Jamie has just arrived to drop Archie off and to boast about how successful their fishing trip was last night. They've been catching mackerel which take the bait close to the surface but, for a change, they decided to fish on the bottom and they caught some large whiting and a couta. It's like talking to someone from another planet; I can't get my head around the idea that a husband and wife would go fishing together, sitting on a draughty cold wharf in the dark, spiking their fingers on hooks and getting their hands all slippery with fish gills.
Marilyn's father, Bill, would have loved to be involved in this whole business.
I remember in 1950, Mum took my brother and me to visit Dad's family in Johnshaven on Scotland's east coast. Uncle Archie brought Aunt Mabel up to visit us on the back of his motor-bike and someone invited us to go out in a little boat to fish in the bay. I have a clear memory of several large mackerel lying in the bottom of the boat with their scales shining in the sun.
As I was typing that, I have a feeling that I've written this anecdote before. If so, I apologise; they say you tend to repeat yourself as you get older.
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