No more fish in the sea

Morning, and happy Monday!

Here’s the catch of the day, it’s yesterday’s Sunday Times column:



It’s official. According to scientists everywhere, there are fewer fish in the sea now than there have ever been. In fact, if we keep going the way we’re going, there may be no fish left in the sea at all within as little as 40 years.

Who needs scientists? I could have told you that.

Researchers predict that by 2048 the only thing left will be jellyfish, which will thrive in what’s left of our shredded ecosystems. I concur, I dated at least two spineless jellyfish in 2012, there are way more of them around now than ever, and they really do seem to be thriving. Sockeye Salmon may not be the only thing off the menu within our lifetime, so might the Chivalrous Door-Opener, The Honester and the even rarer Call Backer fish.

Okay, so I may be exaggerating a little, I’m sure there are some good-quality, single, non-fishy guys out there somewhere; I’m just not entirely sure where to find them. Bars and clubs are great if you’re looking for a quick meaningless hook up, or a Swede who’s only in town for a week, but where do you go to meet a soul mate, particularly if you’re not a model lookalike? I tried but it turned out to be a 419 scam.

My hot, blonde, single friend and hot, brunette, single friend and I were lamenting this situation the other day. I’m more traditionally built, occasionally grumpy and slightly commitment-phobic, but they have no excuse. They’re both drop-dead gorgeous, super-smart, funny and friendly and should have been snapped up years ago.

We were discussing all those people we know who are divorced and getting married for a second time. It seems a little greedy to us. None of us has even been married once yet, and these people are going in for seconds and some even for their third time around. Show-offs!

We briefly considered what the world would be like if people were only allowed to marry once and if you blow that shot that’s it, no more for you, step aside and give someone else a go. If that were the case, perhaps people would be a little more selective about who they choose that first time around.

I couldn’t help noticing that Hugh Hefner just got married for the third time, to a 26-year-old ex-Playmate of the Month. So even an 86-year-old who wears his pajamas all day and probably pees a bit when he sneezes is having more luck than we are. Granted he’s a multibillionaire with a circular rotating bed, but still.

And he’s not even the worst of them. In 2009, a 68-year-old woman named Linda Lou became “the most married woman in the world”, after walking down the aisle for the 23rd time. That’s like marrying an entire soccer team, including the reserves, the coach and the team’s bus driver. Her first marriage at 16 was her longest, lasting seven years. Since then she married a one-eyed convict, a preacher, barmen, plumbers and musicians. Two turned out to be gay, two were homeless, one put a padlock on her fridge (instant grounds for divorce and death by hanging if you ask me) and a few cheated. She even married one of them, a Mr Jack Gourley, three times. Besides having a very long hyphenated surname, she must also have a terribly short memory.

Scientists say this lack of plenty more fish in the sea has been caused by overfishing; I wonder if people like Linda Lou Taylor Scott Gourley Gourley Gourley Wolfe etc etc etc are to blame? Although, you have to wonder if she’s been luckier or unluckier than me and my single friends.

Have we dodged the marriage bullet, or did she dodge the single bullet? I guess only time and husband number 24 will tell.

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