THE KING AND I

That statement is superfluous far as I am concerned. Assassination attempts beyond number have proven such total failures as to have not been worth the effort of conception in the first place. The king will live -the king himself will see to that.

It started on a black, windswept night in the back of a panel van barreling through a night more suited to sleeping than heading south on a filming expedition.

Outside, heavy rain promised mud and misery to intrepid fishermen, and inside the air was hot and heavy with cigarette smoke, too many bodies, and an incredible amount of tackle that had not quite lost the odiferous reminders of the last expedition. With a camera tripod threatening my groin and somebody's elbow firmly wedged into my ear, I lay still for fear of injury and listened to conversation drifting about me.

That was probably the first time I heard them referred to as "fish with heads like garbage cans". In that particular setting, such a description seemed to be both exaggerated and in poor taste. Later, in the real world of salt air and green water I was to look down into a mouth as big as a garbage can, and I realised then that the description was both apt and accurate.

This was to be the first of many miserable expeditions we were to make in our attempt to capture the world of the high-speed spin men on film. The first of many days of brilliant fishing, and disgusting film.ing weather.

Throughout this period, the kings made regular appearances, and the image of those great olive bodies gliding beneath the hooked fish made their impression. However, the name of the game at that time was spinning, and the great kings were ignored.

One day, a day that will go down in the history of the far south coast, the sun shone for a full day and the filming was completed. The pressure was off at last and the pressure during the filming period had been very real and very trying.

The release of tension triggered an immediate rise in spirits. A celebration was planned. The celebration was to take the form of a weekend fishing trip right back to the same place. And so, the following Friday night I found myself crushed in the back of the panel van