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The Fishery

My mum’s getting married next week to a lovely man named Ian. Sometime ago Ian asked me to be his best man, to which I agreed. But what could I do his Stag Do considering he doesn’t drink and nor do I? I thought to myself. Then I came up with the idea of a fishing trip. Ian likes fishing, as does Neil, my big brother. Besides which, I’ve always said that at least once in my life I’d like to catch a fish, so here was an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone*.

So a few weekends ago, we set off to a fishery somewhere near Morecambe and Lancaster. On arrival we were greeted by the Warden who was in his fifties, had dishevled hair, a beer belly and clothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed in quite sometime.

The Warden staggered towards our car, can of Carling in hand and then stood there swaying. Ian showed him our booking form, but he looked at it as if he either was trying to get it in focus or couldn’t read it. He directed us to the Head Office, instead of Reception where we collected our keys to the static caravan. On the way to our caravan, we saw that the Warden lived just three caravans away.

As I enjoyed a coffee and cigarette on a picnic bench in front of the caravan with Ian, the Warden drove past in a Jeep, giving me an intense stir – the sort I imagine serial killers give to their intended victims. The Warden came to a stop on the road opposite our caravan and continued to stir.

Ian went over to speak to him through the Jeep window. He said in the creepiest tone of voice possible: ‘Do you know who I am?’
‘Yes the Warden.’ Ian replied.
The Warden wound up his window, gave me a long hard stir and then slowly drove off.

During that stir I imagined that he was planning to rape me (after all, I was easily the prettiest on the site and the closest to being a woman), murder me and chop my body into pieces to feed to the fish. This sounds a little dramatic and like I’m trying to make this part of the story funny – but he really did freak me out.

So I called Neil, told him the situation and that he’d better get here before dark. I told him: This is how horror films start! That night we all chatted, played Harry Potter Top Trumps and Superhero Top Trumps, with Neil coming out as the victor.

Later, as the weekend wore on, I became slightly more relaxed about this encounter wih the Warden telling Ian and Neil with a smile: ‘Listen it’s alright for you two. You’re old, either bald or going bald. I’m the jail bait in the static caravan.’

The next day, after a big cooked breakfast was the fishing. I caught the first and by far the biggest with Ian’s kind help. There’s so much innuendo in fishing terminology; I was figuratively rolling on the floor laughing the whole weekend. Phrases like: Keep tight hold of the rod. Bait me up. Owe…what a lovely little tiddler.

Here are some photos from the day’s fishing:

Mother Duck and her Ducklings – But that isn’t what we came for.	Ian & Neil in their fishing gear.
Me in my fishing gear…I hate to say it…but I’m like the Tiger Woods of the Fishing World LOL.	This is exactly how I imagined fishing to be.
The first and biggest fish of the weekend – caught by me with help from Ian.	A close up of the big fish…definitely bigger than a gold fish.
The fish I was most proud of catching. My first fishI caught all by myself. Isn’t it a lovely little ‘tiddler?’

On Sunday, being still in recovery, I was exhausted. So while the boys went out fishing, I took it easy reading The Humans by Matt Haig. It’s an awesome book that I’ll be writing a review on when I’ve finished reading it. In the late afternoon we headed back home.

We all enjoyed the trip so much, that it is to become an annual event. Known in the family as ‘The Annual Fishing Trip.’ I love that the time spent male bonding brings us closer together as a family.

Write soon,

Antony

* No birds, fish, ducks or other animals were harmed by Ian, Neil or myself during the trip. However the odd human stranger did push his luck and came very close to being maimed.

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