This leaves me in a three month dilema. I do not know what the hell moons spawn is, was, will be or wherever. My knowledge of SF and fantasy failing to furnish me with a reliable cookie stealing tactic, I restudy all the Captains posts, and it is then I identify his tragic flaw. He is seventeen.
After getting a haircut and a new suit, I speed up to Winchester in my BMW 5 series 2.8 litre FM and start trolling through all the bars. Eventually I meet Mr and Mrs Corrigan (artistic license, I did not want to publish their real names on the internet) and proceed to show them printed copies of all his LO posts. Believing me to be a sergeant in the global internet police, they agree to question their son for me, without revealing my involvment, in return for not sending him to Borstal, where he would probably become the victim of some sexual shennanigans.
Under the threat of having his allowance stopped, having to cook his own meals, and having to do his own laundry, Captain Corrigan breaks down in tears, and admits to stealing cookies. Telling him its ok, and honesty is always best, his parents comfort him, and get him to download the cookie onto a memory stick which they promply turn over to me. I ask them not to be too harsh with him, things could be much worse - he could be looking at porn.
With the cookie in my possession again, I return to south Wales. But now the cookie is divorced from the internet, and exists on a memory stick in the real world. Being only a sad old electrician, and not emperor of the universe, I do the best I can, and hide the memory stick in a bird nesting box in my garden.
MY COOKIE !