I bought this book three days ago.

It was a book I knew intimately, but not one I ever owned. It was in the school library and I recall taking it out and devouring it, until I had absorbed all the information it contained, which to be honest wasn’t much, and also didn’t take long, because in those days I could read something once and have virtually total recall.

But I haven’t seen one since I last read the school copy, and when I saw it on the charity shop shelf it was like meeting an old friend.

Sometimes I worry a little about buying things that I have known in the past, with thoughts that they might be symptomatic of some kind of mid-life crisis, but then I reason that I’m not trying to recreate my youth like these sad bastards you see dressing up as mods and rockers to twat around on the machines they could never afford when teenagers. Nor am I trying to kid time by dressing like a fourteen year old, or getting a tattoo. No, this is like the art thing I blogged about before, about rediscovering a part of myself.

I feel myself drawn back to fishing, but don’t seem to remember very much of the art, or at least am not confident about what knowledge I retain. It therefore seems appropriate that, to some extent at least, I retrace my own footsteps of discovery. Added to which the book is easy to read and has good pictures which will mean Little Boots will enjoy it too, which is an interest I’m trying to encourage.

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