Some days I think I’d like to move to Atlantis in the early 1960’s and live in a semi-detached cave in a suburb called Marineville. The decor will be tasteful. G-Plan, small ornamental castles and pastel coloured gravel.
I’ll dress quietly, mostly in greens and blues. There’s no need to clash, and one can’t compete with the mermaids.
I won’t have to work, but will spend my days perfecting the art of cocktail making. Sea Breeze and Blue Lagoon. But not Sex on the Beach. That is not a cocktail, it is a smoothie. A drink that contains more fruit than alcohol is not a cocktail.
In the summer we will have good old-fashioned barbecues. No fish. We don’t want to upset the neighbours.
Once a year we’ll take a holiday in Japan and secretly eat a years worth of fish there. That way everyone’s happy. Except me, because I can’t use chopsticks.
My husband will look like Troy Tempest and probably have an affair with a mermaid. I won’t mind, they’re very pretty, although poor conversationalists. If she keeps him busy after work that’s fine. I’ll still get the weekends. And the legs. And the shoes.
Mondays through Fridays I’ll go to the Oyster Bar and drink like a fish. With some fish.
I’ll dream of bream. And know my plaice.