Sunday, 26 September 2010

Sleeping with fishes

I am short on entertainment for you, having barely moved from this chair for five days. I will however try to scrape the barrel as best I can.

1. The ongoing fishpocalypse (I reckon I'm over halfway, after four and a half days work without interruption and a newfound intimacy with individual transferable fishing quota rights that I never imagined, or indeed aspired to) means that I have not been able to cook, clean, wash, or purchase food, let alone luxuriate in such frivolities as hoovering, paying bills and brushing my teeth. I am wearing Gap jeans circa 1998 from the bottom of the washing basket, a moth eaten jumper and a hoodie covered in mud and dog hair. I have developed a dowager's hump and a permanent scowl and spoken to noone but canines. My waking dreams are all of deep tissue massage, salt scrubs, spas, teams of industrial cleaners and fresh, nourishing food. My nighttime dreams, such as they are (Bob's ceaseless nocturnal vigilance against the forces of insurgency, or dust, continues), are all of hake.

2. "Bob" the covert ops dog seems to have developed stress related alopecia. My whole kitchen floor, indeed, all my floors, are covered in clumps of long, coarse black dog hair. It is a charming development. Perhaps I will have to give him back bald? I would imagine this might lead to me being terminated in a no fuss, professional hit. Frankly, if the fishpocalypse, and Bob's incessant barking, go on much longer, I will be begging for exactly that.

3. I have whined extensively to my dearest and dearest about both elements of my current predicament. Their suggestions are not entirely practical.

B suggested I should organise an illegal caged fight between the two dogs and open a book on it. Then, he thought, he and I could give up our respective careers and concentrate on illegal pet sports betting. This is not as good as some of his previous ideas for our alternative careers, such as cat couture (but not cat shoemaking "I'm usually too drunk for that cobbling shit"), or a petting zoo in my back yard full of creepy animals ("like goats. I love those calmly evil motherfuckers"), only because no-one would pay to watch my bag of bones and a bearded sausage shamble around looking haunted and failing to draw blood. When things got really tense, they might jostle for the best spot for lying down and falling asleep.

H has decided I should write a series of spy books with dogs as the main characters. SpyDogz will be the next big thing, she assures me, but unless I am hallucinating, I am fairly sure I saw Mission Impossible remade with guinea pigs at Christmas, so I think the train has already left on the anthropomorphised pet espionage stories.

M just sings "Les poi SSONS!" from the Little Mermaid to me, repeatedly.





Since I have never seen the Little Mermaid I had no idea what on earth she was talking about. Sometimes she mixes it up by telling me how incomprehensible my translation will be. "Like it was written by monkeys!" She is correct.

F thinks that my whole predicament is probably the fish taking their revenge after the fish pedicure. "You'll wake up with a severed tuna head in your bed tomorrow", she predicted sagely. "The fish, they do not forget".

The CFO just laughed uncontrollably when he saw me with "Bob" and asked whether I wanted a lead for one of the tortoises too. He updated me fully on tortoise health issues when I saw him earlier today. They are all "in" for the winter. One of them is having difficulty maintaining weight. One has an eye problem. I felt like a racehorse owner talking to the head groom, though I was not allowed to look at the tort spreadsheet. He has not seen the hedgehog babies since that first encounter. I do hope this will not become a sad story.

I have to go. The fish cannot wait another minute. Oh! I have promised the return of the Confessional, so get preparing your sins. I think we might reopen on Friday. I bet you've been bad.

16 comments:

soleils said...

The Spy Dog series already exists, I'm afraid (written by Andrew Cope - my boy has possibly read them all by now). How about Spy Hake? Colin l'espion? Or is it Merlu l'espion? Merlu lends itself to better rhymes.
Bon courage.

Alison Cross said...

The horse's head in the bed scene *shudder* reminds me of my pre-menopausal monthlies.

Do mafioso fish send you to sleep with the bluetits maybe?

Ali x

Xtreme English said...

sins? i never go anywhere, i never do anything. my diet has been selected by a 10-year-old, and all i drink, mostly, is jug wine mixed with diet coke. (calimocho, the spanish call it)

i bought a kate atkinson book today. funny so far.....

the polish chick said...

alison, dear lord, i am in equal parts horrified and fascinated by that comment.

waffle, your pet fight sounds very much like the UFC fight we watched last night (don't ask) - a whole lot of circling, flailing around and increasingly frustrated commentators, one of whom finally exclaimed: somebody, please, DO something!

and i beg you, no spy dogs. all those anthropomorphic tales give me the creeps. i already feel judged by my family's cats.

also, i keep forgetting to tell you that i had a free tiny-crab pedicure - merely by virtue of wading into the water and standing still. it was pretty neat, although rather ticklish.

be brave, the fish will soon be (in) water under the bridge.

startmyheart said...

I am disproportionately excited to participate in my first BW Secular Confessional! So much so that it's actually led me to comment here for the first time. I had thought about asking you if you were going to do another Confessional soon but didn't want to disturb you during the fishpocalypse.

Are you sure the weepette isn't surreptitiously ripping Bob's fur out? Perhaps he's tapped some previously hidden reserves of ferocity and there's actual physical contact between them when you're not looking. No? Probably not? Ok.

Anonymous said...

My daughter wants to know if two hedgehog babies can fit in a strawberry. Would you know?

Tilia

Jaywalker said...

Tilia - That depends if their mother has eaten them. But, uh, maybe don't tell your daughter that.

Polish Chick, your crab pedi horrifies me. That is all.

Ellie said...

oh. my. god.

hairyfarmerfamily said...

Fuck! Forgot tortoise! Is still outside. *slamming of door*

Betty M said...

Do NOT watch the Little Mermaid. Your brain will rot and finishing the fish extravaganza won't be possible and you need to finish it.

Lauren R said...

This has nothing to do with today's post but I can't help leaving a comment anyway.

I've noticed that many of your posts are in regard to how little of interest you have to share with your dear readers, and I'd like to set your mind at ease. I just heard a national public broadcast show (here in the U.S.) which features a daily geography quiz. Its hint on today's featured country: it is known for its dullness. Immediately I knew the answer. I waited through the interminably long bad musical jingle they played while we all pondered our answers, and I was rewarded with the confirmation of my guess. Well worth the wait. Yes indeed, when you are on national radio and you are giving a hint about today's featured location -- Belgium -- you say "It's known for being rather on the boring side."

This will likely explain and excuse any trouble you might have coming up with interesting posts in the future. It's truly not your fault.

Margaret said...

Belgium dull? Are you crazy? With Queen Fabiola's bouffant and the Potato Parliament and all the beer drinking and interminable bank holidays? It's more like the Vegas of Europe! A Vegas full of endive and judgment.

Jaywalker said...

"A Vegas full of endive and judgment".

I love that.

Madame DeFarge said...

You put me right off fish and dogs for life. You should purge your life of all animal forms and devote yourself to endless self-adornment.

Jaywalker said...

The squalor, Madame DeFarge! It is unimaginable. And tragically, the fishpocalypse will not bring in enough money to enable me to hire a cleaner.

Anonymous said...

I have looked much more closely at "Bob, the dog" and am becoming more convinced that he is not really a dog but possibly some alien life form sent to spy on "earthlings" (no, he is not a scientologist either). He has very weird eyes (or, at least, photographs that way).

Watch out that he doesn't "turn" the Weepette.
Pat (from Belgium brain totally fried visiting family in Florida)