In my early teens there was an army surplus store called Malcom Mitchell’s in my hometown where you could buy anything from large petrol cans to great coats and army boots. Everything was piled up to about ten feet high on either side of the shop, with a corridor running down the middle. If you wanted some boots a finger would be waived vaguely in a certain direction and you would scale the mound to find what you were after.
Occasionally, you would arrive to find the shop shut. A notice in the door stated: Gone Fishing with the Boys.
When we were in Brittany recently we were looking for the footpath and, taking a wrong turn, stumbled across these guys fishing on the rocks. I suddenly remembered the old shop and notice. Ironically I needed the army boots to wear when digging lugworms to sell to the fishing shop for pocket money.
When I saw this scene I was taken by its energy, with the angular rocks and restless sea along with the busy industry of the guys enjoying their pastime in the early morning sunshine.
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