This morning I set fire to my head.
Whilst tending a bonfire on a Leamington Angling work party a cruel gust of wind pushed the roaring flames in my direction. The frazzling sound was accompanied by the distinct smell of burning hair. As soon as I could look in a mirror I could see the afro style burned bits all down the left hand side of my head. A kindly lady passer-by took a look for me and commented that my face was very red and was I sure I wasn't burned? I hadn't the heart to tell her that that was my complexion on a good day.
Not easily dissuaded from fishing I met up with Pete at Stratford to fish the tail end of the mild conditions in the slim hope of a barbel. I'll be damned if at least one doesn't show up amongst catch reports in the blogosphere from the English weekend just gone, everything felt just right for them.
With all the warm rain entering the river and with the flood subsiding I reckoned there was a chance.
|The wind was strong and the river still high.|
|Here I am, sitting on a park bench nonchalantly holding my bream. Are you sure you've not been burned in a horrible bonfire accident?|
|The tips remained still thereafter.|
Here are the scores on the doors tonight:
|Time on my hands boys, time on my hands.|