Gone Fishing

I sat by the river watching the rain drops expand in little circles on the surface. It was peaceful here. I like places like this. The rain didn't bother me because, although it was now quite heavy, my coat was more than a match - it had survived Welsh hillsides.


I had picked this spot on the bank as it was nicely away from everyone. There are times to be sociable and times when even two is a crowd. I was thusly a little annoyed when an old chap, wearing full fisherman's clothes came and sat beside me.

He stuck up conversation. It wasn't what I wanted, but I'm not a rude man. I just hoped he'd get bored and move on.

"So what bait are you using?"

"None at all."

"And are you being successful?"

"Indeed." It was true. Before coming here I was quite tense. Now I was relaxed and quite at peace.

He looked at my fishing rod and then back at me. "That must be quite some technique you have there."

I couldn't think of anything to say, and as I wasn't trying very hard, I said nothing.

"That's very thin line you must be using. I don't think I can see it."

"Line?"

"Yes, fishing line. Some of the brand new Dyneema stuff?"

"Oh no, there's no line there at all. Can't stand fish."