I once had a goldfish. I think his name was Henry. Or Jonathan. Or some other bland Caucasian name (sorry!). My memory of the little guy is hazy, but I remember feeding him the moment I got home from Pre-School. One fateful day however, I bounded down the stairs to see the tank as usual, but no…ok let’s call him Henry. No Henry to be seen. The simple, crushing explanation from my Mum was that I had not fed him enough and he had as a result gone ‘belly up’, and been disposed of.