TALES FROM THE TIDELINE
You’re not bloody going on your own, and that’s final!” my mother chimed as her eyebrows shot up into a point. “Imagine, you, all alone, on some bloody beach! You could get kidnapped or swept away or… or…”
I could already sense that I had weathered the first, biggest, bluster of the storm and now only had to ride it out to its inevitable conclusion.
“But mam, I’ll be fine. I’m not going far, honest! I’ll be really careful and stay down at the close end of the beach.”
By this point I had been an angler for over a year, though I preferred to call myself a ‘fisherman’ because of the worldly-wise, rugged, tough connotations it carried. But in this year, none of my angling
