Fishy Business One of the things that I hated most about meals at Chailey was the amount of fish that we were presented with at (mostly) breakfast. Now you would think that a child who was born by the sea would be accustomed to fish meals and be happy to eat it. Not so in my case. I didn’t mind the smell when I would sit with the old fishermen on the quay and watched with interest as the odd row boat came in with a catch. I was fascinated by the glitter of scales and the way the fish would make one last effort to escape. No, my dislike of fish only came to life at Chailey. Haddock, bright yellow with a puddle of liquid at breakfast and smelling of something that should never be put into your mouth, was what made me a fish hater. It’s a short journey to extend that hatred to every other variety of fish…….and it caused me no end of trouble. When it was breakfast time and the smell of fish rose up to the dormitory, I would dash to the toilets and tear long strips of toilet paper and stuff it into the bucket tops of my callipers, before making my way to the dining room. The fish remained on my plate and I was left in solitary splendour to gaze at the horrible congealing mess in front of me. The other girls left the dining room and the kitchen staff cleared up and wiped down the tables and, as soon as they had finished, I would leap into action. “I must go to the toilet” I said to the Dragon in charge of watching me. There I grabbed a load of paper and stuffed it in my knickers. Back to the dining room, I sat down , picked up my knife and fork, and cut a small piece of fish which I put in FRONT of my teeth with my mouth closed and made chewing noises. The Dragon, satisfied that I had caved in and was eating, left me to my own devices. Toilet paper out, fish on toilet paper, fish wrapped in toilet paper as firmly as I could, and I stuffed the package in my knickers. I left one tiny scrap of fish on the plate and, when the Dragon came back, I was seen to put fork with fish into my mouth and swallow it with a grimace and a murmured “Yuck”. “Can I go now?”, I asked in as sulky a manner as I could. “Yes” was the terse reply. I left and went outside to the quietest spot I could find with a drain. I knocked the cover of the drain off and, checking no one was around, pulled the soggy package out and dropped it down the drain. I knocked the drain cover back into place, straightened my clothes, and resumed my normal routine. It worked with poached eggs as well…just a bit more slippery and don’t smell…..until they start rotting in the drain.