Crisp, my aged companion, had a thing about boats, the sea and water.
She didn’t like any of them and in no particular order.
It was from an incident as a child when her father took her fishing, and she managed to fall overboard.
They were fishing off the coast, a wave came by, the boat lurched, and Crisp went over.
She was already terrified of the sea, and now she was in the sea, her terror intensified.
She feared a shark attack.
There was a real prospect of her being bait, and she was not at all happy. After being plucked from the water, she sat huddled in the bottom of the boat refusing to participate any longer.
The memory stayed with her, and she recounted the incident as we looked at the old boat on its moorings.
“Let’s have fish and chips for lunch,” she said as we walked off.