We first exchanged piscatorial bodily fluids when I was but a small boy: an event involving grief-stricken tears, garden cane and cheese (a tale I shall no doubt regale at some point). This first affair was to last the transition from boy to man, pushbike to Austin Mini, local park lake to the mighty Trent, and was eventually to encompass match fishing and trips to Ireland and the Netherlands. But alas, things weren’t to last, and by this point I had become a spent force, my head weary from being turned by a succession of women and draught ales. The mistress and I grew apart. The love had gone. And besides, some scrote nicked all my tackle from my parents’ garage and I spunked all the insurance money on a new car.
Fast forward twenty years, and the mistress and I are back together, although this time on altogether different terms. A young family and a full time job ensure that bank time is limited, but when I can’t wet a line I often get my splodging fix by reading many of the excellent blogs which are around these days: Idler’s Quest, Piscatorial Quagswagging and Slipperyfishsite to name but a few. All have inspired me to create a blog of my own.
Oh, and I lied earlier: the love never went. It was always there, and probably always will be. Fellow splodgers will know what I’m talking about.