"I'm back," calls Francis.
He's been in Canada. His pizza-sick topping job has yielded one significant benefit - notably, his boss' occasional desire to fly him to places to look at possible new men's grooming product ingredients.
This time, they've got themselves terrifically worked up about Omega 3. It seems that, added to moisturiser, it might do wonderful things for ageing. So Francis has been looking at fish. Dead fish, live fish but, above all, oily fish. Fish with grease issues.
"It could be the first step on the path to the secret of eternal youth," says Francis.
"As long as you didn't mind the strange, fishy smell wherever you went," I add, unhelpfully. "I bet Adonis wouldn't have gone for it."
Francis opens his suitcase and distributes presents. The children get keyrings and T-shirts. There's a can of nice-looking maple syrup.
"And there's something for you, darling," says Francis, to me. Despite myself, I feel quite excited. He hands me a parcel. It's big and heavy. Not a good sign if you were thinking - ooh, jewellery, maybe. Or scent.
I tear it open. There are two books, "Silver Harvest," which has a big picture of two boats and a fishing net on the front cover and is about sardines, and "Herring Weirs: The only sustainable fishery," which is illustrated with a picture of what looks like a small, waterbourne prison, which has to be the weir itself, and is about herring. And weirs.
"You really shouldn't have," I say. And I mean it.
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10 comments:
Hahahhaahahahaha! Hope he will be suitably punished...
I'm opening and closing my mouth here - rather fish-like, in fact.
Can't think of anything to say....
Well quite, what else can you say! At least it wasn't a dead fish wrapped up in his smalls.
Crystal xx
DJ: He has been. Believe me.
Debio: The fish action is quite enough to express solidarity (well, I assume that's what it is?)
CJ: Don't tell me you speak from experience? I certainly hope not (though it would make me feel better)
I forgot who Francis was exactly and in which way he is related to you all. It does get complicated and I do get lost, don't I? He must be a kindly uncle who travels for his job and brings back not so good presents, right? I'll get this figured out one way or the other, you wait and see!
Oh no, I see I've got that all wrong! Francis is the kindly husband who travels for his job and brings back not such good presents. Geez, will I ever get the cast of this delightful soap right? I am trying so hard and it is all so elusive! Time to take some more Geritol I think...
Hit him! With the books! Hard!
Gosh, I've been reading too much Bad Lindy.
I have something for you at my blog - not a fish, I promise.
Mya x
Poor Francs never quite gets it right does he? They say it's the thought that counts - but it's hard to guess what his thinking was here.
Also, I'm troubled by the idea of pizza-sick toppings. (Can't go back to check on the exact wording without losing the comment, but that seemed to be the general drift.) Is this something I've possibly come up against myself when buying pizzas - without knowing it...?
Sweet I: It's not just you with the problems. Sometimes I think Francis is this kindly stranger who brings no so good presents - only to realise that I've been married to him for more than a decade.
IB: Sorry - it was how he reacted when he got offered this job - as if it was a pizza with horrible topping. It's not, as far as I know, available on the shelves
But if he gets you the secret of eternal youth next time, you will share?
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