crunch, crunch. But wait, the sound was no longer coming from the white room of the tower. It was emanating from the boat. Little Grapefruit turned to look for Michelle the snail. Where could she be? Our citrusy heroine peeked over the port side. Nothing, just water. Then the starboard side. Ah, there she was, her mollusc friend, scaling the barnacled (Semibalanus balanoides) hull, looking for an exposed section of turnip top. Munch munch.
5. SINKING
Little Grapefruit caught Michelle’s left eye, which had swivelled on its stalk. There was a guilty look, followed by dawning realisation, then absolute panic. Little Grapefruit groaned. They were stuck in the doldrums in Cushionpaw Bay, in deep water, without a gust of wind, and they were letting in water after the snail’s appetite got the better of her. The cats in their tower did not move to help. They were sleeping.
Then a shadow passed over the boat.
6. GUST
Little Grapefruit was too busy bailing water out of the sinking ship to see what happened next. Michelle caught a flash of white from the corner of her swivelling eye. After the event, drying off on the beach, desperately trying to salvage grapes and shredded turnip leaves that were washed ashore and then out again into Cushionpaw Bay, the two friends speculated about what had happened. The white-bearded god Manannan blowing? Finn MacCool chasing on a white stallion (Equus caballus)? The gust of a zephyr? The flap of a lost albatross’s (Diomedea exulans) wings? It did not matter. They were safe, but even hungrier than before. Little Grapefruit puffed out her cheeks and blew out a long sigh.
7. HAMMERHEAD (AKA GRISTLE)
A Sphyrna zygaena, hammerhead snout poking just above the waves, swam in a slow arc in the still waters of Cushionpaw Bay. It was newly accessorised – a red triangle draped over his back, with a large white bird at its centre. The two creatures were chatting, using a form of Gaelic that acts as a Lingua Franca in the waters off the Atlantic archipelago. Going by their body language it is probably just as well that no human talks or understands that watery dialect. Perhaps they were talking about the disappointment of the menu options from the recent wreck. The shark spat out a grape as we might a nugget of gristle. The albatross picked at its teeth.
8. TENSE
Little Grapefruit is feeling tense. While she had initially presented the events on Cushionpaw Bay in the past, her recollection of the sinking of her beautiful turnip green boat, and its aftermath, are very distinctly in the present – or is it the other way round? She cannot tell and does not have the energy to flick back. Her head is swimming. She wills the story on, plotting out the next steps. Little Grapefruit will forgive Michelle for her hunger fuelled sabotage. They will spend some time degritting from the beach. They will spin and slime their way to catch the train beside Cushionpaw Tower, waving up at the cats in the white room with black curtains by the station.
9. BACK ON TRACK
Little Grapefruit boarded the train behind Michelle, balancing on the ramp the station staff use to load the catering trolley. Apparently the barista (Homo sapiens) was stuck at Carlisle. The two friends took window seats of a sort, lodged between cases but with a view outside. It was a beautiful winter’s day, sunshine low over rooftops black from generations of coal and steam. Past a factory with tall chimneys, a warehouse district and a silver kelpie (each-uisge), six storeys high, muzzle craning upwards as if whinnying. Beyond the city they could see a volcano and a suspension bridge, waiting.
10. BRIDGE
Little Grapefruit followed the route of the train using the strange linear map that was neatly framed by the luggage rack, and the names of the stations as they whizzed past. It was an express train. The ticket inspector passed by without incident, apparently unaware of our little stowaways. The woman pushing the trolley (after Carlisle) winked and slipped them a few grapes and the contents of a green tea bag. They crossed the long bridge and the train started to slow. Half an hour later they climbed down onto the platform at Liverpool Lime (Citrus × aurantiifolia) Street Station. Any longer and they would have had to change the name of the book to Little Grapefruit Takes the Train.
11. WEST
Little Grapefruit and Michelle rushed out of the station, keen to check the ferry timetable. They found themselves in the centre of town, pavements glistening with rain, the shadow of a huge tower cast long over a hotchpotch of squares offering retail, leisure and art galleries. Michelle surmised that this town was called “Radio City 96.7”. Little Grapefruit quickly corrected her. Despite favourable conditions for snails, her zesty friend raced ahead, careering through a shopping centre with a roof garden, along Mathew Street and down to the waterfront.
12. SEA
Michelle trundled on, spending the night curled up in her shell on the windowsill of a Premier Inn. She completed the journey to the Steam Packet ferry terminus in time to board the morning sailing, meeting Little Grapefruit in the lounge beside the canteen. They were looking forward to a gentle trip, disembarking at Birkenhead, hopefully visiting The People’s Pyramid. Little Grapefruit declined the offer of a grape juice as the journey should only take a few minutes. They went out onto the deck, but rather than the Queensway Tunnel Ventilation Tower, all they could see was the open sea.
13. MANANNAN
And so our tale of Little Grapefruit’s maritime adventures with the snail can finally begin. Out in the Irish Sea the ferry had to yield to the whims of Manannan, the god with which it shared a name, accepting the buffeting of wind and wave, and sometimes rock or even sea creature (various). The two friends looked at each other over the rims of their respective sick bags, rather wishing that they were still in the doldrums of Cushionpaw Bay, or swimming for their lives from a hammerhead shark and displaced albatross.
14. WAVES
Little Grapefruit considered her options. Listening carefully to the announcements it was clear that they had barely started the journey to the Isle of Man. Perhaps Michelle could talk to one of the cabin crew and persuade the captain to turn back. Another sequence of seven waves slammed into the hull, turning Little Grapefruit the colour of a lime (ibid.), or perhaps a Jamaican tangelo (AKA ugli) fruit (Citrus reticulata × Citrus paradisi). The snail did not look as if she could go anywhere, or talk anyone round, let alone a ferry. They cabin crew soldiered on, collecting used bags from passengers across the ship. Little Grapefruit felt under her seat for a life jacket, longing for dry land.
15. OFFICE BEAVER (#)
And so it was that Little Grapefruit found herself in the waters off New Brighton, bobbing along past Wallasey, Leasowe Lighthouse and the Royal Liverpool Golf Club, landing on Hilbre Island just before nightfall. There was a small immigration office, where a beaver (Castor fiber) welcomed Little Grapefruit by asking what brought her to the River Dee.
(#) With thanks to regular GANTOB contributor JR for this idea.
16. DUNLIN
Little Grapefruit spent a few days on the main Hilbre Island, watching the birds (various) and grey seals (Halichoerus grypus), checking in with the beaver each morning. The storm had passed and the ferry was nowhere to be seen. Little Grapefruit wondered how snail was coping with the sea sickness.
While our heroine watched for another ferry to continue her journey in these calmer seas she spotted legs and boots and buckets, as children splashed in rock pools. She followed behind, avoiding the sharp beaks of dunlin (Calidris alpina) and oystercatchers (Haematopus ostralegus) and the webbed feet of Brent geese (Branta bernicla).
17. CRATERS
Little Grapefruit chose her route carefully, circumventing the footprints of the human beings in the mudflats, which would trap her like craters. She paid close attention to the positioning of the grey seal pups on the rocks too. She was not sure what they ate.
It was hard going. She was slipping up a slope, on seaweed, wet rocks and slimy concrete. And then tarmac, drains, kerbs and leaves. She sheltered under a tree, trying to find her bearings. West Kirby. She had found herself back on the mainland. So she looped back across to Birkenhead, under the Mersey in a terrifying tunnel ride, searching out the ferry. She did not even consider visiting The People’s Pyramid on the way.
18. FELLOW TRAVELLERS
Little Grapefruit discovered that the planned Liverpool sailing had been rescheduled for Heysham. She was lucky to catch the bus put on for inconvenienced passengers by the ferry company. She rolled into the back seat and found herself face-to-face with a tiny version of herself. Her companion looked a bit squashed. Our intrepid traveller wondered if somebody had put a suitcase on the seat earlier. But no, this was a kumquat (Citrus japonica). AKA “little orange” in Cantonese.
19. ALGEBRA
The ferry sailed on a crisp autumnal morning, just before noon. Little (Grapefruit + Orange) sat at the front of the Manxman ferry, sipping a cocktail from two straws. The paper cup rather detracted from the effect, but the sticky mess of room temperature juice (grape + orange) certainly hit the spot. They made good progress until the mist started to descend.
20. BELL
Slippery St Mary’s Isle, another tidal island, this time in Douglas Bay, was playing tricks with time. The tendrils of mist from the tips of the fingers of Manannan, god of the Irish Sea, coalesced into impenetrable fog. The distance between the reef and the ferry appeared to telescope, at least in the mind of the captain. There would not be enough space to put up all her passengers in the Tower of Refuge on the tiny island. It was then that she heard the ringing from long ago when there was last a functioning bell in the tower.
21. PARALLAX
High up on Snaefell, the mountain that dominates the middle of the Isle of Man, a hare (Lepus timidus) munched on heather (Calluna vulgaris). The events in Douglas Bay, behind St Mary’s Isle, were revealed to her in snatches of parallax. The mist of the god Manannan’s limbs, beard and fingers crept across the still waters. Sometimes it parted to show the Manxman ferry as it decelerated into the port, halting if the way was not clear. Seabirds (various) formed the final moving part of this maritime triptych, chasing the fish (predominantly Pollachius pollachius) that followed the deity and ship.
22. STUCK
Meanwhile, Michelle was waiting patiently at the ferry terminal, much as you or I might if a friend had missed a bus. What’s a day or two between such longstanding amigos? On arrival in Douglas, she had quite a rush to slide down the ramp from ferry to dock. Recovering, she had slept the first 24 hours nestled into her shell, a meter or two up from a colony of barnacles. They had tried to communicate (Gaelic for the snail, Manx for the barnacles), but found themselves rather stuck on vocabulary and syntax. The next day, anticipating Little Grapefruit’s approach, Michelle hid behind a strut on the wharf, avoiding seagulls.
23. DOCKING
An eventually… eventually, after 23 hours at sea, the mists of Manannan’s fingers loosened from the ferry and the vessel slipped into port. Little Grapefruit rolled off, down the ramp, through the terminal and followed the marina round to a huge supermarket. She was so tired that she did not even have the energy to make it all the way up to the grapefruit section. She made do with the blood oranges (Citrus × sinensis), nestling up to them, separated only by red netting.
24. YACHTS
The following morning Little Grapefruit was up early, eager to explore. She took a roll by the marina, enjoying the lapping of the waves on the wall, the wheedling call of the gulls (various), and the slapping of the rigging against the masts of the yachts. Nobody stirred on the boats. They were moored, perhaps for the winter, oblivious to the morning sun brushing the gentle waves, promising a beautiful day ahead. Little Grapefruit listed the names she could read on the yachts: My Nook, Murrain, Batavia, Buddyboy.
25. MANURE
Michelle the snail realised that she had missed Little Grapefruit’s arrival on the Isle of Man. She left the port and slipped along the seafront with its grand Victorian terraces, taking in the sight. There was a statue of Norman Wisdom and another of the three Bee Gees. But Michelle was not really interested in them. She did not even seem to notice the sign in the cliffs marking the Electric Railway terminal. No, our be-shelled friend was transfixed by the sweet stench of damp, dank horse manure, from the beasts pulling the seaside trams.
26. LADIES NIGHT
Little Grapefruit meanwhile was having a rather more indoorsy time. She had stumbled across a club holding a curiously titled “Ladies Night”. A tortoiseshell cat, without a tail, welcomed her to a bar that was stuck in the 1950s. All stag (Cervus elaphus) heads and elephant (Loxodonta africana) feet. She accepted a tequila sunrise and rolled onto a velvet sofa with half its tassels removed. She could, she thought, grow accustomed to a Manx life.
27. SALTY DOG (*)
As the tequila started to take effect, Little Grapefruit felt herself change from a pinky yellow to a reddish orange. The sound in the club morphed into a dampened and echoey fug. In her daze she heard the barman ask for a highball glass and some salt. He was teaching an apprentice how to make cocktails. The glass was inverted and dipped in the sodium chloride crystals. Two measures of vodka to four parts fruit juice. Little Grapefruit was zoning out, but then she heard the words “and a segment of grapefruit”, spoken with a sideways look at our heroine, who hot footed it out back onto the glistening street.
(*) Canis lupus familiaris
28. POSTCARD
While Little Grapefruit was freewheeling through the streets of Douglas, Michelle was facing a dilemma. Coated in horse manure, she was desperate for a good wash. Unable to access the public convenience on the seafront she looked longingly out to Douglas Bay, wondering how she could ever cross the hazardous expanse of sand. She considered hitching a ride with a herring gull (Larus argentatus) or dog, but decided against both options.
So it was a rather stinky snail who joined a hungover Little Grapefruit on the horse drawn tram, looking rather like the aftermath of a 1950s “saucy” postcard.
29. OBLIVIOUS
If you have been wondering what the hare was up to on the wintry peak of Snaefell, well wait no more. Spotting Michelle and Little Grapefruit heading out of Douglas, the furry bounder hopped from the mountain top down to the sunny streets of the capital, sunglasses at the ready against the glare of the low rays on the water. She moved at lightning speed, topping up on supplies and weekly essentials, before heading back into the mountain in time for the arrival of Michelle and Little Grapefruit on the Snaefell railway.
30a. SNAIL CONVENTION
A little-known fact is that at the top of Snaefell each year there is a small snail convention. This is not a measure of the size of the gathering (which is strikingly popular), more a reflection of the physical characteristics of the molluscs eligible to attend. Michelle, a common or garden C. aspersum, was a couple of centimetres too tall, so had not received an invite. She spotted an arctic whorl snail (Vertio modesta) who she knew from her childhood in the Cairngorms. And in the sea snail section (gills) she recognised a Jujubinus striatus who had arranged a special transfer in a tank of sea water from Peel, making the final leg of the journey on the mountain railway at the same time as our own snail and her rindy companion. It was grazing on seagrass (Zostera marina), relishing some time away from its cousin J. exasperatus.
30b. SLOW SESSION (AKA SNAIL CONVENTION part 2)
A tiny Otina ovata acted as interpreter between the water breathing Jujubinus, with its ctenidia, and the other snails (various) in the conversation. The Otina, measuring a couple of millimetres, shuttled down and up from the surface to the bottom of the tank, relaying messages before surfacing for air, a quick rest, and the next instalment. It was a slow session, which suited the snails very well. The mountain hare and Little Grapefruit, however, quickly got bored waiting for their friend, so hovered impatiently at the door.
31. HARES
The snow fell on Snaefell. It left a white blanket 6cm thick. The only indent on the summit of the mountain was one of the hare’s forms, warm from generations of hare’s family. Little Grapefruit, Michelle and the O. ovata, perching on the larger mollusc’s shell, listened to the hares tell their tales from the peak – of mining disasters and plane crashes, the flora and fauna and the eccentric goings on. Eventually they drifted off to sleep.
32. FREEZING
The hares were gone the next day. In the absence of fur, the form became just another dent on the summit of Snaefell. Little Grapefruit, Michelle and the miniature stowaway snail woke cold and stiff. The snow had turned to ice overnight. The going was treacherous, but they realised that they would not survive much longer in the open. So they kept moving, trying to find their way back to the café in the building at the top of the mountain railway.
33. PEEL
The following morning, the cold has deterred all but one passenger on the Snaefell mountain railway. A woman in a green dress emblazoned with clashingly pink grapefruit steps out into the biting alpine air. She walks past the café and visitor centre and totters like a penguin up towards the cairn. She feels and hears a crunch. Looking down she sees the gooey, shardy mess of a snail crushed under her shoe. A little further on she finds a grapefruit wedged between a rock and the leg of a bench. She picks it up, brushes it against her dress, unpeels the fruit, removing the pith, and gobbles it the messy way, biting into its sweet bitter flesh.
As she slurps and swallows, she finds herself spinning, despite the dangers of the ice. It is a beautiful clear day. While she spins, she realises she can see her entire fiefdom – Snowdon in Wales; towns, woodland and the hills of the Lake District in England; the peak of Cairnsmore of Fleet in Galloway, Scotland, otherwise shrouded in mist; a long stretch of Irish coast from south to north. She decides to make the most of the sunlight on a winter’s day and opts to head across the Irish Sea to the Antrim coast. She ignores the return railway ticket in her pocket, and her sticky hands and chin. She keeps spinning all the way down the mountain and then along to Peel where she persuades a fisherman (with a hoop in his ear like a pirate) to cancel his plans. They sail in a straight line at her strict instruction, in his souped-up vessel, towards Belfast. She will be able to find her way from there.
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