Legacy be damned: some fishing gear should be cremated with you…

No-one will care how many fish that old filleting table of yours saw, nor how big they were.

They won’t care about the yarns spun while it was in use, or the people spinning them.

That it was your father’s filleting table and his daddy’s before him will cut no ice with people holding scented handkerchiefs to their nose and cursing all three of you while they hunt for an axe.

Such is the enduring  moral of this tale from a Scunthorpe auction house, where two antique desks that might have otherwise fetched a tidy sum are hanging around longer than is ideal, all because of their previous employment…

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