Magical moment marred by murderous ‘fisher’

TO add to current miseries, my wife’s car broke down, and I disagreed with the manner in which she was acquainting herself with my big old automatic on the narrow roads of East Clare.

Too fast, I said, let me out in Bridgetown, and go on yourself alone to view that organic garden you’re interested in. She dropped me and was gone like a shot.

It was the late afternoon, the pub was not yet open, I was not in good form because of the reaction to my views on corncrakes from a powerful lobby. I sat down on a bench in the little park in Bridgetown very gloomily. I was also short of cigarettes.