It’s 1991 and I am shivering on the deck of a small fishing boat, bobbing around in the Firth of Clyde. I am knee deep in mackerel, fish so stupid that they are hooked by nothing more than fluorescent tape; fish so weak that even I, an eight-year-old, can pull..
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Sure Peter, fire away.
Please could you let me know if you would be prepared to answer a question I have about your article yesterday in the Travel section
A big thank you for writing this. For so many months now, I haven't had a lot of things to say yes to either and […]