h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

The first time ever I saw a plaice was on a fishmonger's counter in Carlisle.

We lived in two rooms at the back of a large house - a proper "Big House" with a gravel drive and everything - and had the exclusive use of a toilet at the bottom of the garden. To the side of the house was a water mill. By crawling through the hedge next to the shed that housed the toilet I was able to get onto the lane that ran alongside the stream that ran under the mill. Along the lane at ten yard intervals stood some locals with crude fishing rods, really no more than sticks and string with a hook on the end. I didn't know then of the seasons and the runs of eel to and from the Sargasso Sea to Carlisle, but I have a very distinct memory of one day seeing all the men, for they were exclusively men, with writhing heaps of eel at their feet. I asked one men that I had seen around a few times what they did with the eels.

"Come to front gate in mornin, 'bout four, before sun comes up, an I'll show thee what happens t'eels."

It was not unusual for any of us to sneak out to the toilet at night, so I made sure I was positioned on the outside of the bed that I shared with my brother and cousin, and kept a watchful eye on the big luminous hands of the wall clock that my Aunty Rosemary had given us all through the night. At a quarter to four, I shrugged off the blanket and quickly dressed in jumper and trousers. I slipped ot of the house and wriggled through the hedge and ran round the wall to the front gate. Four men stood there with a large bucket, each full of twisting and thrashing eels of many colours and sizes, in each hand. They ignored me, but I followed them down the cobbled streets into the town. every so often a smaller eel would escape from a bucket and try for the nearest drain. Once I managed to catch one and return it to its bucket, but my effort was ignored.

Just as the sky was lightening we reached the market place, filled with pens of sheep and cows. To one side, in front of the police station, was a fish stall with a large barrel to the side. One by one the men argued with the fishmonger and then tipped the contents of his buckets into the barrel. Until that moment, the only fish I had ever seen or touched was an eel, a round long wriggly eel. But there, on the fishmongers counter, were wooden crates filled with the opposite: flat fish with two terrified eyes staring at me. I dabbed a finger.

"What'r them, Mister?" I asked the blue-striped fishmonger.

"Plaice" he replied. "Now bugger off lill'un. 'For you feels the sole of me boot." The men laughed.

I ran all the way home and snuck back into my bed. And, from that day to this I have told no-one, until you today, of the first time ever I saw a plaice.

Lovely.

I don't believe a word of it, though.

Such cynicism in one so young!! Why on earth would I lie to you, Bel?

Li to me? You wrote this for me?

No, dear Bel, I certainly did not! You just happen to be the only reader.

I wrote it to win.

Hopefully there will be a special category for fishy tales based on song titles. And I could be the only entry, and then I will win. Hurrah!

Or another for true childhood tales made to look like a fishy tale! And I could win that too! Double Hurrah!

Since your writing is so excellent and this could be true (only that I don't *think* it is), I guess your chances to win are quite good.

Oh lovely. Beautiful detailing.

Gotta have a fishy tail or two.

Why, I wonder, was it the plaice you chose to remember as the first? Was it not also your first sight of an eel? And touch? And what's this about a song title? *narrows eyes*

I was, as a child of tender years, familiar with eels, and often watched them being pulled out of the mill stream. So much so that I thought that was what all fish were like, I knew no others. Imagine, then, the astonishment at seeing a fish flat instead of round, two eyes on the same side, instead of opposite sides, and brown on top, white underneath, rather than the same colpur all over!

Ahem..

Song titles?? I don't know what you mean!!

**Blushes**

You'll be accusing me of writing just to making puns next...

**Unconvincing self-righteous outrage**

Excuse me Pheroneous II, who wrote this thing, me or you?? Mind your own business, please. This is my childhood we are talking about, not yours. It is, I may remind you, the hardships that I had to put up with that enabled the namby-pamby existence that you are privileged to lead! And I resent any implication that Roberta Flack or Ewan McColl or Leona lewis or anyone else had anything to do with it!