Peddlars of Fish

Reeking Lums,

Monday here in Lumville and as I promised myself, today was going to be the day I sort through the pile of tat I managed to stuff into two packing boxes and get past security on my final day at work. I was beginning to get a little e-roused at the thought of the potential on-line auction action that I may get out of this haul. I decide, because I'm an organised, structured kind of fellow, to sort the booty into three piles, compostable, to take into account my new green ethics, burnable, I figured that if I made a ceremony of it, maybe dance around the pyre in homemade animal costumes or something, it would provide closure, and most excitingly, e-bayable.

After an hour or two, my excitement had dwindled to barely. The compostable pile had nothing in it at all. The untidy e-bay pile consisted of , 1 teach yourself French textbook, 1 step counter, 2 covert surveillance devices (don't ask), 1 IBM thinkpad power lead, 1 Caledonian Sleeper disposable hygiene kit and the contents of 16 business class complimentary toiletry bags from British Airways, Air France and Quantas. Now, I'm am an optimistic e-bayer, with a healthy feedback score too, but even I could see that only the most misguided of car boot devotees would have his eyes turned by that lot.

The burnable pile however was almost as tall as me. Given that I live right under the approach for Glasgow airport, I'd be worried about setting fire to it in case the authorities mistook it for a downed Jumbo.

By this time it was too late to go on my continuing quest for bacon roll perfection. Bacon rolls should not be consumed after 11am. But I had another search to perform that took me to the heart of downtown Kirky. Three salmon fillets were to be found and persuaded to join us for tea.

I stomped up and down the high street, trailing little yappy behind me but to no avail. Plenty of charity shops, bookmakers,travel agents, hairdressers, take-aways and cafes, but no fishmonger. There was a little lopsided box trailer in Sainsburys car park that had the promise of "Fresh Fish Sold Daily" but Mondays appear to have fallen out of his week, as the shutters were firmly down.

Why did fishmongers not make it into the 21st Century high street? Butchers did, bakers did, OK, Candlestick makers didn't, but they barely made it into the 20th Century High Street. I can understand why tobacconists and milliners didn't survive, but we still all eat fish. Its too easy to blame the supermarkets, that's undoubtedly true, but we seem to be more loyal to our butchers, why didn't fishmongers receive that loyalty and trust from us too. When I was a boy, getting dragged to the fishmongers was one of the highlights of the shopping trip. The one in Dunblane had a great big window with water streaming down the inside of it, the trays of ice with unfamiliar and impressive fish laying out with the fishmonger, in his stripey apron, welly boots and rosy cheeks ready to dispense fish related advice.

I had to resort to the supermarket after that, it was my only hope, and they had me. I had to buy, not three salmon fillets, like the brief prescribed but four, because they were all pre-packed. We must buy a lot of food we don't want because the supermarkets have begun to pre-pack virtually everything. Even bananas which kind of come pre-packed already.

The supermarket had another treat in store for me with a full assault on my eyes by the dreaded navel gap.

There comes a time in the development of a mans beer belly when the trousers kind of just give up trying to go around the waist, and just slip under it. This is good news for the host of this belly, as he can claim to still be getting into a 34' waist. But if nobody has told his jumper that it is expected to make up the difference then there is an inevitable gap between bottom of straining jumper, and top of exhausted trousers. From the big fellas point of view, everything looks fine and dandy, he cant see his feet, but why does he need too, he knows there there because he was helped on with his shoes this morning. But we just get this pasty white, swollen mass with that frightening belly button, searing its image to the back of your conscience, like the eye of Mordor, you just know your going to be seeing it whenever you close your eyes in the coming week.

Still no publishing deal or film rights offer for the reeking lum, I should start looking for a job.

Lang may yer lum reek.