Sitting down Dan thought of the little paper bags that his wife used to put up for him, each with a blue paper twist of salt within. Like the packet’s of crisps in bygone days. Dan loved salt with his sandwiches and a couple of tomatoes.
Poor old Rusty, Dan knew that he smelt bad, and that his coat looked awful. The vet said that it was his age. But Rusty, old or not, he still liked his piece of sandwich, especially when containing a juicy fat piece of prime ham. Dan always found a pinch of salt improved things, it certainly helped in the porridge. For up here in the highlands you need something warm with a bite inside you on a cold winters morning.
Hell that was a big one, I wish that he would turn her head into the wind again. For the surface is breaking up again. The fish guts are flying everywhere, and the spray is drenching my poor coat, and there are icicles hanging from my ears. It’s getting so rough, reminding me of my great great grandfather, and his tale of how the fishing boat he was in capsized, because of all the ice on the rigging. Hell it’s cold.
“Come in number four, your times up”.
Rusty it’s time to go home old chap, all the tourist’s have gone. It’s getting dark lad. How do sardines on toast sound? with a speck of salt.
It’s not like the old days is it. Those days when we sailed the Faeroes and the Fair Isles. Do you remember that storm as we returned over Cromarty? I still dream of that one, what a blow it was.
Just hang on old chap, I need to set the alarm, then home it is.