We were innocently traipsing about Belfast Harbour, with no intention whatsoever of doing anything wrong, when we came upon this sign. Naturally, because we are anarchists at heart, a rebellion now buried beneath cholesterol-enhanced arteries and veins began to beat once again, our guilt-free lark potentially veering toward the dark side of human nature.
We suddenly wanted nothing more out of life than to climb on The Big Fish.
It seemed the perfect thing to do on a blustery afternoon in Northern Ireland. After all, this was a land where folks did not take kindly to edicts issued by others. And the Titanic had been built in this very harbor, and lots of people climbed on that thing. (Of course, many of them never climbed back off, but that’s a story for another time, a morality tale about how ships should not try climbing on The Big Iceberg.)
At the very least, our contemplation of miscreant behavior would result in a delightful anecdote we could share with our grandchildren at a later time, assuming we weren’t felled by snipers lining the perimeter, their marksman eyes searching for signs of fishy insurrection. (If they did open fire, at least two of us had a chance at survival, as we had been on the swim team in high school. We could call upon our ancient skills, diving into the water and backstroking our way to the other side of the harbor, where we could blend in with some type of drunken festival we could hear going on over yonder. After a rousing pub song or two, no one would notice our dripping clothes or the furtive glances we kept casting over our shoulders.)
In the end, though, common sense prevailed, a rarity with our mischievous quartet. We admired the fish, we took pictures of the fish, and we even dared touch the fish, going so far as to surreptitiously fondle the scales, searching for a good handhold to launch our ascent. But we did not mount the fish, despite the delicious yearning.
Later that night, perhaps aided by the rumblings of ale and pizza fighting for governance in my tummy, I dreamt of how my life could have been different had I experienced the illusory joy of a giant sea creature betwixt my legs. But some things are not meant to be…
Categories: Travel
Bonnywood Manor 
That fish has temptation written all over it.
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As well as the history of Belfast, on each of those little mosaic pieces. It’s a rather remarkable fish… 😉
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Hahaha! 🙂 How are you NOT supposed to climb on that thing?? Well, there’s age I guess.
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And the concussion I would most likely endure during the dismount, as graceful I am not… 😉
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Shucks. I’d be all over that fish…that is if I could find a 10′ man to crawl up. Then, of course, he would probably expect me to polish his middle rung or something.
I’ve never caught a fish…just been around a few men who smelled like one.
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Oh, I’m sure you could have found someone to give you a boost. The people of Belfast were quite friendly. Of course, I think everyone is friendly when I’m drinking… 😉
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I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland. I’ve got a fair amount of Irish blood in me. I hear there’s a pup on every corner. LOL.
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I don’t know about dogs – but there are plenty of pubs 🙂
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A drunken festival in Ireland…. I’m surprised that anyone noticed. 🙄
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I believe it’s some type of regulation that drunken festivals must occur on a daily basis. Who am I to judge?
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I would absolutely want to climb on the big fish. When I was in Key West at Hemingway’s house, there was a sign that said, “Do not pick up cats” and all I could do was spend the rest of the tour looking for cats to pick up.
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We are just alike. I can understand cautionary signs like “Don’t get too close to his cliff edge or you will plummet and perish.” But warnings involving things that won’t really affect anybody if I do them? Sorry. I’m gonna give it a run, especially if a cute little kitty is involved… 😉
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Signs like that always puzzle me. I wasn’t thinking of climbing the big fish, but now that you put the idea in my head…
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Luckily, we hadn’t been drinking, or there would have been mounting, so to speak… 😉
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Nah – think how slimy the big fish would be betwixt the legs – and the lingering smell afterwards …… it is a pretty blue though.
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It was a gorgeous blue, sparkling in the sun. The photo doesn’t really do it justice. But you are wise to caution about the wetness… 😉
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Horse hockey! Stupid spellcheck. LOL 🤣
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