The idea of nightfishing had horrified me as a child, before I realised what it really was. I used to imagine hooks spiralling into the sky, cast by madmen. Barbs snagging on the velvet, tearing it open, tearing it down. It bothered me that anyone would want to do that, let alone try. Precious little bothered me now. A dying bird on the beach. A metal rod in my spine. Nearly three hundred people on a flight out of Heathrow airport missing death by seventy feet. You begin to learn how to keep a lid on it.