Fish Alley

Hullo all.

This is my first attempt at blogging for almost a year. (My two other pieces of blogging can be found at ‘’. For those of you who have never heard of it, this was my short lived, yet wholly-acclaimed-as-an-outright-success-by-mum-and-me, blog of last summer. It was set up as part of a decidedly poor attempt to pretend like my idle pissing away of time was intentionally created so that I could ‘indulge my creative spirits and immerse myself in art, literature, film, and blogging’, rather than getting a job. All that I managed to achieve was those two admittedly hilarious blog entries and a matinee showing of Harry Potter and the deathly hallows: part 2. I was able to fool mum into thinking it was a summer well spent with this, but not dad. I fear he still holds resentment about it. T’would be fair enough really.) Bare with me if it takes a while to get going.

From the moment I heard we were to be keeping a family blog, I have been noting down ideas for subject material. I had quite an extensive list by last night but to be perfectly honest with you, dear readers, they were pretty shit. Apart from one thing, which i’ll mention in the paragraph after next.

But last night I found something which I felt compelled to blog about. It’s called fish alley. It is probably just as shit as all the other things I was going to talk about, because when I tried to engage the family in discussion of it last night they couldn’t have been less interested. But it is something I care about deeply, so frankly my dear, I just don’t give a damn. (I think I’m going to refer to you the readers as ‘my dear’ from now on. It makes it seem like I am in some sort of love correspondence from an earlier time, which I’m all for. It also allows me to quote that film which I just quoted, and for the quote to make sense. Not sure what film it is that I just quoted, mind, but I bloody love that quote.)

First though, I’m going to describe a funny that I witnessed while we were waiting by the Hertz car rental desk at the airport yesterday. There were all sorts of family-type holiday makers waiting with us by the Hertz car rental desk. Most of them had young kids. Most of those with young kids sat on the waiting chairs, tiredly watching their young kids manically yet aimlessly run around – in the way that only young kids are able to, whilst remaining totally focused on and engaged by their manic aimless running. (I find that young kids are stupid like this. I don’t particularly like young kids for this reason.) Most did this, but not all. Specifically, there was one man and his daughter who did not do this. They did something very different. I looked away from the sitting, watching, chair-based parents to see this man making strange raspberry noises with his lips, whilst carrying his 1 year old daughter in circles above his head. He was clearly trying to be a helicopter or an airplane. Had this been all that differentiated him from the others, everything would have been fine and I would have actually applauded him for trying something a bit more ‘out there’ in terms of parenting approach. But this was not all that differentiated him. No, what really differentiated him was the method he had chosen to do this airplane/ helicopter role play. He had one of his hands under the little girl’s shoulder – all’s well and good so far – but the other hand he had reaching around her anus and cupping her vagina. Her vagina. I opened my mouth in shock. I nudged Jess. She did the same. There were no words. It was in broad daylight. In complete public. It was practically sexual assault. Paedophilic, incestuous, sexual assault. What a foul man. And think of the poor girl. She wouldn’t even have known anything was wrong about what was happening to her. I wanted to cry out, to help her, or just to hurt him. But it wasn’t my place. I just continued to stare, open mouthed, with Jess. Clearly I am a man of morals in nothing but words. Words and posturing.

‘What is the relevance of that to anything?’ I hear you ask. Well, nothing, is the answer. But that is the most eventful thing to have happened to me so far, so I thought it deserved a blogspot. (It feels like I overuse the word ‘blog’.)

Right that took much longer to type than I thought it would and I’m bloody tired so I’m just going to stop blogging now. I realise this makes the title of this entry completely irrelevant to anything but this is of little concern to me right now. Hopefully I’ll be arsed to blog about the ting that this blog was meant to be based on tomorrow sometime. (Yup, definitely overuse the word ‘blog’. But what alternatives are there? I challenge you to find an adequate synonym.) If not, my dear, I don’t know when I’ll tell you about it, and I apologise for keeping you in suspense. Don’t worry though – as I said, I’m fairly sure it’s not particularly interesting anyway.

$hmu (the nickname given to me a few years back by my great friend Lucy, which has since become my writing alias. Big up to you, Lucy)

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