Ralph Oswick: Fish and frozen peas under threat in the heatwave

Just lately people have been stopping me in the street not to congratulate me on attaining the ripe old age of 70, but to enquire after my goldfish, Eric Gill, who features occasionally in this column. Eric too has just celebrated his (or is it her?) birthday. She/he is two years old roughly about now (I wasn’t present at the hatching, so it’s difficult to be precise). To celebrate, I bought Eric a simulated worm kit. It’s basically a tube of fish paste which when you squeeze it, what looks like wiggly worms are deposited in the water. Ever seen a goldfish doing piranha impressions? Eric is now huge and sports a splendid flowing fan of a tail and a roundness of belly worthy of an Eastern potentate. A move to more spacious premises is on the cards, although his/her current residence is not your average globe but a top of the range affair of jumbo proportions. Apparently, like pot plants, fish grow exponentially. The bigger the container, the bigger its occupant. As I have pointed out at length in the past, it’s not just the case of popping the creature into a bowl and hoping for the best. This approach simply doesn’t work, as many a post-fairground bereavement has shown over the years. Apart from all the various antialgae and purification treatments, frequent changes of water, nitrate and nitrite testing, holiday feeding arrangements and filter rinsing, there’s been the added trauma brought on by the recent heat wave. Eric’s giant bowl acts as a lens and if I forget to draw the curtains there’s a danger of coming home to find my glittering pet has become a boil in the bag fish supper. And just like plants, fish need a good talking to. Eric and I have had many an elevating conversation, mostly about sans serif typefaces naturally (Eric Gill. Get it?). And my neighbour who kindly acts as fishsitter when I’m away freely admits to delivering a cheery ‘Good morning!’ when she pops in. Then there was the seagull. I left the room briefly to refresh my gin and tonic. Windows wide open due to hot weather. Came back in to find poo liberally deposited on chairs and carpet and evidence that said ornithological visitor had been eying Eric up. The poor creature was literally spinning in the bowl. Imagine how huge and terrifying a herring gull looks from inside a goldfish bowl! I have now placed my photo-realist Frida Kahlo scatter cushion on the window seat in the hope her mono-browed stare will put off further birdy visitations in search of lunch. And now Eric has taken to swimming backwards. Googling reveals this is a symptom of constipation. The recommended solution is simple but bizarre: frozen peas. You chew a couple of peas to remove the skin then spit them into the water. Eric loves this veggie treat. I just hope nobody is looking.