He had as fine a boat as you could ask for, gleaming white flanks and conifer mast and smoothest blue decking with not a bubble or crack in the paint. He had a perfect net that caught all the right fish and let slip the wrong ones. He had a nice wife, with a bun on the back of her head and a modest green dress and award-winning pasty-crimping. He had a dog and an innate ability to smell storms and sea monsters.
He was fisherman 54, and what he wanted more than anything in the world was a name.
V for vignette 