This man of mine loves to fish. Off the beach, a jetty, tinny or charter boat. It doesn’t bother him. Give him some smelly bait and a line and he’s happy. I’m resisting the urge to make a small things, small mind joke but I’m assured fishing is an art and that making such a statement will actually make me look silly. So moving on.

Sunday he went on a charter with friends. They promised lots of fun, fish and crabs. He would have gone anyway, regardless of such promises. Dude really loves to fish. So off he went into the night Saturday night as I danced the night away with cousins and friends. I smiled as I slipped into our empty bed that night knowing he would be waking within the hour to start his day.

And I had a whole day to myself ahead of me. Bliss.

He arrived home later Sunday evening grinning from ear to ear. I’d missed him and started talking at him immediately. He unpacked his esky with an assortment of fish, carting them dripping through the house into the backyard. I rolled my eyes and followed him out, still catching him up on the gossip from the night before. The afternoon sun glinted off the scales of the multi-coloured fish. I had an idea. WAIT, I said to him, I’ll get some photos.

So I did. He smiled. We chatted. Caught up. Talked about dinner. And all was well in the world. Well except for the fish smell through the house and scales coating my backyard… But that my friends is the price you pay. What can I say, the dude REALLY loves to fish.

Dude is a fan of the fishing. What can I say?


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