Cooking Haddock on a hot day and other smelly jobs

Tuesday is Fish Man Day. Every Tuesday he is to be found parked next to the coffee shop, his tiny van laden with gleaming pleasure. It has become almost a duty to me to turn up and buy  something every week. He is unfailingly cheery, even on the iciest of mornings, and when he is having, as he said today, a bit of a Groundhog Day.

It also gives me another reason to settle down in the coffee shop with a cappuccino  and a pen, and do some writing, while the fish waits chilled in the bag next to me. Today it let me finish a poem for a competition I have been putting off all week. Knowing that the fish will start to get to warm puts me under that extra bit of pressure.

The haddock was delicate, pearl white and flaking on the fork, the poem a little less satisfactory, but quite tasty-unlike the banana cake that I have just managed to burn while writing this…

 

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