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Hook, Line and Sinker!
by Clint Wayne
2007-03-20 22:12:48 |
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When the working week is over and Friday night is here, the weekend eagerly waits like the first daffodil of spring. There is nothing better for me than to stroll down to my Local Hostelry with my favourite lady for a well-earned beer or two, but you never really know what or who awaits you.
Following my first pint of my favourite Newcastle Brown and having cleared the dust from my throat, I was in a very buoyant and upbeat mood when through the door came the man who would be a contender for the title ‘the most boring man in the world’.
So dear readers, I thought I might share with you a few details of my ‘delightful’ evening as I was honed in upon like a predator eyeing up his prey, he was that Pike gliding menacingly through the shallow waters and I was that unsuspecting little minnow enjoying life temporarily to the full. “Hello I’m Colin”
“Do you know I once spent 15 days fishing alone, pretty much without a bite?” No, why me God! “Yep, just me alone for 15 days in my bivouac in the pouring rain.” Beam me up, Scotty! “15 days without as much as a visitor.” The smell from the tent must have carried on the wind for miles. “My wife had gone off to her sisters for a break.” Poor woman, my sympathy was already flowing for a woman I’d never met.
Now, I suppose fishing is a good excuse for two guys to share a tent, around a lake, in the dead of night! If one guy phones the other and suggests spending the night together sitting around a lake it sounds a bit suspicious, but to go fishing together ‘that’s cool’.
“Do you know that I once fished a lake and caught a Carp this big in this particular shady spot that I had laid ground bait for days and a year later I caught the very same fish in the very same spot!” No really, fascinating…maybe he just holidayed there from the other side of the lake every year!
Surely no-one is actually born boring, or has boringness thrust upon them, there can’t be any genetic trait that says a person is doomed to be boring, so why are they? And why do they enter my life?
“Did you know that some Carp are worth a fortune and are smuggled in from France in lorries to stock English lakes?” Yes, I’ve seen them they have Birds-Eye written on the side.
“Like another drink?” I heard my other-self slurring as if I was drifting in a coma. “Half a bitter, please.” “Driving eh?” I murmured. “No, got to keep a clear head; I’ve got an early start to get down to the lake nice and early.” “Early bird catches the worm eh?” “No, I don’t use worms.”
Now it’s been a long time since I listened to someone explain the virtues of the common maggot and, at that precise point, I would have preferred to have had my fingernails torn out with pliers, but no. “Did you know that forensic Scientists use maggots to determine the time of death of a human body?” I was already comatose and now, thankfully, I was heading toward a slow but painless death.
“For me fishing is better than Sex!” Sex! Suddenly I burst into life, but alas no, there was still Colin…“Do you know I have an allotment?” Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…
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