I strolled along the Dingle, taking a break from teaching my psychology students,
who’d scoffed when I’d claimed, ‘Though I am of a logical bent,
I believe that there’s more to this world than you think.’

When who should I meet but a marvellous mermaid, sunning herself in the morning mist,
which is quite an achievement in itself.

Among the riverside detritus, she shone like a beacon in the night.

This mythical creature seemed heaven sent,
especially when she sang my favourite Irish song, Dublin in the rare old times.

‘I have just swum over from that very city,’ announced this denizen of the sea,
‘for we all know Liverpool is the real capital of Ireland.’

‘Indeed,’ I concurred, ‘and you will light up its grim environs,
indeed my heart is already lighter, upon meeting you on Dingle Strand.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied, ‘I’m told that most men like their woman to have a nice bottom...’
and she leapt onto the harbour wall, ‘but being a mermaid, I don’t have one.

‘Maybe that’s why I’m still single.’

My curiosity was piqued, ‘Doesn’t Cupid’s arrow find many targets among marine life?’

‘Oh no, we do breed, for continuing the species is more important than being, what you humans call a 'wife'.

‘I did have a fling with an octopus who was great at foreplay, and our lovemaking was truly adventurous

‘You could say his tentacles spread far and wide, but I dumped him because he had awful flatulence.’

‘Really? Too many mussels?’

‘No, he loved seaweed and due to climate change, there’s less of it.

‘So, we came to Liverpool ’cos we heard it’s great for weed, but we were stranded by the tide.’

‘Well,’ I replied, ‘the tide will turn in its own good time.’

‘Well, it can keep turning as far as Ossie is concerned, ’cos he’s stoned out of his mind.’

‘Ah, the wrong sort of weed?
Well, his loss could be my gain.’

At which she gave me a sly smile, and I dared to risk a complement.

‘You have a lovely smile, in fact it’s your best feature.’

Laughing, she replied, ‘You mean I don’t have a big bust,
beloved of those misogynistic weavers of fairy tales, who,
when I applied to be a mythical sea creature, didn’t give me much of a chance.’

Amused, I asked, ‘Oh, you’re a feminist?

‘Ah, she exclaimed, ‘thereby hangs a tail.

I looked sceptical, ‘Isn’t it a fin…?’

‘It’s a tail composed of fins, according to my uncle, Professor Smith of the institute for Marine Biology.’

‘Oh, I didn’t realise mermaids were accepted by science.’

‘Indeed not, and he has suffered the slings and arrows of you-know-what, because of it.

‘He deserves to be recognised by the scientific press, whose attitude forced that other mythical favourite,
Nessie, to become a hermit.’

I laughed, ‘I wondered why the Loch Ness Monster had disappeared off the news,
I thought it had been proven as a hoax.’

She laughed, ‘Oh, you are a fool.’

Chastened, I replied, ‘Thanks, people used to shout Nessie!,
whenever they saw anything on the loch that floats.’

She snorted with derision, ‘Yes, well I know she exists and her
disappearance is due to too much plastic, which gives her terrible indigestion.’

‘Oh!’ I exclaimed, about to interrupt.

‘So, she’s gone to Glendalough in Ireland via a subterranean tunnel,
and suns herself above the upper lake in the cave formerly inhabited by St Kevin.’

‘Very funny.’

‘No, I’m not jesting.’

‘Oh, I suppose she’s dating Finn McCool, Ireland’s mythical giant.’

At this she turned her back on me, saying, ‘You’re taking the...’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m a man of science, I’ve had enough of women of a logical bent,
being a professor of psychology.

‘I was besieged by fortune hunters, since I won the Gilbertian cash prize for Inward Paths of Logic.’

‘Did any of them access your fortune?’

‘No, I discovered most of them turned out to be femme fatales.

A mythical sea creature like you would be heaven sent - do you fancy a drink?’

She laughed, ‘Okay, we’ll go to The Slippery Eel, it’s a great pub.’

My day continued its bizarre twist when she introduced me to some of her pals.

There was Ossie The Octopus, Cuthbert The Crab and Wally The Walrus,
who sang a song to the tune of Scarborough Fair:
I met a mermaid who looked so pretty
I tried a kiss but she poked me in the eye with her tail,
so I had to wear spectacles but lost them in a gale.

Chorus
Watch out for the marvellous mermaid who suns herself on the shore,
if you fall for her wiles, you’ll sail never more.

So, take heed from a stricken sailor who fell foul of a mermaid’s beauty.

Her flying tail left me looking for an optician, and I resolved to ignore
the charms of a fabled sea creature, and spend my time fishing.

Refrain
Watch out for the marvellous mermaid who suns herself on the shore, if you fall for her charm,
you’ll be chastised by the bosun, and sail never more.’

I clapped loudly, commenting, ‘He has a deep profundo bass,
like the great singer Paul Robeson, famous for Old Man River, from the opera Porgy and Bess.’

‘Indeed,’ she agreed. ‘He was black, wasn’t he?

‘And vilified for his ethnicity, just like us sea people.’

I looked sharply at her, ‘Are mermaids ethnic?’

‘Well, we are an endangered species.

‘We need protecting, like the old and feeble.’

She then showed she was anything but, by slapping her tail on the floor while Wally sang,
I fell in love with a dolphin, whose idea of making love was to tickle me with his snout.
I only do fondling, so keep your hands to yourself, you big fat Walrus,
and if you don’t stop drinking ale, you’ll get gout!

‘So, I joined a dating site in the hope of attracting a partner, saying,
‘If you want a big curvy mammal, I cruise in the English Channel.

‘I drink seaweed wine and eat haddock, so I’m a cheap date.

‘So here I am still cruising, so I wish you all good night.’

I woke up on the beach at the Dingle with a start,
and tossed aside a joint of weed I’d been smoking,

I hummed to myself, a sea shanty I’d learned as a kid:

It was a Friday morn when we set sail,
and were not far from the land
when our captain, he spied a fishy mermaid
with a comb and a glass in her hand…

As I strolled home to finish off a paper I’d been writing,
entitled Hallucinogenic drugs and their effect on literary imagination.

Extract from The Mermaid, traditional, version by Andrew Draskoy.