No, I’m Not Dead
Yes, I am still here. I just seem to be running around in ever decreasing circles. In March my diary ended abruptly (like a good stop should) near the end of June and I had plans to go fishing, mow the lawn, tend the garden and generally chill out. It just hasn’t turned out like that. Even last weekend, which was supposed to be blissfully uneventful suddenly got eventful with only a weeks notice. One minute I was pondering what to do with my free time, like, maybe, go fishing, the next I was booked to do three days demonstrating at the East of England show at Peterborough. Some of you may have seen Prince Charles getting his brogues a bit muddy on the telly. He came up on the Friday when the heavens opened and the site was more than a bit damp. It was so bloody wet I would not have been that surprised to see a run of sea-trout through the arena I was demonstrating in. I think those of us that demonstrate fly casting have drawn the short straw. In my arena we had gundog training, which included a springer pup. Sheep dog trials, which not only had dogs but indian runner ducks (instead of sheep) and children. A heavy horse strutting his stuff. Birds of prey being flown with chicks to be ahhed at. Beagles and foxhounds for kids to play with. And, me and my rod! Gimme a break. They drew adoring crowds, I had an audience of, and let’s be generous, half a dozen, five of which didn’t know one end of a rod from the other (I exaggerate, but only slightly). I need something, I don’t know what yet, that will draw a crowd. Something cute and funny, and I don’t mean Roger. I now understand why Charles Jardine has his Midge. If three-quarters of the audience decide they don’t get loop formation and abrupt stops they can at least watch the dog misbehaving and walk away afterwards with a smile on their faces. Job done. And it is a job, believe me. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy myself, I did, especially when the weather improved and I could take my super-duper, extra long mac off.
I have two more weekends of casting stuff, including taking some people to their first casting on water with fish in. I hate that. I so want them to catch a fish and the guilt trip when they don’t. I could never be a guide. How do they cope with the bad days?
Right, off to trawl the internet, I wonder what I will get when I Google small and furry?