Today, I apologised to a fish

Greetings from the Isle of Mull!  After a week of bustle, weird art, gorgeous food and slightly too much whisky, we have settled into our charming apartment overlooking Tobermory with the sole intention of loafing around for a bit.

We did go sea fishing today though.  And, of course, the weather - which has so far been pretty decent - immediately went to Full Scottish Mode: unrelenting, grey mizzle.  It was not the best day to be out at sea, although, as I observed to the D, it did give me a renewed appreciation for fisherman.

I am strongly of the opinion that if one chooses to partake wholeheartedly in the consumption of animals (which I do) one has to try not to be squeamish about the realities involved.  Nevertheless, extracting a fish from a hook is a disconcerting experience, especially when said fish is in the midst of its death throes and your fingers are thoroughly numb.  And I never really thought of fish as creatures who bleed.  Which is why I found myself, soaked to the skin, murmuring "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," to a large mackerel with a hook through its mouth as I tried to convey it from the end of my line to the tub of bounty.

Still, we are warm and dry now and for supper we had the freshest of fresh mackerel, lightly pan fried, on a slice of buttered toast.  Not the most elaborate meal of the holiday, but definitely one that was thoroughly earned.

Yum.

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