Fishy tales

I seem to have what LSO calls “the hunting gene” and I am looking forward to going fishing again but it is unusually cold here for the season and my Parkinson’s prefers it warmer. Apart from that the Modopar® seems to be working tolerably well.

A stream runs by at the bottom of our garden and we had a very boggy swampy area covered in nettles and brambles which we couldn’t use. Many years ago we had it dug out and turned in to a small lake or perhaps a big pond is a more accurate description. There is a natural spring there and it soon filled up and was occupied by many interesting creatures including frogs which sing a wonderful chorus at this time of year.

Our neighbour has a big lake very near our house and he said I could fish there whenever I liked. I used to sit in the sunshine quite at one with the world and contentedly fish. LSO does not share my hunting gene and he stayed at home working on the computer. I caught several large carp and had a bucket ready so that I could carry them back and deposit them in our lake but I just couldn’t bear to touch them to get them off the hooks. We worked out a solution. As soon as I caught a fish I would call him on the mobile phone and he would cycle down to the lake on his mountain bike, unhook the poor fish and deposit it in the bucket of water then carry it back to our lake getting soaked through as it thrashed around in the bucket. We must have made quite a spectacle.

Writing about this I am reminded of another “fishy” story. Even longer ago I worked with school leavers going on to government training schemes. I had a colleague, Mrs Raised-Eyebrows, who was typical of the staff recruited in that era in that she detested young people in general and was usually quite nasty to them. However there was one girl to whom she really took a shine. Poor Sadie had a plethora of problems and learning difficulties. She had nothing going for her but she really was desperate to work and kept trying trying to get a placement no matter how many times she was rejected. My colleague arranged it with a friendly employer so that Sadie simply had to turn up for her interview at a fish processing factory and no matter how badly she performed she would be taken on for a trial. She spent a lot of time preparing her for the interview, gave her the bus fare and sent her off. She came back looking most displeased – not the expected result. “I don’t want to work there” she said. “I don’t want to touch fish”. “But Sadie,” said Mrs Eyebrows “we talked about the job and that you would be packing fish in tins before you went to the interview”. “I know but you didn’t say they was dead ones!” retorted Sadie with disgust. I knew what she meant!

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