At our office today we received the following missive from Mr Robert Legros, one of our dedicated readers.

Dear Mouching,

First of all let me present myself: I am young man of average size, relatively presentable, elegant and very popular. I have friends all around the world, from Korea (South, of course, let’s be serious) to Monaco, from Brazil to Mongolia. I even have a couple of friends who live near the border of the Gard and, being of a generous nature, I go as far as pardoning them the regular poaching of our marvelous Ardeche cepes (boletus mushrooms) every autumn and also their accent (unusually grating to our auditory perception).

When I happen to meet them I can’t stop from talking, with an eye to enlightening them a little, about fly fishing, about the extreme finesse of this practice and… well, I won’t bother you with the details.

For their part, they often laugh in my face in a somewhat vulgar manner;  they have even taken me to visit to their cellars to admire the bottles of bleach piled up against sticks of the dynamite that they use for fishing.

In spite of our being friends for a long time, I am very careful not to vex them for these people are of Corsican origin; they are quick-tempered and dangerous.

At breakfast this morning, my croissant au beurre crumbled in my hands watching the little film that “Hector” (that’s not his real name) just sent me. I don’t know, it is a kind of vengeance on his part? A declaration of war? One can expect anything from people who live in the Gard.  Anyway, one thing is certain: I’m ready to sell all my fly fishing gear at rock bottom prices, tear up my Ardeche passport and start growing a beak.


Dear Mr. Legros,


The little film that we just received from you… we have watched it with great interest and like you, we too have decided to grow our beaks.