Fatty had in his jacket pocket a triple signed document, all Waffen stamped allowing said Mole, for it is he, an early morning pass to travel to the Basingstoke canal. This he duly did accompanied on the outward journey by a, still warm from the oven, Pasty, a ham roll, a quart of slurping tea and his Drop Shot Equipment.
Getting set up and fishing by 0745hrs was an achievement of the first order with a small wasp soon taking a liking to the lure of double maggot drop shotted out side their nest:
A quick snap and off he went back to the hive.
Surprisingly busy on the towpath at this time, with MAMILS tearing around on expensive bikes shouting at everyone to get out of the way; Fatty decided that the next bellowing oaf on two wheels would face some of his own medicine.
It was barely five minutes after this thought that the Mole was on the receiving end of shouted verbals from a Lycra-Clad Warrior. His face was a picture of indignant surprise, even shock, when a Fat Angler bellowed back even louder ' Slow Down then you idiot, it's not a race-track!'
These bullies are so used to all the other tow path users being cowed by their belligerence that to receive a little of their nastiness back leaves them without the capacity to reply. This one just cycled on but a bit slower, hopefully a little wiser in the future; probably not though as the wearing of Lycra reduces the IQ by 50% at least.
Fatty fished on with no further Perch but imagine the shock at seeing the Ultra Light Drop Shot Rod, in truth a lightweight cane travel rod, slammed down hard and then nearly forming a circle as something heavy, angry and fast (not a cyclist) tried to bury itself in weed.
After a struggle which had the Mole believing his rod would snap, eventually by using the skilled playing technique of
just hanging on the big fish tired itself out although it had to be netted by another kind angler, as the hanging on technique needs two hands:
This pike weighed 10lb 8oz and was far bigger than Fatty had caught for some time from the Bassie on a small rubber lure. A quick snap of behemoth in the net and off she went; followed by giggling and attempted Dad Dancing from Fatty.
After this excitement with supplies scoffed and slurped the decision to return to Stalag Luft XIV was an easy one. Even getting caught in ridiculous levels of traffic could not upset Fatty.
Matron
smiled indulgently at her Fat Spouse as he retold the epic battle, leaving out the just hanging on bit, whilst slurping a freshly made tea, in between giving it the bigg'un
Matron
likes this time of year so let's Fatty make a noose for his own neck which will be yanked at the, female deemed, appropriate moment. There's so much truth in the old saying,
make hay whilst the sun shines
As ever,.....
Hay Making Moley
it