
There are times in the last three months that I would have crawled over broken glass for a taste of fish. If my right arm had been made of fish instead of meaty flesh (or should that be fleshy meat?) then I probably would have gnawed on that. That’s what a two-week diet of nothing but meat and potatoes does to a person.
At that moment, if somebody had produced a plate of steamed fish, I would have considered something close to a miracle. Hell, I might even have converted on the spot. But they didn’t, and I didn’t. Instead, that need just quietly grew. Continue reading








