This empty goldfish bowl is sitting on a deserted cocktail bar in my back garden. Looking at the bowl in the drizzle this evening it seems rather sad.
It's a little sad as yesterday it had a single goldfish living in it. I say gold, but it was black. The fish someone named 'The Kray Twins', as there were two of them. I didn't care about them a while ago, when there were two. I love the birds in my garden who are free and magical, not the fish in a bowl. Then one fish died and I liked the single fish slightly more. I liked it more still when I met my sister's dog Teddy at the weekend. He is a Border Terrier. We talked about our dog Darcy and how our Dad was very sad, and a bit lost when Darcy had to be put down. That was sort of it for Don really, as after that Alzheimer's started to take over. I visited Don on Monday, and he is really quite vacant now, suspended in perpetual care.
Buoyed by the pet scene, I cleaned out the fish's murky water on Monday night. The fish seemed quite pleased. I was quite pleased too. We were a community, for about half a day. Then the fish became fed up and poorly with the clear water. A day and a bit later, and he was dead. I think the clean water killed him, even though I treated it.
The bowl is on the bar that belonged to my pal's Dad, Anthony. He lived life fully by all accounts. He died too, quite tragically. I loved that bar. Sitting at it and whiling away a decade. That era is well over too. Time passes, you move on and now the bar waits in the garden swathed in bubble wrap. We all end up empty vessels in the end. It's the manner of our storage that seems to be critical. Where do people put you? In their mind's garden or in perhaps a bubble wrap shroud with other empty vessels for company.
If you're thinking about where you're gonna be stored, it's not too late to still live. I'm gonna try and do it as much as possible before someone cleans my water.