G'DAY diggers. My name's Nick Hicksop. I catch sharks for a living. That's why most people call me Shark-O.
I'm in Hongkong now. You may have seen me on television, on a T-shirt, or at Supreme Allied Pacific Shark Command Headquarters: a sampan in Sai Kung. This is the story of my battle with what we at HQ like to call: ''The killer from the deep.'' Day One: Strewth! Woke up with a head as rough as a bandicoot's backside. Thought that place in Wan Chai called Neptune's was a dive shop. Shouldn't have had that last case of Foster's. Straight to the dunnie and back for a few hours kip. Had a look outside. No sign of the bugger. I've never liked the mongrels since my good old dad used to drag me behind the boat as shark bait.
Day Two: It's real hell out here. Stuck on a stinking boat miles from the pub. Time for a change of tactics. Off to Harry Ramsden's to pick up some bait. Bonza tucker. Back for a bit of shut eye. Wake up. Still no sign of the bludger. Finish off my favourite book, Gone With the Fin. I wrote it. Great read, even if I say so meself. That's enough for today. I'm bushed cobber. This mission is killing me.
Day Three: Jeez. Woke up fresh. What are all these punters looking at? Loads of blokes and Sheilas gawping at me all bloody day long. What do they expect me to do? Catch the shark? Those speedboats make a hell of a row. For Christ sake can't a man get some kip when he needs it? All those propellers cut across my lines too. Bit rude. Smashed up today's bait, a cardboard policeman that disappeared from a shop. Wasting my time. Not a sniff of the bloody shark. Some toffee-nosed Pom comes up and tells me: ''The shark can disgorge the contents of its stomach and is ready to eat again within seconds. We must catch him and treat him for bulimia.'' Dunno what he's talking about. Bulimia? What kind of shark is that? I'm off down the pub.
Day Four: Bit groggy but I reckon today's the day. It's raining bloody Wallabies out there. Sharks love rain. Never been able to work out why. They're wet all the time anyway. Stupid fish. I throw all sorts of crap into the water to tempt the bludger. It doesn't make any bloody difference. There's so much crap in the water anyway. Jeez. Still pouring. Even the pub's shut. I'm getting angry now. This is personal. Me against the bloody shark. I reckon he's taking the bloody micky. This is a nightmare.
They even expect me to write this stupid bloody column every day. It's real tough trying to think of anything to say. So I'll just go on repeating myself. Jeez. At least I'm earning a quid.
