The (almost) Great Escape – the story of a brave fish called Fred.
It was dinnertime. Tummy’s were a-rumbling. Concentration was a-tumbling. The lake looked a-pretty and the view was a-humbling. So my housemate Federica and I walked round it to find some grub. We came to a nice little Bia Hoi joint across the road from the water. The menu was in Vietnamese. As one might have predicted. Luckily I had a small phrasebook in my pocket. And I’ve memorised Thit Cho (Fried Dog) so that I never inadvertantly order it. I still have to drive past a dead dog market every day though. The poor fuckers always have a look of surprise on their crispy roasted faces. As though some trusted human was feeding them Pedigree Chum right before a metal stave was stuck through their little doggy heart.
So we ordered a few non-canine dishes and settled back to drink a few beers, wipe away a few tears, say cheers. The food came. Damn delicious stuff. I used to hate spinach. I always reckoned it tasted like ink. I’m not sure exactly how I came to this conclusion – having never sucked on a fountain pen or done shots of Bic’s finest, but I reckoned it anyway. But fly me halfway across the planet, fry me some green stuff with a little garlic, and try renaming it to Morning Glory, and you’ve got yourself a healthy(ish) dish that the Buck is happy to call his friend. Morning Glory. It’s such a nice name for a vegetable. I bet Popeye used to wake up with Olive some days with a bit of Morning Glory.
We ate the delicious food and talked about Italy. Federica is Italian. Italy sounds cool. And the people there are clearly very serious about their food. Which is cool. If a nation is going to be really serious about something then I think food should be that something. Better than being really serious about bombs or toothpicks or something equally prosaic.
As we cleared up the last of the Morning Glory, and wiped the noodle remnants from the corner of our mouths, the highlight of the evening occurred. It may yet turn out to be the highlight of the week, but given that it’s only Wednesday today, I dont think I’m yet qualified to make that kind of assertion. To my left a tank of fish had been swimming merrily all evening. I suppose its possible that the owners of the joint kept some Halibut as household pets, but I’m guessing that these boys were destined for the Wok. One of the fish was called Fred. Fred the Fish. Fred was a smart fish. He knew what was going down. He had seen his friends Barney & Betty leave the tank a few days previously. He suspected they weren’t coming back. Fred could smell the putrid loveliness of Dong Da lake, just across the road. If he could bounce there, perhaps he’d meet his childhood sweetheart – Wilma. They could have fish babies, and live a life of serenity.
So Fred made his bid for freedom. He took a swimming jump (the aquatic equivalent of a running one) and leapt clear of Tony & Gordon, two mackerel acquaintances. Fred hit the ground flapping. Just..a..few…more…feet…or…maybe…a…few…more…. hundred. A game of draughts (or chequers, depending on ones linguistic heritage) was hastily interrupted. A young man blocked Fred’s path while the crowd looked on. I was silently rooting for my finned friend to escape the clutches of his jailer. Just like I rooted for Steve McQueen in The Great Escape. But Fred didn’t have a motorbike to get away on. Perhaps more importantly, he was having a wee bit of trouble getting enough oxygen to help him breathe. The young draughtsman won the day. Fred was tossed unceremoniously back into his cell. And by now, he may well be no more. Goodbye Fred.
Tags: Fish, Hanoi, Vietnam
The Dude
me and my mate are real admirers of you we love your writings and we love you too but we do not think you are real but you are just a figment of our imagination prove to us you are real.
Sure. I just pinched myself and it hurt. Oh, and I’m drinking mineral water from a coffee cup. Imaginary people always use plastic beakers and straws.
Todah Rabah. M’Efoh Atem B’Yisroel?
we shall never reveal ourselves to you but we are following your activities very closely and we can suddenly appear when you are least expecting.the next pot of noodles you eat check them carefully as we may be hidden inside them.
shalom mimakom sodi
I do love a mystery.