Special Ops (Fish Branch)

Veteran readers (to whom my apologies for many, many things) may remember a confession, from the days of the Confessional, involving my complicity in the disposal of a small number of live tropical fish - the Pontypines - in a not entirely humane way. I think my current predicament is karmic retribution for that dark day. I am embroiled in a terrifyingly lengthy translation exercise on a fish related topic. INTO French. Every time I fumble my way through a paragraph of Fmsy (that's something to do with yield, fish fans), and stochastic stock projection, it seems that seven hundred more take its place, like a hideous DG Maritime Affairs and Fisheries sponsored hydra. I spent the whole day on it yesterday and I am still only at the bottom of page 4 (of 60). By mid-afternoon I was hallucinating hake. By six I had started on the sloe gin. How are you supposed to drink sloe gin? I was going for "neat, in full tumblers, fast". Penury is a difficult business, forcing you into unspeakable acts.

So. The rest of my natural life will be consumed with halting, bureaucratic piscine French. Serves me right. I am also translating to the melodious accompaniment of my house guest "Bob".



I say "Bob" because that might not be his real name. "Bob" is a classified dog. His owner (my neighbour) is not merely evasive, but positively secretive, both about where he is going, and when, if ever, he will return. That information is disseminated on a need to know basis, and I do not. "Bob" is similarly shrouded in secrecy. I think I might have been duped into providing a safe house for him. "For all we know" mused M "that dog is a terrorist". He is certainly very loud and spent much of the night barking at insurgents. Or possibly dust. "Bob"'s owner disappeared into the night after dropping him off last night, asking me, intensely as he stood on the threshold:

"Emma, I am going to ask you a question and I want you to think about your answer. What would you do JUST AFTER you had killed a man?"

(he's in IT, I believe)

This keeps distracting me from the fish. What would I do? Flap about ineffectually, I expect. Maybe try and do something with kitchen roll? Kitchen roll usually helps. I sort of hope that if the situation arises whilst "Bob" is in my custody, he will know what to do. He seems a relatively greedy little chap, so maybe he could dispose of the body. The whole things sounds .. exhausting though. I don't think I missed my vocation in not becoming an assassin.

I must return to the fish. If anything happens to me .. well. I have no idea. But there are five spare kitchen rolls in the basement should you need them.