No refunds given.

If my recall is accurate, Margaret Mead, the renowned American anthropologist, who studied and wrote books about communities in the South Pacific, was once asked when she thought men were happiest. She considered this profoundly important question for a time, then answered, 'when they are preparing for the hunt'.

This may explain why, my brother and I, newly inducted into the arts of fishing from the beach, sought to replenish (in my case 'plenish') our freezers with mackerel, bass, codling, ray and any other pescatorial booty that might come our way. Thanks to Kate granting us access to her wonderfully-secluded family 'retreat', we were able to sally forth for a few days into beautiful Dorset in pursuit of our prey.

Two days later we had spent something like twelve hours on the steep shingle beaches of the Jurassic coast. (Please put aside now any temptation to make mention of  how appropriate this might be for a couple of dinosaurs......) By the time we packed away our thoroughly-drenched gear on Tuesday evening, the English Channel had yielded one small, strange fish called a 'father lasher' (Myoxocephalus scorpius) and a writhing, slimy elver.

The only mackerel we saw was the one we bought for bait to supplement the ragworm in which we had invested so heavily. Even that fish disappeared when a patrolling herring gull swooped and carried it away while I was distracted by the waves momentarily threatening to o'ertop my wellingtons.

There is no question; the setting was magnificent, when you could see the biscuit-coloured cliff for the rain; the sea was majestic, though it consumed considerable amounts of equipment that we insisted on throwing into it in the forlorn hope that the sea might let us have it back again; the beach was impressive in its dramatic, pebbly banking though it made climbing and descent an exhausting effort  - and the weather was - just awful.

And yet............... we can't wait for the next expedition. We had a great time. We eagerly anticipate fresh sight of the sea, the promise of (fishy) food, the prospect of exploring, encountering that primitive, DNA-embedded, residual instinct established in the Era of Evolutionary Adaptation - the thrill of the hunt.

................ and this trip with my brother was further evidence of my 'rehabilitation', my ability to survive without the ministrations of Diana . At this rate those of you who are still reading this will be 'wanting your money back'.

Not much chance of that, I'm afraid.