Little Bill

I finally managed to secure the goldfish.  You may remember I put him on the ‘At Risk’ register because my blonde friend did not provide plants for his tank.  The Hub and I spent some of our Shop Local winnings on tank plants and then I spent the week trying to co-ordinate diaries with my BF so that I could collect him.   Once she offered me a bottle of wine (bought because it has ‘Silver’ in its name) it was amazing how quickly my engagements dried up.

He is now residing in his tank, surrounded by plants and my kettle and toaster.  There is no room for him in the lounge: the gerbil’s tank takes up half a wall and the dog’s mat, basket, toy basket and antique Woolworths chest containing his treats and accessories, takes up the rest of the room.  No matter – I spend half my life in the kitchen anyway, cooking, cleaning and avoiding the children, so Bill and I will have plenty of quality time together.

I have called him Bill after some discussion with the Hub and Spud (still in Wales but phoning home everyday to moan about his hosts because he’s not here to moan about us).  We considered Bert, Harry, Bubbles, Goldie and Fingers i.e. Goldfishfingers; if he was American it would be Goldfishsticks.  I suppose it’s daft to name him when we are only fostering him until the Hub’s nephew gives him a permanent home, but I like that it will give me the opportunity to say to my BF, when she asks how her fish is doing, ‘He’s fine.  Don’t worry, I’ll be sending the Bill to David.’

He wasn’t fine at first; he seemed to be quite upset at being taken into care and was quiet for a couple of days and off his food.  At least, I think he was off his food: we bought so many plants he couldn’t move and we couldn’t see him.  Once I had thinned them out he started swimming happily around the bowl.  At least, I think he’s happy; he doesn’t talk much.  I’m not sure if he’s shy or standoffish. 

I have come a long way as a pet owner since buying that first goldfish for Tory Boy: I left his bowl in front of the window when we went out for the day, so he would have something to look at.  We found him floating on the surface, having slowly boiled to death.  Tory Boy was upset but at least we had something ready for dinner.