Ever since I first went fishing for gobies with my buddy Marcel as 7-year olds while we were camping next to the Adriatic Sea with our respective families, I am a fan of this sport, even though I hardly ever get a chance to practice it. It’s relatively relaxing, certainly doesn’t usually require enormous effort, you’re out in nature, enjoying the sun, and maybe best of all, you get yourself some nice dinner onto the table, what’s not to like. It’s got something archaic to it like hunting, mountain-climbing, boxing or foraging. While polo is perhaps best left in my view to the Camerons, Borises, and Rees-Moggs out there, surely fishing was for me, the common man (or equally the common woman, if she likes; Ms B is not very fond of it though). I’m saying this despite a horrific fishing incident outside Dallas, TX, in 1991, when I sat […]