The Octopus Awards

THE OCTOPUS AWARDS

Around 8AM on the first of April, chalky grey skies gathered over the Cambridge School hall. Around it, a range of vans, cars, SUV’s and such also gathered. From them emerged a range of people bearing their cargo: carts, crates, glass cubicles, all containing their precious cargo. The children of the school had generously made a large, colourful sign, with childish illustrations around the title:

(the) OCTOPUS AWARDS.

And so they were: each person was unloading their prized pets, and carting them up the ramp to the wide open French doors. The trestle tables were lined up against the wall, a layer of tarpaulin laid beneath. The school secretary, Sophie Watercake, greeted them enthusiastically and directed them to their labelled spaces. Facing them was a desk for the judges, and up on the stage was a sound guy setting up.

The contestants filed in; the two largest spaces were the first to be filled by two rivals, Ben and Jerry with their respective cephalopods, Jupiter and Hercules. A pair of Maori Octopus, or Wheke, they too were rivals, and eyed each other balefully through two panes of glass. As did Ben and Jerry (both being bespectacled).

Nearby them, a man and woman were setting up their largely identical purple octopuses: Fred, a pleasant thirty something fellow, introduced himself to Gina, an equally pleasant thirty something woman. In turn, they introduced their eight legged friends.

“George”, said Fred.

“…Orwell.” Said Gina, as their eyes met. The connection was pretty obvious.

While the sound guy was playing “Octopus’s Garden”, Octavia Bathwater was setting up with her small yellow friend, Apollo. When he was comfortably set up with his castle and spaceman, Octavia turned and bumped head on into the chest of Brian Philip, who was almost twice her size.

“I’m - so sorry.” She sort of laughed to make it less awkward, maybe.

Brian, a large, soft fellow, looked down with a benevolent smile as he stepped back a pace to take in Olivia’s small figure.

“No, you’re fine.” He said, in a totally pleasant way, although on another level it must be admitted he thought she kind of was.

“Meet my friend, Jonathan Swift.” Brian indicated his tank, containing a blue octopus, who was changing colour rapidly as he peered around. Octavia peered back at him. “Cool name.”

“Yeah, it’s ‘cause he’s fast. Who you got there?”

“Apollo.” Said Octavia, stepping back to show her friend. Brian inspected him.

“Ah, he’s just a young’un eh? You’re gonna need a bigger tank before long.”

“I know…” Octavia sort of sighed.

“Well, I work in glass,” said Brian, “Could probably put one together for you.” He reached in his jacket, and fished out a business card and passed it to her.

BRIAN PHILIP GLASS, it read.

“Thanks.” She pocketed it.

“No problem. Maybe give us a call when you need to, ah, upsize.”

The DJ thought he was being clever when he put on “All Time High” By Rita Coolidge (theme song to Octopussy) as the local councillor, Brad Beaverwood, took the stage to…well just to be there really. It was generally noted that Brad would attend the opening of a new sandwich bar, or a sandwich even.

Brad made the usual pleasantries, and said, “It’s wonderful to see all these diverse octopi!”

At which point, his PA whispered in his ear.

“Octopuses? Really?” She nodded.

“Doesn’t sound right. Not pulling an April fool’s on me eh?”

The entire group of contestants turned to confirm as one: octopuses.

“Ah, well,” Brad sort of stammered, “Guess I’ll have to take the experts’ word for it, haha. Well, best of luck to all of you and your…eight armed friends!”

As Brad swiftly gladhanded his way off, he was not privy to the events to come. The DJ played him out with “Eight Arms To Hold You” by Goon Squad.

This, unfortunately, turned out to be something of a trigger. Jupiter and Hercules, who had been eyeballing each other with increasing malevolence, could stand it no longer. They tore off the lids of their tanks, and leapt from them onto the tarpaulin beneath, to engage in mortal combat. Ben and Jerry tried to separate the mess of tentacles and beaks, but were both rewarded with a spray of ink on their glasses and reeled back.

As if on cue, all the other octopuses took it into their heads to buck their own lids and join in on the fun. Before long there was a dogpile of tentacles and beaks, writhing around. Distraught owners trying and failing to rescue their pets. Ink, and slime everywhere. The DJ played the “Gilligan’s Island” theme because why not, a sort of nautical theme maybe. The parents and kids who came goggled at the spectacle then ran away in fear.

Octavia looked wildly around for Apollo. Then, out of the bulbous morass of heads and tentacles, emerged a bright yellow figure. He extricated himself from the slimy mess beneath him and fair bounded out to land on the judges’ desk , snatched up the gold painted prize and gripped it firmly by one tentacle. Octavia ran up to collect Apollo and he held the trophy aloft, glinting in the light of the high windows.

The judges conferred briefly, and after concluding that Apollo was the best in show and they’d all really rather be somewhere else, awarded Octavia the prize.

All that remained was for the distressed owners to pull their creatures from the slime and ink. Fortunately, the cephalopods seemed to have lost their enthusiasm for the orgiastic brawl and came peaceably for the most part. Brian hoisted his furiously flashing friend and returned him to his tank in time for Fred and Gina to meet again over theirs. Slight problem: George and Orwell, tangled up together, looked pretty much identical.

“It’s okay,” said Gina, “Orwell has a pink mark on the side of his head.”

“Great.” Fred replied. “So does George as it happens.”

And so it was: they really couldn’t be told apart. The only thing they could think to do was swap phone numbers and let each other know if they clearly had swapped. Or even otherwise, who knows.

“Orwell likes shrimp.” Said Gina.

“Fancy.” Said Fred. “George likes tuna.”

“Duly noted.” Gina smiled.

They all dispersed to the car park, to the relief of Ms Watercake, who was left to contemplate the tarpaulin covered in ink and slime. The contestants took their pets to their vehicles. Ben and Jerry loaded their adjacent vans without a sideways look. Fred and Gina packed their cars and bade each other farewell as the rain began to fall, both hoping it wasn’t goodbye.

Brian paused by his SUV, with Jonathan Swift still rapidly changing colour in the back, to congratulate Octavia.

“Like I say, let me know if you need that bigger tank eh. Or just…y’know.” He turned a bit red and awkward and nodded to Octavia’s smile before jumping in the cab.

Octavia drove home under a pink sunset, with darker charcoal clouds massing over and the rain getting harder, unloaded her tank and got under cover. Once inside, she got dry and installed Apollo back in place, now comfortably reclining with his castle, spaceman and his golden trophy. Octavia dished him up some sea monkeys, heated some soup and watched some nothing TV. She thought about Brian and smiled, pulling out his card and thinking he was nice. Maybe she’d call him about that tank.

“Today went pretty well.” Said Apollo.

Octavia laughed. She turned the TV off and got up.

“It did. You did great.”

She went and touched the main light switch, ahead of going to bed.

“I’d have liked to give an acceptance speech.”

She laughed again. “Let’s save that for another day eh.” Then killed the light.

“Night mate.”

“Night.”