I should have known better shouldn’t I?
With
millions of people all over the world, eagerly waiting
for the first entry in this diary, expecting to be
enthralled and entertained by epic tales of battles with
brass plated beasties, and what happened? I had a
complete and utter blank.
As I arrived at about 6pm on Sunday night the signs were not good. The in-blowing wind defeated my attempts to groundbait the far bank ledge, and turned my simple to erect shelter into a deranged and flapping bat monster, as it billowed around its concave interior, trying to wrestle the poles from my grasp. I always like to get a good carpet of bait out first, and let the fish move onto it while I’m taking care of all the usual home comforts, but on this occasion it was obvious that I would have to compromise, and hope that the wind would die down at dusk.
At least an hour later, and using a throwing spoon on the end of a landing net handle, at least some of the prepared mix was hurled out satisfactorily. The two rods were cast out to the usual targets on the far bank margin, and I opened a bottle of wine to celebrate my first trip of the new season.
The view towards Whittlesey Washes is hardly the most picturesque feature to face, but the barn owl familiar from previous seasons, continued to quarter the dykes beyond, and two unfamiliar birds with a strange, musical cry flew overhead towards the south-east. The usual parades of rolling bream were noticeably conspicuous by their absence.
All was not lost, as at 11pm there was the chance to listen to a rare live performance on Radio 3 by The Legendary Stardust Cowboy. When I was at college, I discovered his single, Paralysed, in a huge box of forgotten singles from years gone by. Once described as being one of the worst songs ever written, it was performed as if the singer had miraculously managed to record it whilst simultaneously being administered with painful electric shocks. The live performance did not disappoint: the years had not withered those magic tonsils, and “The Ledge” was as bonkers as ever. David Bowie has recorded his song, Gemini Spaceship for his new album. Really.
The indicators remained motionless for most of the night, with only a few half-hearted bream attacks to show that there was anything out there at all. Interestingly though, what little activity there was peaked at just after 5am, although there was still nothing to persuade me to venture outside.
At 7.35 precisely, it was as if the gates of a huge car compound had opened, and thousands of cars released all at once. I have noticed this strange phenomenon before; there isn’t a gradual build up of traffic, but an instant rush, as if everyone has left their homes at exactly the same time every morning. The driving on this narrow, bumpy, riverside road has to be seen to be believed. You could be forgiven for thinking that the entire population of Whittlesey are all hell-bound maniacs, taking part in gruesome version of The Wacky Races, the average speed along this dangerous road being similar to that of the A1.
Realising that there was absolutely no point in joining the queues to get round the city, I decided to take the route home through Thorney. This was peaceful enough until I crossed over the Eye to Spalding road, and pulled over to clear my windscreen. In those few brief seconds, a later rush had instantly occurred, as a different wave of commuters came gushing out of Eye to take the back road rat-run to Dogsthorpe. I must have waited four or five minutes for a gap to appear in the traffic so that I could pull out again. Approaching Deeping the madness continued, as car after car came rushing out of every side road, all destined to join the queues on Peterborough’s parkways.
I began to wonder how much extra I would have to be paid to compensate for the stress and nuisance of that daily grind. The only thing that cheered me up was the thought of all the pain and misery shortly due to all those outsiders who have moved to Bourne, intent in making a killing on their southern property prices, and driving house prices beyond the reach of local buyers.
FOOTNOTE: JULY 7th
There had been a fatal accident along the North Bank
road earlier
in the week, and out of about three
miles of road, it took place exactly behing the spot
where I always fish. I arrived to find shattered car
parts and oil all over the grass, along with discarded
latex gloves, and the packaging from a drip tube. On the
verge opposite, someone had laid some flowers. I fished
further along the river that night...and blanked
again.