Jerome arrived yesterday looking a bit worse for wear, but grinning ear to ear just like the time he met his idol, Madonna, backstage at his 63rd and record-breaking UK concert. He was acutually proper knackered so after a quick pit stop for lunch he hit the (rock hard) sack to shift his jetlag. I gave hims some space and went for some night fishing, this time on a seven-hour stint.
Although last time was very enjoyable, I felt that there was more pressure to actually catch something this time, having had my previous catches immediately ridiculed and discarded. I started to imagine scenarios where I was responsible for providing the nourishment for a tribe and came to the conclusion that I probably wouldn’t have much problem with overpopulation if they relied on my hunter-gathering skills. Much in the same way that magazines and popular culture skew our ideas about things such as body image, my recent viewings of National Geographic had seriously impacted on my fishing confidence and my perception of how big my fish should be. I kept on reminding myself that the fishing stars of The Biggest Catch aren’t representative of normal, everyday fisheren. Remember boys, size isn’t everything.
I was geed up and eager to kill some fish. An hour in and my excited had waned somewhat. Someone else on the boat had caught a really juicy looking coulourful fish that dwarfed anything I had ever caught, which dented my confidence. But then I felt a tug. I pulled up and the line went slack. I assumed that, like numerous times before, this was just me imagining my bait was something I had caught, but then I had another big yank. I hauled the line up very ungracefully and whatever I had caught was putting up a bit of a fight. I was lucky that I wasn’t overcome with enthusiasm and I didn’t yank it straight out. It turned out I had snared a shark. It wasn’t a very big one (size, boys) but it was still a mo’flippin shark, yo. I posed for a few victory photos but there was a bit of drama when the shark bit through the line and fell into the deck, going absolutely locos in the process. It was duly picked up by the mouth by a local fisherman and it was then released back into the sea.
That was all I caught, but if that was the last time I go fishing, I’m pretty satisfied. Again, all I need to do is say I caught a shark, who cares how big.This morning Jerome emerged from the bed refreshed and raring for some Addu City Action. I gave it to him good. Whistlestop tour, quick shopping trip for flip flops and some Australia Day antics in the park have left us quite tired after our first full day as coaching partners.
Our bed situation has worked out in the end, sort of. We possess one blanket between us and a couple of sheets, Jessie being one of them. We have a verbal agreement that we will be playing some weird version of wifeswap each night where we take it in turns to deal with Jessie and get a good night’s sleep with the blanket. Our requests from our landlord met pleas of poverty and a quite firm suggestion that we get it from the council. I’m not so sure how centralised linen would go down in the UK.