One from my extensive list of life mantras is to never eat seafood if I am more than two hours inland from the coast.

Seafood that has had to travel hours to get to me rouses gut-wrenching connotations of Swedish fermented herring.

If this is your thing, you are kind of gross. Rotting flesh that smells like roadkill is not my idea of a delicacy.

Growing up on a cattle property that was just over two hours from the closest beach meant that fresh seafood was tantalisingly close, but tragically just too far away.