Just because I’m wearing orange linen trousers doesn’t make me a Buddhist!” Thwack went the fly swat again as I cavorted around the conservatory in pursuit of the biggest wasp I had ever seen.
“Yeah, but mum you even save flies in the butterfly net.”
Thwack! “Gotcha! Yes, but I don’t like to kill things….apart from wasps”.
Call it Karma if you will, but I was about to be tested….
“Fancy some trout?” a friend had asked. So over I went to pick up four fresh trout from my kind chum. Now there’s fresh and there’s VERY fresh. Driving back in the trusty Renault Mark II I swore I heard…no, it couldn’t be could it? A rustling from the bag on the back seat? Probably just my imagination. But then came more rustling and out of the corner of my eye I saw the bag containing said trout leap across the seat.
“Oh God they’re alive!” As the trout continued to do acrobatics in the bag I turned the CD up and drove a little faster than perhaps I should. Once back at Chez Pagan I tentatively reached for the bag which gave an almighty lurch as I picked it up. I did my best girlie scream.
“ You alright Mum, what’s that?”
“Supper, but one of them is still with us.” I dropped the bag on the draining board and stood well back.
“Don’t be daft Mum, it’s just stunned. Leave it for a while and….bloody hell, it’s alive!”
Star I, in that manly way, retreated to the lounge and peering around the corner said helpfully, ”Do something then!”
By now it was clear that while three trout were in fishy heaven the fourth was determined to prolong his mortal life. It is worth pointing out at this point that the fish are properly and humanely killed but for some reason dear Bob, (as he will forever be remembered), was made of stern stuff.
There was only one thing for it; I would have to… call The Husband.
“What are you going on about Sandra?” The Husband found it highly amusing. Luckily he was working in Our Market Town.
“ You need to come home and sort it please!”
“I’m at work, just leave it and it will stop soon”.
“No listen!” With that the bag nearly leapt into the sink. I thrust the phone towards it as the contents continued to thrash about,
“See! There’s fresh and there’s fresh- that is NOT a dead fish! I can’t have live fish cavorting on my draining board!” I was verging on the hysterical.
It was clear that Star I was hopeless as he filmed the proceedings on his phone from the safety of the conservatory.
“All right I’ll come back” My hero!
A few minutes later The Husband was sharpening his best chef’s knife, “See what you mean – Bob’s a bit lively for a dead fish”.
Bob? It seemed to me that this was not the best time to invest in a pet type relationship with Bob, err I mean the fish. I couldn’t look but from Star I’s comments I could deduce that having been hatched some time ago the trout were most definitely dispatched, ”That’s disgusting Dad. Bob’s mouth is still opening and shutting even though he’s not joined anymore!” (GCSE Biology where are you now?)
“ There you go love”. The trout were topped, tailed, gutted and in the dish with Bob indistinguishable from his fishy friends.”
Later that day The Husband produced trout stuffed with fresh herbs and lemon – delicious. But just before we all sat down to supper ….another wasp.
The last remaining Buddhist tendency left my soul-THWACK!! “ Take that waspy!”