BY JOHN MUSGRAVE ‘Eh, Yohnnie, you know the British Embassy in Tel Aviv has advised you must to leave,’ said Tamir, down at the fish farm. I’d been working there since January 1891. ‘Ha staphon,’ (the north) he said, nodding towards Lebanon. We were tugging at a fish net so huge it might once have seen service on a tennis court. Columns of tanks droned as they … Continue reading Gone Fishing