Speaking of goldfish.
My sister had just won one of the little, well, gold bastards and was thrilled. So she promptly dropped it on the floor no more than 3 feet away from the stand she had won him from. The pressure of the air against earth predictably split the bag, thus sending him flapping over the floor and my Dad frantically trying to 'rescue' him in film-cliched fashion.

Only problem being we weren't exactly carrying much spare water round the fair with us, so my Dad put him in his piss weak plastic beaker of beer.

'Tipsy' didn't make it, but he died fucking happy.
(Galahad is out of his gourd on yellow bentines, Tue 14 Jun 2011, 23:40, Reply)