The fish man cometh

"Glad you're in," says the representative of a large courier company, who has just dragged two huge polystyrene boxes up the path to my front door, knocking over a garden gnome en route. 

"That's roight stunk my van out that has. Din't wanna have ter take that old lot back to the depot. Wotch'a got in there then - fish..?"

Fish indeed, I reply. Right in one, my knight of the road, brave carrier of enough bait to see me through the next few months.

"Well that don't half smell," he smiles, handing me a clipboard to sign complete with pen. "And that's off-fish-al."

I decide I'd better write that one down. Just in case I have a career change, end up delivering fish and need to pull a quick one-liner out of the bag to amuse a been there, heard all the smelly fish jokes kind of customer.

I check the contents of my consignment as the fish man drives away, with van windows down. Despite the fact he decked one of my gnomes, I am happy with the spoils of the fish man's visit.

I now have a freezer brim-full of shiny mackerel, blueys and lamprey. I will sit down at some point and write a review on the people I get them from.