Carol’s goldfish (London)

Back in the 80s, I was sharing a flat with an English girl called Carol who had a goldfish.  

One day, she asked me to look after her goldfish, as she was going away on holiday in Spain for a fortnight.  

She said I had to feed it twice a day — once in the morning and once in the evening, and also change its water at least once a week.  When changing its water, I was to take the fish out and put it in a cup of clean water, clean out the bowl and change the water, then put the fish back.

After Carol left, every time I went into her bedroom to feed the fish, it would dart around the bowl madly as I approached it.  Each time I’d think, “I’m supposed to be feeding this fish to keep it alive, but it might well die of a heart attack at the rate it’s going!” 

It was even worse changing its water.  The fish would frantically dodge my attempts to pick it up (to put it in a cup of water), and it would take me ages to catch it.  I would get quite wet in the process as well.  I was beginning to get really worried about presenting Carol with a dead fish upon her return.

One day in Week Two, I was just leaving the house — all geared up for cycling in to work — when I realised I’d forgotten to feed the fish, so I went back into the house.  

As I approached the fish bowl, there was not a single movement from the fish.  For a moment, I thought it was dead. 

When I got right up to the bowl, I saw that it was still alive.  I wondered why it didn’t dart around the fish bowl like it did when I went up to feed it on previous occasions.  

Then I realised that I was wearing an orange cagoule*.  The little goldfish must’ve thought I was its mummy!

After that, I’d wear that orange cagoule when I went to feed the fish or changed its water.  Worked like magic.

(London, 1983)

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* A wind-cheater / waterproof jacket.