All of the following is true. Just so you know.
Not once in my life have I ever gone fishing. I just don’t see the point in it; fishing means as much to me as rugby or golf or gardening. My son’s future father-in-law is a devoted fisherman and a very nice man. We have lots in common and have always got on like a house on fire. At get-togethers we’re as close as clams. Umpteen times he has asked me if I would like to angle with him. After giving him the old Harvey Smith gesture and behaving like a stubborn show jumping horse by pulling up before the fence- refusal, refusal, I relented and agreed to go fishing for the one time with the proviso that I might go back for more if it were my cup of coffee. Continue reading “Death of a Mackerel”
Boadicea's Chariot 