…she’ll eat for a day. Teach her how to fish and she’ll live forever.

Barnacles and mussels: an amazing sound, a tiny fizzing, popping noise as all the miniscule creatures breathe and open.

An island off the coast of Pembrokeshire, where baddies undoubtedly live. Spotted from the good ship Jenny B. Roar of boat engine and surf.

Fish I caught myself, just off the coast of Tenby. Info here. Flapping noise of fish goes quickly quiet, reels make a smooth, clicking noise as they spin round, weight on the line. Sticky fingers.

Mackerel.

Fire for cooking mackerel, fizzpop of damp in logs vapourising, small hiss of steam, pops and crackles of wood. Good smell.

Now the full blaze has died down and the charcoals are consistently hot through, 7 minutes each side. Hissing drip fizzing, juices spill out of the packages onto the earth.

Perfectly cooked, white and firm and succulent and delicious, tasting of the sea where it came from. Big thanks, little fishies. Big thanks too, to the deeply loved person who made sure that one of the things I wanted to get done before I turn 30, (catch and eat my own dinner) actually happened.

ETA: It’s not actually called baddie island, but St Catherine’s Island.