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The Pollock Drury Show
YOU can buy Colin now.
Not me. I've always been buyable. Integrity is knowing your price and sticking to it, right?
A clear conscience is the knowledge your dirty dealings will go undiscovered.
That's the message they're trying – always selflessly trying – to pass down from Westminster, isn't it?
All those cash for questions, all those second-home allowances, all those travel expenses, all those extra fees for being company advisers.
Forget what our Lords and Members actually say about honesty and transparency, and read between the lines instead: there's nothing wrong with having your palm greased and the odd trough put to your snout.
Take the money and don't run until you get disgraced.
Only last week, as some sort of bizarre challenge, someone told me if I put a code phrase into this column as a kind of shout out, she'd buy me a few drinks.
The phrase was "student nurse". Easy.
But, no, back to buying Colin.
Not me.
The fish formerly known as pollock. Sainsbury's has given it a name makeover and you now have to order a nice Colin.
Apparently the old moniker was putting shoppers off. They were embarrassed at asking for something that sounded like slang for a testicle (a delicacy in some countries).
So, instead, they've rebranded it with a similar name to a body organ said fish would pass through shortly before disappearing down the lav.
Colin.
You have to feel sorry for the poor fish.
As if finishing life on a plate full of chips wasn't bad enough, they're now going to have to spend their swimming days darting around explaining to cod and haddock that yeah, they're called Colin but no, that doesn't necessarily mean they're trainspotters who own a mackintosh. What a life.
Take it from someone who knows – me, I mean. I've had the name ever since I can remember, after all – it's no fun having the kind of moniker that would have gone out of fashion in the 30s if, that is, it had ever been in fashion.
My brother suggested Colin to my parents. It was his first – and argubly most evil – act of mischief towards me.
Of course, the fish formerly known as pollock won't be pronounced Colin – more co-lan, like the French word it's taken from – but the inherent geekiness is still there.
Makes me think maybe I should change my name to Pollock Drury but then I suppose that would be a little (drum roll please) fishy. And, even though I'm occasionally told my attitude stinks, I don't really like the idea of my name smelling so bad.
At least not until I'm an elected member of Parliament with all the perks to boot.
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Saturday 11 February 2012
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