It’s not far from the town, his shady fishing spot. He’d been using it since he was a boy; now there were townies showing up with picnic bags. And children. Who brought weans fishing? It’s not as if they learn anything.
Fishing isn’t childminding. It’s not for wee girls to be playing at. They’re all chat and giggles and hairstyles and imagination. They have big dreams, big mouths and ridiculous colourful wellies. They see shapes in the clouds and necklaces in the greenery. They bring toys and leave emptiness.
He missed his grandchildren. The city is too far away.