Since getting struck on the side of the head by a speeding cricket ball at the age of eleven, my neighbour, Keith Kincaid, has been interested in only two things – fire engines and the music of Nana Mouskouri. If that fateful leather-sheathed sphere had clouted his coronal suture a smidgen higher, Keith would, according to my well-thumbed copy of Dr Melvin Pewsey’s Brain Atlas, be obsessed by electricity pylons and alpaca husbandry today. A smidgen lower and he’d be exactly the kind of tank-partial trout enthusiast this Flare Path is aimed at. (more…)
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