Wednesday lunchtime. I sit with a couple of friends outside the John Harvey Tavern, thinking about how wrong the view is. On the table are three fresh pints of Harvey’s Old. I haven’t drunk any Old yet this season, and I’m looking forward to the experience. There’s a guy with a beard sitting at the next table, halfway through a pint of the same stuff.
“What were you doing with that fish earlier?” he says.
It’s one of those times when it’s too complicated to explain. The truth of the matter was that I was in the Cliffe to do some Viva Lewes errands. I’d popped into my brother’s flat to find out what he was going to write about this week. His flat stank. He was going to write, apparently, about the cause of the stink, some salmon he’d bought in Tesco’s. Later on, while I was eating at Bill’s, he’d arrived with the fish, wrapped carefully in a plastic bag. He was on his way to take it back to the shop. Would I like to photograph it?
We went to the Argos car park, so the stink wouldn’t disturb the other diners. I snapped the fish, thinking about what a waste it was having a horrible car park with a lovely view of the river, in front of a lovely pub with a horrible view of the car park. That someone should swap them round. Then I’d returned to Bill’s.
This thought is still nagging in my head when I’m sat down with the Old, fifteen minutes later, in front of the pub.
“It was off. I was photographing it,” I reply, to the guy.
“Why were you photographing some off fish?”
“For work.”
“You were photographing some off fish, for work?”
Strangely, yes. The Old, by the way, tasted magnificent, the best I’ve had for years. Enjoy the week.