Contributed by Martyn Green Coordinator, Baywater Anglers
										He smiled, reaching out to pat her back affectionately. “I am trapped, Pru, my leg is stuck and I can’t get it out on my own.” Just then the upward movement, which had been slowing, stopped altogether. They both looked upwards, to where they could see a human outline swing another dome from the water. “I guess we know what happened to my brother, though.” “Well, don’t you worry, none, Lenny. Oi’m here to save you, you know!” A little prawn saving him, the mighty pondlord of Rockwater! That he should live to see the day! Oh well, that did not seem too likely at the moment. “Cooee! Oi’m over here you great ruddy lump of stodgy lard!” “I say, Pru, that’s a bit mean. I’ll have you know there isn’t an ounce of fat on me anywhere!” “Oi know that dearie! You great piece of worthless fodder, may the crabs have your guts for their garters!” “Prunella! I think…” “Ready dearie? Oi said I’ll save yer!” “Prunella…” He was about to argue, to point out the uselessness of her gesture when he saw the dot approaching. Did he say dot? It seemed somewhat bigger than a dot now. In fact, it looked a lot bigger. “Er, Prunella?” “You stupid, sad old… Yes dear? Oi’m a little busy right now. I’ll just have to duck for a mo!” With that she was gone, abruptly hiding behind one of the struts, leaving Lenny to face the impact as the maddened bass that was chasing her slammed into him with incredible force, spinning him free as it belted both his leg, and the rest of his body, from the top of the dome, sending them both, stunned, into the depths far below. The bass, with a considerable headache, having lost his interest in a Prunella Prawn sandwich, limped off into the darkness, muttering curses which would have shocked the little housekeeper far more than his desire to eat her. Lenny, meanwhile, as he turned himself the right way up, found a familiar little figure perched by his ear. “Oi’ll have a ride home, dearie, if you don’t mind. Oi’ve had that old bass chasing me for moiles. You should have heard the things oi had to say to him. Moi mother would be spinning in her grave.” He could imagine! “Thank you Prunella,” he stammered, “I mean, I, well, thank you.” And he meant it. Prunella’s reply? Well, she sniffed, in a way that was smug, self satisfied and a story in itself, bringing this one nicely to its end. “Moind you,” she said thoughtfully, “you won’t thank me when you foind out what oi’ve done to them scallops!”
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