I have changed the name Flunkbum to Wisselbum. Sorry if this leads to any confusion.
Chapter three.
They say that good luck and bad luck always comes in
three’s? That is rubbish. Who are ‘they’ anyway? Do you know? Does anyone? No.
Me neither. In fact, to be perfectly frank with you, I have forgotten how much
good luck or bad luck Fishy Fishface has had so far. But let us for the sake of
not having an argument say it is about equal. Certainly, without a shadow of a
doubt, it was very lucky indeed for Fishy Fishface that Albert Wisselbum whilst
being tossed about and gasping for breath in the raging torrent of floodwater
should happen to swallow him. I mean, come on what’s the chances of that
happening? Swallowing a fish? A goldfish? In a river? No way. Added to that
Albert Wisselbum had also lost his false teeth whilst being tossed about and
gasping for breath in the raging torrent of floodwater. So, there was no risk
whatsoever of Fishy Fishface getting bitten accidentally. Okay, perhaps a
slight risk from a mild gumming but much less than if Albert had his teeth in you
must admit.
What do you think the odds of Albert Wisselbum getting
hooked by a fisherman as he floated rapidly down river were? A million to one?
I would say that’s about right. But, and I know you won’t believe this, that is
exactly what happened. You couldn’t make it up, could you?
Old Cromwell Smelly the local poacher, had fished this
river for nigh on fifty years, man and boy. That should be boy and man but
nobody ever says it that way. Man, and boy eh? Perhaps I’ll make that nigh on
seventy years because if he started fishing when he was a boy of let’s say ten
and he was old now he must be ninety years old at least. I don’t know when
people started calling him Old Cromwell Smelly but he would have been quite old
when they did. I suppose one day someone said, “Here comes Cromwell Smelly,”
and someone else said, “He’s looking old,” and from that day to this he is
known as Old Cromwell Smelly?” Makes a lot of sense to me. Let’s make it that
he had fished there for nigh on eighty years. I mean, he could be a hundred
years old for all I know. Yes, all right he had fished there for nigh on ninety
years. However long it was, it was a heck of a long time and he had never
bought a fishing permit in all that time.
He had caught some big fish in his long lifetime but
never anything as big as Albert Wisselbum who was, to put it indelicately, and
not taking political correctness too seriously, a right proper lardy fatso. But
here luck makes another fortuitous appearance because Old Cromwell Smelly was
using the same type of fishing line as that which is used to catch sharks.
Don’t ask me why. He just was, okay? Not little sharks either. Oh no. We are
talking Great White Sharks here. Okay, you can ask me why. It was a job lot he
picked up cheap at a car boot sale.
Anyway, he reels Albert Wisselbum in and pulls him
coughing and spluttering up the bank. You would think, wouldn’t you that Albert
Wisselbum having just been saved from drowning, would be grateful? But no. Not
a bit of it. Don’t forget Albert Wisselbum works for the river authority,
normally wears a peaked cap, and is therefore, duty bound to be a pain in the
ar… neck, making him an actual jobsworth. “’Ere,” he says to Old Cromwell
Smelly, ‘ave you got a permit to fish here?”
“No I ain’t,” says Old Cromwell Smelly angrily, “’ave
you got a permit to pollute the river with your fat, bloated carcass?”
“Ere, that’s enough of your cheek,” says Albert Wisselbum
in reply, “I shall be reporting you to the authorities in that on... What’s
todays date? Oh, never mind. I shall be reporting you for fishing without a
permit on whatever todays date is.”
“And I,” said Old Cromwell Smelly with an air of quiet
satisfaction, “shall report you to the Health and Safety busybodies at the town
hall for being in or on the river without a life jacket.”
Albert Wisselbum was so shocked by this audacious
counter argument that he began to splutter with rage and then he began coughing
again until after one particularly strong cough who do you think popped out of
his mouth? Yes, that’s right. It was Fishy Fishface. Well done for paying
attention.
“And furthermore,” went on Old Cromwell Smelly looking
down at Fishy Fishface flopping weakly on the ground, “I shall be reporting you
for cruelty to this innocent little goldfish.”
“Oh you will, will you?” said Albert Wisselbum, “in
that case you will need some proof,” and with that he quickly scooped up Fishy
Fishface and shoved him into the pocket of his hi-vis health and safety jacket
with the stuck zip and walked off along the riverbank looking back over his
shoulder and laughing, “Hahaha, where is your proof?”
I would like to say, he laughed all the way back to
his house, but I can’t because I don’t know and besides, it was getting dark. If
I had to guess though, I would think not, because it is difficult to keep laughing
when your boots are wet and your socks all squishy.
What Albert Wisselbum failed to notice due to being
soaking wet and cold was the young man who had filmed the whole thing on his
smart phone and was now uploading the video to Facebook. Where in just a few
hours it will have notched up over twenty million views. Not that it makes any
difference to this story. Because I probably won’t be mentioning it again.
