Fish pie

Saturday November 11, 2006

There I was, gazing out of the window, thinking that perhaps it was time I considered, maybe, actually doing something, when the phone rang.

“We’ve decided not to open the bar tomorrow,” said Graham. “Can you fetch me home when I finish tonight?”

“Silly question. What time?”

“Hard to say. I shall have to drain the lines before I can shut up shop. Shall we say about eleven?”

“Right you are. Will you want supper do you think?”

“Like what?”

“Fish pie and tomato salad.”

“Yum. Yum. Yum. Just so long as it’s a nice one.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

And that’s how come I made a quick dash to Sainsbury’s mid-afternoon and a slow dash through the gathering storm to St Audries late this evening.

The fish pie, made with smoked haddock and king prawns, was delicious.


A lone gull sails between the houses
in the close, wheeling, keening, looking
for the sky. With a catch me if you can
yawping cry it shits on a newly polished Porsche
and lifts up, over and away. I find myself
smiling, happy there’s justice still in the world.
John Bailey
Somerset, November 2006



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