So Long & Here’s One About a Fish

I have enjoyed writing this blog, and will continue to Tell Two People every day about going to Tanzania to volunteer as a homeopath with the Homeopathy for Health in Africa charity; however I think it is time to stop blogging.

For my swansong, I’ve always wanted to tell this story, so here it is. It isn’t mine, so I hope the original Mr. and Mrs. X forgive me for any embellishments.

One morning my friend came down to breakfast to find her husband muttering “le poisson est mort”. Now my friend is fluent in French, having lived in Paris for a year, but French out of context before the first cup of tea can be a bit tricky, and it took a few grimaces and subtle nods towards the fish tank before she picked up the message; the fish is dead (and floating in the tank). With three children it was necessary to use some subterfuge to race them through breakfast without spotting the floating body, but they managed it and the children were whisked off safely to school leaving Dad to dispose of the corpse.

In the playground the event was retold and the gathered mothers nodded sagely at the gravity of the situation before one piped up “well I guess you’ll be having a funeral then”. Funeral? Flippin' Heck, do kids expect funerals these days? a frantic search in the handbag produced the phone and Dad was called.

“But I put it in the bin”

“Well you will jolly well have to get it out”

“But there’s all kinds of revolting stuff in there”

“Think of your little one’s tragic faces.....” (blackmail – it always works)

So Dad had to rummage around the bin, past manky tea leaves, soggy cereal and mouldy fruit. But no joy (did he really try girls?). Desperate, he got out a carrot and began carving a goldfish, making it just thin enough so that it could wobble a bit.

When the kids got home from school, they were lined up and quietly told of the tragic demise of the fish. (To be fair, it was just something they had won at the fair, so it was never going to last very long – but of course this was not said). Sad faces all round, and the little bit of carrot was hoicked out of the water and placed in some news paper (very quickly) before being carried out to the garden where a hole was dug to hold the remains of the little fellow (sorry, carrot). Prayers were said, tears were shed and a moving moment was had by all whilst Mum finally let out a sigh of relief and mentally promised no more goldfish.

   *** Next January I plan to write a blog from Tanzania ***