Monday, 20 October 2014





Remember that time there was no surf, so you came home and went fishing with our son. Just after dusk the car pulls up down the driveway and a few minutes later he walks through the back door with two bream dangling from his little hands. Both of you beaming. Nana took me under the bougainvillea vine and through the secret gate which led us straight into her neighbours back yard. I stood by the piles of chopped wood as they made small talk as she picked at their herb garden. We walked back through the gate, her hands pouring with wild rosemary, corriander, parsley and some lemons bunched under my arms. That night we wrapped the fish in foil, but not before filling it with fresh herbs, butter and salt, we put the fish on the barbie and by the end of dinner we had sucked every last bit of flesh from the bones.
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