A Tale of Two Cottages

A knock on the door, lights, camera, 'Good morning Hugh, time to go to sea'. Can we just do that once more; and so it goes on, the spotlight on the 'Celebrity Chef' as another TV crew set up another shot, another angle, another episode of sustainable food made plain and simple and what's more it's good for you. This is the start of the third Clovelly Herring Festival, widely reported and extensively covered, from 'Devon Life' to the 'Western Morning News' and of course the good old 'North Devon Journal', it seems it has never been out of the press and as if by magic there are even herring being caught this year.

Down the slippery, morning dark steps into the rocking 'Lily'. Camera man with us, sound man with my brother in his little 'Bombay'. Hugh, that's Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall to you, sits in borrowed waterproofs asking questions about the fishing, the history and the possibilities of the future. We lay our nets along the coast and prepare for a drift back towards Clovelly; time for serious filming as Hugh repeats questions to himself in true opposing angled telly fashion.

Light fills the sky, bringing on the morning, I look for my accurate morning light indicator to tell me if the light is sufficient enough for me to haul the nets in, actually I'm waiting for the street lights to switch off but it sounds good. The moment of truth, time to haul. Time to be nervous.

It all started with the 'Observer' newspaper, a moody picture of a lonely boat on a flat sea, to follow we had, fishing news, Country File, Rick Stein, we became a Taste of the West, we carried on with Marco Pierre White, looked good on Radio 4 when Kipperman, aka Mike Smylie, won a prestigious award for his book promoting the herring industry and radio 4 thought it appropriate to interview him while actually out fishing for herring, local newspapers, Belgium newspapers, all came wanting a taste of the famous Clovelly Herring and now we have Hugh.

Herring are notoriously camera shy. Having taken the River Cottage advance party out to sea a couple of days before and caught nothing in the morning drift, we had no choice but to venture out again on the evening tide, luckily this time returning with a healthy catch in time for last orders.
As we began the task of bringing in the nets, I more than half expected to find nets empty of fish, just the silent snigger of hiding herring and the pleased with himself, breakfasted seal belching contented Omega 3. Imagine my surprise when we actually caught some fish. Not many I grant you, a token catch, an offering, but enough, not for me, but enough for Mr Whittingstall to demonstrate his culinary cheffy skills.

The harbour was emptying of tide and filling with stalls, the Quay bulged with an array of caterers, gift sellers, fruit and fish carts, pickles and jams, homemade cards for sending and painted pebbles for admiring, and a gathering of gloriously fishy decorated cupcakes. Somewhere a Cornish contingent of salty Shantymen piped up and visiting festivallers gathered to watch as Mr River Cottage cooked up some delicious herring alongside our own 'Auntie Irene' actually my sister Rachel, who is the chef at the Bucks Cross 'Merry Harriers', well worth a visit.

The day continued with its fishy flavour, more TV crews filed by to fill vacant news slots, the Red Lion overflowed with ale and drunks, the carpark struggled to cope, the locals waited for the day to end. The day ended. Hugh and his crew departed heading up another river, all that's left is just the embarrassment of another poor TV appearance to look forward to. One thing is for sure though, I shan't be watching it. The day River Cottage met Crazy Kates Cottage.