Tadpole hunting with a fishing rod (Rousse)

GK sheepishly walked back into my life when his marriage came to an abrupt end. I knew this immediately, the evidence writ large across the tan line on his wedding ring finger.

It seemed that GK regarded my parents’ house as a safe retreat. He hadn’t considered that other people would think the same, so was rather disappointed when he had to fight with African forced migrants for sofa space at bedtime. Nevertheless, the next morning (on very little sleep) he was a willing participant in family activities and came tadpole hunting – with a fishing rod.

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