Flying fish

But next up, we have...

Flying Fish by Chinese Football.

I've played Chinese Football so many times on this show and I could never ever get sick of them.

The connection here is Flying Fish as they are in the sky and they are flying, fulfilling both of the categories for today's connection.

And...

Yeah, I just really like Chinese football.

Um, the connection today is things that are in the sky slash things that fly.

Uh, and that rhymes.

Number three, pearl of the Indian Ocean.

Number four, land of the flying fish.

Number five, land of the eagles.

And number six, the sunny side of the Alps.

Number two, the warm heart of Africa.

Number three, pearl of the Indian Ocean.

Number four, land of the flying fish.

Number five, land of the eagles.

Give him a thatched cottage peeping from between the great tattered leaves of plantain trees, add thereto a patch of land where he may grow his sweet potatoes, throw in a coconut palm, sufficient sugar cane, and a wife to cherish or thrash according to his humour, and your negro asks for nothing more.

But John Diggle, while he owned most of these good things, and was the proud possessor of two mango trees into the bargain, yet lacked a helpmate, and while he sat upon the wharf and watched a shoal of flying fish flashing like little silver meteors in the bay as they fled and flew before greedy pursuers in sea and air, John sighed with the gravity of his reflections and shook his woolly head and set down his sugar cane, for the sweetness had gone out of it that morning.

Mr. Diggle was in love with the blackest, straightest, prettiest little negress in St. Vincent, but his dear one had two strings to her bow, and she harped with great success upon each to the extreme discomfort of the other.

His present uncertainty first reduced John to despair, and then determined him to take definite action.

The Skipper's Bible.

Devil's going to his death without no sort of sky piloting whatsoever.

I looks after his body, feeds him handsome, but his soul, Lord knows, that ain't in my line, said Dick Ferris, the mate of the Flying Fish.

No, nor yet in anybody's line aboard this ship, answered the carpenter.

And I embrace an old captain whom the sea loved even in his hollow age." The last inscription that stood clear to Peter Uniack's eyes in the dying light ran thus, "Here lies the body of Jack Pringle, cast up by the sea on December fourth, eighteen ninety-six.

He was boy on the schooner Flying Fish.

His age, seventeen.

Lead kindly light." Uniack watched this history go into the maw of the darkness, and when it was gone, he found himself environed by the cool sea noises, which seemed to grow louder in the night, wondering whether the kindly light was indeed leading on Jack Pringle, no longer boy on the schooner Flying Fish, but what? The soul of a fisher lad who had kissed his girl and drunk his glass and told many a brave and unfitting tale and sworn many a lusting oath, following some torch along the radiant ways of heaven.

Was that it? Uniack had possibly preached now and then that so indeed it was.

Or perhaps was the light-hearted and careless living lad caught fast like sunk wreckage in the under sea of hell, where pain is like a living fire in the moving dimness.

Remembering the substance of the shadow, he opened the churchyard gate, threaded his way among the gravestones, and was quickly at the vicarage door.

As he passed within, a yellow glow of lamplight and of firelight streamed into the narrow passage from a chamber on the left hand, and he heard his piano, surprised to learn that it could be taught to deliver passionately long, winding melodies from Tristan and Isolde.

We had a good meal there.

We've had good meals at Flying Fish.

Um, you know-

Yeah

So this label in Jawi is also simply called Kaya.

And the brand is the Flying Fish brand.

But what's really interesting is also the graphic.

It says there's a depiction of a kampung house by the shores with swaying coconut palms.

But she never relaxed her vigilant watch.

Not the faint splash of a gannet after a fleeting flying fish but sent a shudder of apprehensive energy through her mighty frame.

For one blissful week there was perfect peace.

Then came a morning when the glorious blue sky grew gray and greasy, then black as soot.

In quick succession more and more appear, until a fairy fleet of hundreds is sailing as if bearing Titania and her train to some enchanted isles where never wind blows loudly.

But lo, as if at a signal from a pygmy admiral, the squadron has vanished bubble-wise.

From where they lately rode in mimic pageant rises ghost-like a vast flock of flying fish, the sum of whose vibrant wing-fens ascends to the ear.

Many thousands in number, glistening in the sunblaze like burnished silver, they glide through the air with incredible speed, the whole shoal rising and falling in wave-like undulations, as if in the performance of preconcerted evolutions.

Their strange appearance and gentle nature make them favorites among those lucky enough to encounter them.

Flying fish can glide above the water for hundreds of feet.

Flying fish don't truly fly, but their gliding ability is impressive nonetheless.

To escape predators, flying fish burst from the water at speeds of up to 37 miles per hour, spreading their enlarged pectoral fins like wings.

Once airborne, they can glide for distances of over 600 feet, sometimes reaching heights of more than four feet above the surface.

Some species also have enlarged pelvic fins, giving them four wings and even greater control.

While airborne, flying fish can beat their tails against the water's surface to gain additional thrust, extending their flight even further.

This ability allows them to escape predators like dolphins, tuna, and marlins that chase them from below.