Back in 2007, I was on a beach on a family holiday. Excitingly, there were jellyfish all over the beach. It was exciting to see them up close and in the wild for the first time. I know they’re just blobs, but, actually, I find them quite cute. Using my spade, I carried them over to the sea and plopped them back in – saving them from an unpleasant death under the sun.

But, since I had a bucket full of water, I decided to pop one of them in there. It was a nice companion for the day and a sort of semi-pet. I loved watching it move around in there. I remember feeling quite attached to it. In the end, of course, I had to return it to the ocean, where I hoped it would be okay.

Today I was having a day out with a good friend of mine. Somehow or another, we ended up speaking about this very subject. I told her the story of the jellyfish I “saved” and the one I kept in the bucket. I told her that I knew that jellyfish could live forever, barring accidents and how I liked to think that that jellyfish in the bucket might just still be alive today.

“No, it won’t be. Jellyfish only wash up on the beach when they’re dead, they don’t go there naturally. It was dead.”

I felt like I’d lost an old friend.

(Don’t miss today’s Finger Puppet Show!)

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