A few speculative cast and no joy. I went for the biggie, rod right back aiming to cover the far side. Whoosh, splosh and oh bollocks the lure clipped a branch and kind of done a swallow dive leaving me in a mess on the reel. It just sat in the water looking at me as if to say "Nice one wanker"! Then it was gone,smash just gone. No action imparted, just a little small crank bobbing about while this angling demigod is struggling to untangle this mess.
It should have got off, but lady luck, lord Shiva, the little Grey Men all those things smiled on me. A cracking fight, this way and that. Finally slipping over the net, never I have been so elated to catch a Chub. It went a whisker over four of my finest pounds, Chub in the past I've caught to over six pound while Barbel fishing, but this left me strutting about like a rutting Deer. At bloody last, trying since the start of the season has resulted in abject failure. Not today, not today.
To the left of me is a bottle of London Porter and I'm thinking about who shall I back in the Arc tomorrow at Longchamp. I will make a decision in the morning, for what is my favorite flat meeting of the season. Maybe Kingston Hill at 20/1, but dropping back in distance after the Ledger he maybe tapped for speed. But Kingston has run his heart out this season, so it would be great, more so to win at those juicy odds.
My angling has changed immeasurably since this blog started about four and a half years ago. Friends also have diversified, moving away from the whole single species myopia. Sure we are still a bunch of piss taking bastards, ripping each other to pieces like many others do and long shall it remain so. Time to finally grow up, never. No fishing now for a few weeks, work and West Ham will take precedent, then it will be time for "Operation Papa Smurf" and hopefully a three pound Perch when he pops over.