Fish - Operation Electric Man

It's 19th May 1979 and ten-year-old Martin Fisher (Fish) is in big trouble. He's been up to mischief once again, but this time he's gone too far. He's broken into the electric meter at the family home and stole most of the money. The electric man has come to empty the meter, and Fish has disappeared without a trace. His brother Billy is frantically trying to find him, but Fish is nowhere to be seen. His Dad has gone ballistic, and if Fish can’t repay the stolen money, the annual family holiday to Scarborough will have to be cancelled.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, his best friend Goody is about to get both his arms broken by Psycho Sid, who currently has a suspended prison sentence hanging over him. All in all it’s a right old mess. Could Fish swim his way out of this one? Or was he destined to be drowned once and for all? And how would Goody escape from the violent clutches of Psycho Sid? Find out in this entertaining story, about the trials and tribulations of growing up on a northern council estate.

Book Extract
I was sat about halfway up the stairs feeling physically sick. I was also sweating like a pig. Guilt Sweat is what our Gran would call it. I was about to be hung, drawn and quartered. That’s slightly over the top, but I think you get the picture. It was the moment I’d been dreading. I’d not slept properly for ages, (at least ten nights on the trot, maybe more). I’d wake up in the early hours, and just lay there worried sick, my stomach churning and my mind racing in all directions. I knew this moment would eventually arrive, and here it was, staring me right smack in the face. But that certainly didn’t stop the stress and anxiety. It seemed like only yesterday when I was saying to myself, ‘Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time to get it sorted, something will turn up, you’ll see.’ But something didn’t turn up, and there was no more time to get anything sorted. Time had most definitely run out, and now I was minutes away from disaster. The second I heard the table legs drag across the kitchen floor, my heart literally skipped a beat, several beats to be precise.

For the moment, time had stood still for Martin Fisher, (that’s me). Known to everyone as Fish. Fish was about to be drowned. Up shit creek without a paddle. In fact, I don’t even have a canoe let alone a paddle. The electric man is in our kitchen. He’s come to empty the electric meter, (or so he thinks). We have a slot meter that takes fifty pence coins. When the electricity runs out, we put fifty pence in the slot, turn the handle, and then the electricity comes back on. The fifty pence drops into a box, and the electric man comes to empty it every three months. Everyone on our street has a slot meter. We’re always knocking on each other’s doors, trying to cadge money.
‘Hello Mr Swift.’
‘What do you want Fish?’
‘Oh, have ya got a fifty pence coin for the meter please? Dad can pay ya back at the end of the week.’
‘No, sorry pal, I had to borrow a quid from Jean next door.’
‘Oh, ok Mr Swift, thanks anyway, see ya.’
‘Yeah, see ya Fish.’
‘Hello Jean.’
‘Hello Fish, what can I do for you?’
‘Have ya got a fifty pence coin for the meter please? Dad can pay ya back at the end of the week.’
‘Not another one! Ya the third today Fish, and it’s not even dinnertime yet. First there was Mavis Bradshaw from number 19, wanting to borrow money, even though she already owes me three quid. Then Mr Swift from next door, now you. I’m only a pensioner ya know. Just because my Eric left me a few bob when he passed over, God rest his soul, it doesn’t mean I’m loaded. I’m struggling like everyone else. I can only afford to have two bars on the electric fire, and it’s only on for a couple of hours a day. If it gets too cold I put my coat on and wrap myself in a thick blanket. I don’t even go to Mecca bingo on a Saturday anymore, and I’ve cancelled the daytrip to Blackpool with the Community Centre.