So Busy weekend. First, there was sun. (Wo! Sun!)
Then I wagged Taekwon Do, to instead sit on the waterfront and look at boats, then hang out with my little bro.
I take my big sister role very seriously, so accordingly I made sure to advise him that his next facial hair decision should be based around large extended sideburns. I’m thinking circus strong man from the 1920’s. Ryan is less than certain.
Then on Saturday I went here, which is parliament, to watch my little bro do important navy things, like exchange the queens colours (my understanding is that it’s a big silky colourful flag?) and salute… And stand very still while men with swords walk around.
Oh! Oh! I think I see him! I think I see Ryan! Oh, no, that’s the Governor General.
Is that him? Over there? The one beside the guy with the white hat? No. That is a French tourist.
I’ll bet that’s him over there. Doing important things with the old flag.
No. That’s not him either. Is it just me, or do all these military folk look the same when you put them in a uniform?
Anyway. So after a rousing morning of ‘spot my blood relation’ (I did see him eventually – IN THE FRONT ROW people. My little bro is clearly a BIG FISH in the navy.) I headed out to Lyall bay.
Where I brought this:
To get myself all excited about cleaning the tank. And also because the fish-sticks haven’t eaten each other for a while, and I like to reward good behavior.
So anyway. I put my six fish into a holding bowl, with instructions to behave and play nice. Then I go downstairs and scrape algae and fish poop off my tank.
Owning fish is glamorous. Also? NOT AT ALL RELAXING.
When I get back upstairs and realise that the grey shiny thing on my carpet is Mac the stupid paradise fish. In other news, guess who learnt to jump today?
So I drop everything and run, to find Mac very still. I pick her up, and – THANK GOD – she struggles. So I drop her back into the bowl, and she lays there lethargically, while I figure out what fish CPR would look like. I once saw a fishing show where the host rocked an undersized snapper, to get water flowing over it’s gills, so I tried that, only it didn’t work quite as well on a 3 inch goldfish.
Finally after I was sure she was ok I bend down to pick up my filter, and glance back at the five fish looking back at me “I am sure that we’ve all learnt a lot from this scary near-death experience, and that it’s not going to happen – where the hell is Graham?”
Seriously. In the space of two seconds, when I bent down, and picked up the filter, he’d jumped his fishy ass out of the bowl. It took me two minutes of crawling around on the carpet before I found him in my laundry basket.
Thankfully both fish seem to be fine.
So yeah. Owning fish is unexpectedly stressful.