As you get older time seems to go ever faster. But somehow the weeks from the end of the fishing season have ground on with a glacial density.

I have filled the time with thinking about fishing, reading about it, looking at and (too often I’m afraid) buying tackle. But then I have also made some from scratch. More actively, I have renovated a decrepit old pushbike and fitted it with racks in anticipation of trips to the water when the car’s spoken for.

But none of this has been enough. In fact all of it hasn’t been enough. Last week it was so bad that I had to go and look at some water. I kidded myself that it was a scouting trip for the first day of the season, but really I just wanted to be at the bankside. And it worked too, lifting my mood massively. A big dose of nature and adventure. 

En route I saw some humorous signage, this time on a barge rather than a van.

I also clocked this piece of sculpture perched on a mooring post and looking for all the world like a totem pole.

And when I got to the water I was recce-ing I saw lots of pasty people despoiling a green space in a variety of ways. But I also saw fish. Lots of rather blatant little ones.

And some far shadowier big ones.

And if I was clever enough to put a soundtrack on this post – it would be this.

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