Ellie's quick to bend down to fight with the latch on the tackle box, sitting back to give him space to throw the fish in once she has it open. "Go, go, throw it in!"

Once the fish is left flopping listlessly at the bottom of the empty box, she bends over it: the sides half closed and fully prepared to close them the rest of the way should the fish attempt to break out in a bid for open water. But it just flops, gills stretching as it gasps for oxygen.

"Now what? Do we chop its head off or something?"