She hated fish.She hated fishing season. She loved him, but she hated pixies and fly rods and those fucking feathers that littered her kitchen table a...l summer so that he could be the all-mighty fisherman. After all, he had patiently explained time after time, REAL fishermen tied their own flies. REAL fisherman knew what the fish really wanted better than any mass-production factory.She hated fish.However, as much as she hated fish, she loved her husband. She'd entertained passing thoughts of. Standing slowly, he placed a hand on my shoulder, for the third time that day, and said, ‘Thanks Mrs F, I’ve really enjoyed this. It’s been so helpful.’ For a few moments our eyes locked and we both ignored the thunder cloud forming on his girlfriend’s face, until she grabbed his arm and virtually dragged him out of the door. Finally realising how much time had passed I knocked back the cold dregs of my coffee and rushed back to the school, hoping I’d get to my car before the janitor locked the. More

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