Years and years ago, when I was around seven, we had a wonderful camping holiday in Port Patrick, in Western Scotland. It was a quiet fishing village and the rain came in with the tide every afternoon. It was the best holiday I can ever remember. There were rocks to play on, minature golf (I took a shot for my brother and got a hole in one but didn't manage to make it in less than three for myself) a wonderful harbour and lots of beautiful countryside and sandy beaches. I found this picture on WikiCommons, taken in 2016, and it hasn't changed much. You may like to click on the link to see the picture full size as it is beautiful.
Image from WikiCommons, taken by Allmhurach and used under the Creative Commons Agreement (the wiki page has the text in Gaelic, but it's exactly as I remember)
One day father bought four mackerel from the fishing boats as they came in, so the mackerel were the freshest you can get. I think he paid 10p each, a bargain even in those days, and they were a good size. Mother insisted that she was not cleaning them. I insisted that I was - right up to the moment when father cut their heads off! After that, I stayed completely out of the way, I was having nothing to do with them. I couldn't even look at them. It was the first time I had ever been squeamish and I recoiled! Mother coated them in batter, which I now realise was sacrilege, and fried them. I couldn't manage a mouthful. I have never been keen on mackerel since.
To be honest, I don't like fish, and oily fish really doesn't agree with me, but bear loves fish, it's good for him and I wanted him to try something new. I put the mackerel on the order.
DH was a hero and pan fried the fillets. They were beautiful and fresh, DH and bear commented on how tasty they were, they looked amazing. I couldn't eat any. I think they were too rich for bear as he complained about tummy ache all evening. DH also said that they were very rich, though good. If we have mackerel again I will try and find a different way to cook them.
The kitchen stinks. It smells absolutely foul. I've had a window open and I've left cut onions around. I've thrown all the scraps and packaging out into the outside bin. I haven't any cloves to simmer on the stove. I'm going to pick them up tomorrow, as I suspect the mackerel will be making its presence felt for a few days yet.
I can't remember who asked, I grew up in Ellesmere Port. I used to love going with my grandmother to Brombrough to visit her friends and when she went to her bank in Rock Ferry. I left there in the eighties, but I still get homesick sometimes.