First Sunday in and the sun has broken through and now there is more than enough blue sky to make up a dozen sailors’ trousers.

With the sun and the air still there was nothing to do other than go out in a boat to try and catch some mackerel for breakfast.

I took the small grey dinghy motoring out to the spot between Luke’s place and Owens’ Island from where you can see the bay opening out and the line where it ends and then the full sweep of the Atlantic.

I cut the engine and threw over the line. There were new feathers on it, tassels of bright silver, just right for catching the attention of the fish.

The tiny boat drifted slowly out into the bay. I pulled in the line and let it out again through my fingers the sea water spraying off it into the light.

It took me five minutes to catch four fish all on the same line. They were all the right size, about nine inches long.

An hour later I had two of them with bacon. They were filleted down by the rocks surrounded by seagulls.

The bacon was the last two rashers of Gubbeen streaky bacon left from the weekend. I cooked it in butter until the fat started to run and then turned the fillets of fish in the hot oil until they were just done the skin starting the break away.

We ate the rest of the mackerel for lunch, cooked on the barbeque, with potato salad and more of the first sunshine.