Most of the boys down at the pub had manly Irish names. Seamus O'Toole, for example. There was a moniker a man could be proud of. Or Colm Shaunessey, a good robust name with plenty of history behind it. But if your name was Fillet O'Fish, and you were a scrawny youngster from Tipperary, there wasn't much to be proud of.
The O'Fish family had been living hand to mouth ever since the Cromwellites booted them off their land. Up in the high heather they struggled to make a living. When Fillet was born, his Dad suggested the name out of spite as much as anything.
By the time Fillet grew old enough to understand the Troubles, the family fortunes had crumbled further. His Dad was in Long Kesh and his brothers had fled to Boston. Fillet vowed revenge on the British. His mates at the pub laughed, saying he was too puny, and when had an O'Fish amounted to anything? Fillet O'Minnow, they called him.
Fillet conceived an elaborate plot to kill the Queen Mum on her 100th birthday. He labored many long hours fashioning an huge, elaborate hat for the Queen Mum. Inside the secret compartment he packed enough Semtex to bring down the London Bridge, and a remote control trigger.
Finally the big day came. Fillet smuggled his explosive present across to London town, and was working his way toward the park near Buck house where she would appear at dusk when he saw the dogs. "Damn explosive sniffing mutts!" he thought and hightailed it for cover on a nearby river barge1.
Unfortunately the barge was leaving the dock, and before he knew it Fillet was adrift in the Thames. And Fillet couldn't swim. He stared mournfully at the shore and decided to await his chance in the morning.
A few hours later, Fillet discovered he was aboard the fireworks barge. The Queen Mum's fireworks were most spectacular.
A nodeshell challenge
1. I don't know if there's water nearby. Humour me.