I ploughed through all ten pages and didn't see this included, so here goes:
Pete has been fishing, in a small boat on Loch Lomond, all day. Not a bite, not a touch, a complete blank. Once and for all deciding that he’d had enough, he begins to reel in for the last time when “bang” and he’s into a really good fish. After a couple of minutes, the fish breaks the surface, rearing right out on its tail. It had a very deep red colour to it and Pete is mystified.
After a thirty-minute fight, the fish is exhausted and ready for the net. As Pete heaves it up over the rear of the boat, the fish gives him a big wink and says “Don’t be frightened. I saw that you’d had a bad day and I thought that if I gave you some decent sport, you wouldn’t bang me on the head, but would put me gently back.” Amazed though he his, Pete agrees, saying “I’ve seen loads of fish, but never one your colour – I thought that you were a salmon, but you’re red.” The fish replies “I am indeed a salmon and because of my unusual pigment, everyone I know calls me Rusty. What’s your name?” Pete introduces himself, as he prepares to return the fish to the water.
“What are you doing tomorrow, Pete?” asks the fish. “Working, I’m afraid, why?” The fish says “Well, I’ve just about had it with this Loch – I’ve been up and down it, side to side, diagonally, every flippin’ way. I was wondering if you’d put me out to sea if you can find the time?” Pete replies “You’re in luck. I’m just moving offices and I’ve got one of those pink crates still in my car. I’ll nip and get that and fill it with water, then I’ll drive you to the coast on my way home, OK?” This is what happens, Pete releases the salmon into the sea and drives off home amazed, but quite pleased with himself for acting so humanely.
Years pass, Pete is promoted and moves to North Cornwall. He decides to try his hand at sea fishing and has a really miserable blank day. Reeling in to go home, he gets a mighty take and “bang” – off goes a really good fish. A couple of minutes pass and the fish jumps – a reddish-coloured blur.
After another brilliant twenty minutes of fighting, the fish is ready to be landed, as it goes into the net it gives Pete a great big wink. “Rusty, is that you?!” cries Pete. “Pete!” replies the fish, “what are the chances, it’s been years – what have you been up to?” Pete gave a resume of the past ten years or so, then says “What about you, Rusty?”
“Well,” replied the fish, “after you released me, I popped across to the Caribbean and spent the summer with some dolphin friends. Then I went up the Eastern seaboard and had a look at New York harbour, but it was full of Coke cans and condoms, so I carried on North, intending to ride the Gulf Stream back here. I don’t know whether this ever happened to you while you were swimming, but I suddenly felt very hot and began to perspire, so I went a lot deeper and, much to my amazement, I came upon the wreck of the Titanic.” Pete was both impressed and amazed and sought further details. “Oh, it was great,” said the fish. “I swam through the great dining room and could imagine the waiters in their long pure white aprons, holding their silver trays aloft as they weaved between the beautifully-dressed diners. The gleaming linen tablecloths, the silverware, the floral table centres, the small orchestra playing quietly on a raised semi-circular dias, across the ballroom floor. I could imagine the vast chandeliers glinting and the romance of the whole occasion. I was there for such a long time, I wrote a poem about it. As a matter of fact, I was so drawn to the place, I kept going back and spent over a year there, in which I wrote a load more poems, enough for an anthology, in fact.”
“You ought to get that published,” said Pete. “I did have it published,” replied the fish, “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it, it caused quite a stir when it came out.”
“I can’t think how I missed it,” replied Pete, “what was it called?”
The fish replied “Salmon Rusty’s Titanic Verses.” :?
Ray.