Monday, 28 April 2014
325. Treasure from a charity shop
On Friday my friend Katie and I found treasure in the charity shop in Aldeburgh. We'd done culture, by way of trundling over the pebbles to Maggi Hambling's shell, and were on our way to lunch when we stopped by the shop. She found a very elegant porcelain coffee pot that she liked enough to carry back to Edinburgh. I found an old but perfect metal water canteen in a little pouch that attaches to your knapsack or belt, and a pair of beautiful, expensive binoculars, perfect working condition, all caps still present, in a small green bag. Bounty! How much, you ask. Plus a novel Katie told me I had to buy - all in for £15. No, I will not tell you which charity shop.
323. Tuna salad sandwiches
I know, I'm not supposed to eat tuna. But I do, a bit, because it's so delicious and also because if I gave up doing everything enjoyable for the sake of the planet I'd never do anything, eat anything or go anywhere and I'd still bloody well die of cancer so fuck it, I say.
Tuna salad sandwiches are the perfect home-worker lunch and, when followed by an apple, nutritious, too.
Tuna salad sandwiches are the perfect home-worker lunch and, when followed by an apple, nutritious, too.
322. Fly-fishing
My dearest lovely brother gave me a fly-fishing lesson for my birthday last year. I had my lesson on the 2nd of April and am now fully obsessed.
My dad taught me to fish with a fly and we did most of our fishing together in Ireland. We'd stand beside beautiful clear loughs fishing for brown trout, and rivers fishing for brownies and salmon. Occasionally, I'd catch one and yell for my dad, who'd come rushing over to help me play, land and kill the fishy in a way that showed the fish the maximum respect. My dad had taught himself to fish, which is bloody clever because it's bloody tricky to do right, let alone well, and he always caught beautiful big fishes. We were very happy out fishing together, me and dad, and now when I stand on the riverbank by myself his spirit stands beside me.
It's a decent pastime for the middle-aged writer, fly-fishing, because it is active without requiring exertion and demanding without being impossible. So I intend to be doing it for many years, and, in the fullness of time, will happily teach anybody who cares to come to the water with me.
My dad taught me to fish with a fly and we did most of our fishing together in Ireland. We'd stand beside beautiful clear loughs fishing for brown trout, and rivers fishing for brownies and salmon. Occasionally, I'd catch one and yell for my dad, who'd come rushing over to help me play, land and kill the fishy in a way that showed the fish the maximum respect. My dad had taught himself to fish, which is bloody clever because it's bloody tricky to do right, let alone well, and he always caught beautiful big fishes. We were very happy out fishing together, me and dad, and now when I stand on the riverbank by myself his spirit stands beside me.
It's a decent pastime for the middle-aged writer, fly-fishing, because it is active without requiring exertion and demanding without being impossible. So I intend to be doing it for many years, and, in the fullness of time, will happily teach anybody who cares to come to the water with me.
321. Bonjela
Effing hurts. Almost as much as old-fashioned pink Germolene did, but in your mouth not on your scabby, bleeding knee therefore significantly more intimate and tear-inducing. Best thing about it is that it's an anaesthetic as well as a pain-killer so you lose all sensation on your tongue for a bit.
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