I suppose as a kid I had fond memories of funfairs, dodgem cars, ghost trains, ridiculous houses that had wobbly floors and rotating rooms, an array of life threatening rides testified as being safe by somebody that wrote fake MOT certificates for a living, ah happy days. Of course my most endearing memory is one of being able to win a goldfish for a range of skilled activities such as 21 Or Under, Get a Hoop Over a Square, Hit an Ace with a dart, Spell Your Own Name … okay so made the last one up but you get the idea. Basically your average goldfish was practically given away with a box of cereal. Of course the real fun started after you had got it, there you were going for the eight foot teddy bear for a loved one and then suddenly you are the proud parent of a 2 inch long golden fish, excluding the flaky white and black spots giving you a good indication of whether you needed to buy a small round bowl and a plastic skull or not. As a parent things went one of two ways; the thing either died before you got it out of the plastic mobile bag home – often the case if they lived in it for more than three or four days – or it lived forever. The latter was certainly the case with ‘Jaws’, who I eventually gave away out of boredom in favour of more interesting pets like hamsters and then graduating onto rats. At one stage I was going for the African Grey Parrot but opted for the colour TV instead, life’s like that sometimes. I suppose in hindsight I can understand why the RSPCA might want to clamp down on the gambling for fish practices that run amok in the eighties but have things gone too far?
A March evening, a rapidly growing daughter and a trip to the retail park snapped me back into the present with its rules and regulations. Don’t sell fruit and veg by the pound (or fish for that matter), don’t say short, say vertically challenged, don’t work more that six feet off the ground without paying half a million pounds to a scaffolding company, don’t expect to be able to just buy a goldfish. Wait a minute; buy a goldfish, how hard can that be? Surely you can just pick up a box of Frosties? No, no, no, if only it were that simple but bureaucracy is endemic even here now as I, to my amazement, and my daughter, to her heartbreak was about to discover.
Now, where possible we like to do things right. Having been asked if she could have a goldfish (well actually she wanted a pet and Tina and myself wanted something simple to keep and may have lead her down the fish route) we agreed and decided that we would buy a sensible sized tank, filter, light, gravel, plastic plant, required plastic bridge, net (to fish out the dead ones with) and tasteful scenic backdrop of peaceful aquatic life. Not as easy as you might think. ‘Allow one litre of water for every centimetre of fish (excluding tail.)’ I went to the pet shop to buy a fish not take an Mathematics A Level (sorry GCSE or whatever it is these days and besides I had already failed one). We held in our hands a nineteen litre fish tank. Where does the tail of a fish start? Stuff it; somebody else can do the maths we will buy two goldfish and be done with. Next problem, looking along the selection of cold water fish, which ones did not grow apparently to the size of a small whale? In fact going by the helpful facts on each of the tanks, not one of the varieties would technically fit into the tank we had chosen based on the ‘First Law of Fish Housing’ with or without bloody tails! Only one thing to do, ask the helpful and knowledgeable shop assistant – as if by magic one appeared (only a funny line to the older generation or students with a nostalgic bent). ‘Shop assistant – I would like to buy some fish to house in this fine, single storey aquatic dwelling unit.’
‘What today?’
‘No I am here due to flaw in the space time continuum and want to buy it yesterday! I appreciate the commission on a two pounds and ninety five pence Goldfish is not great, even when doubled up, but please feign some interest in my needs.’
‘You can’t take any fish home today if they are going in that.’
Stunned silence as my family looked at what we thought was a fish tank, dare we ask? ‘Why?’
‘You have to fill the tank and treat the water …’
‘What with? Chochy Drops?’
‘Tap water is bad for their scales …’
Somebody should have told Jaws that, he did alright, he’s probably still alive somewhere, a giant twenty foot goldfish saying ‘Come on bring on your damned chlorinated water I’m not scared.’
‘You need 10 millilitres of this per 35 litres of water to start and then 10 millilitres per 70 litres top up every two ….’
‘Stop, no more maths! I just want some goldfish’
‘Tomorrow sir, the tank needs to mature for at least 24 hours.’
Now came the difficulty part. ‘Hannah.’ ‘Yes daddy’, in an excited tone. ‘We can’t take any fish home today.’ She is a mature child and took it well, not that I waited around to find that out, I was already running for cover behind a large pile of bagged dog biscuits. Somehow she was persuaded that tomorrow would be a glorious day for fish purchases.
‘She took that really well’, said the shop assistant.
‘Better than me’, I thought to myself!
The knowledgeable assistant departed leaving us with strict instructions to return in twenty four hours after completing our degree in fish house engineering. We left. We returned twenty seven hours later for good measure. The aquatic section looked as deserted as the Marie Celeste with dark gloomy shadows hanging over the multitude of warm and cold water fish obscuring the view of them. Well, that and the bloody great big sign that read ‘New Fish Delivery – These fish are quarantined for 24 hours’. We seized shop assistant Mk II – apparently a full time employee, not one of these weekend wonders that obviously have no idea about anything. ‘Sir, I happened a visit to your establishment yesterday only to be told to return twenty for hours hence to procure some goldfish. Am I right in believing such a purchase cannot take place?’ That confused him.
‘No, sorry we don’t like to sell fish that have just been delivered, it upsets them.’
‘You haven’t seen upset yet my ol’ fruit, watch what she can do!’
‘Daddy, can we not buy some fishes today?’
‘Look the unfortunate shop assistant in the eyes darling and get him to explain.’ Mk II shifted uneasily as the dejected blue eyes of a three going on four year girl looked mournfully into his soul but he didn’t give in.
‘You shouldn’t have been told to come back today. It’s the weekend staff they are only part time.’
‘So they can explain the laws of goldfish housing but don’t know about deliveries? Hannah, put the cheap and tacky bridge and net to get dead fish out with back, we will take our purchases elsewhere to a shop where they actually sell things.’
Several days passed before we finally managed to buy two goldfish at a different shop - mainly out of principal. By this time the tank had time ‘to mature’ but we still couldn’t buy the fish we liked, ‘I think you will be better off with these fish, they are a bit hardier’ said assistant Mk III, ‘under the circumstances’, he said, nodding at Hannah. Who knows? They may have all been right, it has after all been a few weeks now and even though we haven’t siphoned off a quarter of the water and replaced it with treated water or cleaned the filter out, both Peter and Paul seem to be thriving well. Then again somewhere in the world I suspect Jaws is too! Epitaph …. Peter and Paul are not doing so well what with them both being dead. So much for doing things right.