Tuesday 3rd October to early Thursday morning.
I was awake early, despite a late night, then remembered I had promised 'Her' a spot of lunch before embarking on yet another 2 nighter
Me and my big mouth
Cobblers!
(Or words to that effect).
As predicted, the wind had turned Westerly overnight and the forecast looked good for the next couple of days, so I was itching to get over knowing that solitude was virtually guaranteed.
So after a rigorous work out in the garden, and a well deserved roast, I made my way to the lake sometime after 3p.m. Total isolation.
I stood alone on the gate bank and sure enough, the warm wind was pummelling the far reaches with gusto, and although I had only been there for a few minutes, the expectation of seeing a fish rise became overwhelming to the point that I just knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later.
And it did…Twice! Different fish too! I could contain myself no longer, and turned to fetch my gear only to be confronted by some nut job heading down the lane on a pushbike brandishing two Morrisons carrier bags on each handle. He dismounts, and walks toward the gate and up the setps. “Here we go” I thought, “Just my fcuking luck, he’s a mental”.
And I wasn’t wrong!
BTW.
If anyone’s looking for a black Liverpudlian bloke, late 30's, early 40's with his top front teeth missing, talks utter SHIITE and likes nothing more than chilling out in graveyards on a fine autumn eve with a litre of Lambruscio and a straw, pm me, he’s only just arrived in the village.
I'd love to do recount the conversation, but I dont type scouse!
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