James Bond likes his shrimps potted.

It’s the bizarre kind of fact a journalist finds useful for livening up a dull article.

I once worked on a magazine in Park Lane, London. At Christmas the printers used to take my boss to a well-known restaurant, Scott’s of Mayfair.

Ian Fleming ate potted shrimps there, often, apparently.

QED.

Anyway, as an erstwhile journalist of sorts, I was reminded this week of just how much more fun blogging is than – yawn, sorry, where was I?

Oh, yes. Writing for a magazine.

I no longer do freelance journalism – but – there is a slim chance, not one I’m relishing right now. Foolishly I offered a piece to a local magazine, a county magazine whose September issue runs to over 300 pages. Well over 300.**

You see, last Sunday we went shrimp fishing.

(I’m not typing shrimp- joined to -ing any more…