2 saved, 2 dead part 1
Yes, still no broadband. Still on the 32 kbps dial up modem (on a good day).
Tuesday night, 8 ish. After picking my daughter up from the child minder I had taken her to visit granny and granda. So a happy mini-me returned home looking forward to her bo-bo. Lights on, defrosted home made lasagne into the ove...HOLY FUCK! Why's there no water in the fish bowl ? Why is the floor wet? Shit, Shit!! The fish (both called Nemo by the way - my daughter's idea) are lying on top of the pebbles in an other ways empty spherical bowl which has a series of spiral cracks running around it. Tiny (put your thumb and forefinger up to your eye when you say tiny) is completely motionless. Big (punch the letter B when you say this) seems still but flares his discoloured gill once. I rush to find another bowl big enough trying at the same time not to alarm mini-me who is still oblivious to the drama playing out on the kitchen worktop with what is/was her very first pets. Cupping equal amounts of fish and stones I gently lay tiny and big Nemo in a salad bowl. No wriggling in my hand, no movement in the water. Fuck. I don't want to be doing the life/death conversation yet. A wetted gill moves, both fish. They start to right themselves. After 30 minutes or so the trauma seems to be past and they return to more or less normal.
There is a God. Today he is my friend. Nemo lives!
Tuesday night, 8 ish. After picking my daughter up from the child minder I had taken her to visit granny and granda. So a happy mini-me returned home looking forward to her bo-bo. Lights on, defrosted home made lasagne into the ove...HOLY FUCK! Why's there no water in the fish bowl ? Why is the floor wet? Shit, Shit!! The fish (both called Nemo by the way - my daughter's idea) are lying on top of the pebbles in an other ways empty spherical bowl which has a series of spiral cracks running around it. Tiny (put your thumb and forefinger up to your eye when you say tiny) is completely motionless. Big (punch the letter B when you say this) seems still but flares his discoloured gill once. I rush to find another bowl big enough trying at the same time not to alarm mini-me who is still oblivious to the drama playing out on the kitchen worktop with what is/was her very first pets. Cupping equal amounts of fish and stones I gently lay tiny and big Nemo in a salad bowl. No wriggling in my hand, no movement in the water. Fuck. I don't want to be doing the life/death conversation yet. A wetted gill moves, both fish. They start to right themselves. After 30 minutes or so the trauma seems to be past and they return to more or less normal.
There is a God. Today he is my friend. Nemo lives!
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