With Little Boots’ first experience of angling only a short way off it’s inevitable that I should recall my own, all those long years ago.

Things I remember about my first fishing trip:

  • I was quite young. Certainly under seven, judging by the house we lived in. Possibly as little as four years of age.
  • Dad made paste from bread and Dairylea triangles. It seemed like a waste of  cheesey treats to me.
  • It was by a river. Or a canal. Not by a pond or lake.
  • There were biscuits. They did not last long.
  • As well as my Dad two other grown ups came along. I don’t know who. Probably my Godfather and another of Dad’s cousins.
  • Only one fish was caught. It was silver. Actually there may have been two. Not a haul whichever the case.
  • My Dad’s reel had a broken handle. He had made a replacement. It was rubbish.
  • Someone lent him another reel before we set off and he used the handle off that.
  • My Dad’s reel was an Intrepid De Luxe.
  • The wrapper from a biscuit packet is no substitute for toilet roll.
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