After returning from our holiday in North Devon, I must admit I'm on a bit of a downer. There is something particularly cruel about coming home after a holiday where the weather has been glorious, the scenery has been stunning and life has somehow managed to slow down, only to discover that normality has been sitting on the doorstep waiting for you. I've spent most of the week wondering whether I…
North Devon has always felt like my true spiritual home, with the only real snag being that I do not get down here anywhere near as often as my sanity requires. My identical twin brother Chris managed to escape the relentless concrete and grey skies of Coventry twelve whole years ago to set up camp in Westward Ho!, though he still has to drag himself up to the Birmingham office a couple of times a…
You know how it goes. You can spend what feels like 5 or 6 weeks watching the garden slowly turn into the Gobi Desert, the rivers dropping an inch every day and every weather forecast promising "just one more day of sunshine." Then, the one time you actually have to walk somewhere, the heavens decide to recreate the Great Flood. Yesterday was Chris's last day before taking early retirement at the…
Sunday mornings and I have a bit of an understanding. The family don't really get going until lunchtime, so rather than pretending I was some sort of hardcore dawn raider, I decided to embrace the laziness and head for the syndicate stretch where I could park right behind my peg. Why carry half a tackle shop across fields when you can practically fish from the boot of the car? Naturally, I still…
The rumours had been swirling around Westminster for weeks, but now it was official. Andy Burnham had somehow ended up as Prime Minister, and quids in Angela Rayner was installed alongside him and others in his cabinet, and before anyone had even found the tea bags in Number 10 they'd already discovered a fresh collection of ways to relieve the taxpayer of his hard-earned cash. As I stood beside…
Seventeen. How? Honestly, if you'd asked me yesterday I'd have sworn Ben was still an emerging teenager leaving socks in impossible places. Yet here we are. Seventeen years old. Time flies when you're repeatedly asking, "Whose plate is this then?" Ben still in his own delightful little universe, orbiting somewhere between his reality and the next slice of pizza. But if there's one thing that can…
Now some itches can be ignored. A mosquito bite, perhaps. The urge to reorganise the tackle shed, if you've finally admitted you're never going to use that bent bankstick again. But the itch to spend an evening chasing a mythical Warwickshire Avon weir-pool barbel? That's the sort of thing that keeps you staring out of the window every ten minutes while convincing yourself the weather forecast has…
There are two things the Midlands does exceptionally well. One is roundabouts that lead to more roundabouts, and the other is Indian restaurants. Every village, town and trading estate seems to have one these days, which is marvellous really because it gives me an endless list to work through before I shuffle off this mortal coil. Now last week's victim... sorry, destination... was the recently…
There are people who go to spas, there are people who meditate on mountain tops, and then there are anglers. Personally, I find that two hours sat next to a river that most people would mistake for a drainage ditch does far more for my wellbeing than someone waving scented candles under my nose while whale music plays in the background. The fish are almost secondary; it's the glorious silence…
Now there are moments in life when you think you've absolutely nailed it. Booking a father-and-son trip to the River Wye seemed like one of those moments, right up until the Wife wandered past, looked over my shoulder and casually reminded me that I'd also managed to book it on our eighteenth wedding anniversary. Eighteen years. That's not one you can pretend slipped your mind because of "river…
There are few things in angling quite as satisfying or quite as nerve-racking as watching a great slab of floating crust drift lazily towards a summer chub that has already spotted you before you've even spotted it. Clear water has a habit of making an angler feel like he's wearing a fluorescent jacket and tap shoes, while the chub sits beneath an overhanging bush looking as suspicious as a home…
Now there are certain doors in life that are never meant to be opened. For me it's Groundhog Day having worked in automotive design for such a long time, but Area 57 (Sam's own words) within an automotive design studio is one of them. A mythical place whispered about in hushed tones where outsiders imagine dragons, laser sharks and at least one engineer who communicates entirely in CAD file…
The Wife raised an eyebrow when I announced we were having chilli con carne for tea. Fair enough really. A few days ago she was sat with her feet in the paddling pool, gently nursing a gin and tonic like she'd discovered the secret to surviving a British heatwave. Boy, it's been hot hasn't it? thankfully the 35 degree days are behind us (or are they ?), roll on winter !! "what about a kebab wrap…
I'd not fished this stretch for a good while, and as I walked down the field with the rod over my shoulder, it felt like I was visiting an old mate I'd somehow neglected. The river had that familiar look about it, clear enough to show every crease and shallow, yet carrying just enough pace to make you believe something decent could turn up at any moment. In winter the place screams chub, proper…
I stumbled across a rambling gospel of trotting pellets for roach written with the sort of conviction usually reserved for people who’ve just discovered a “secret peg” that everyone else has also been sat on for 20 years. I meant to skim it, but it escalated into full attention somewhere between “this is interesting” and “I now need to try this immediately on the Warwickshire Avon”. The idea, as…
Well, if the Met Office are to be believed, Stratford-upon-Avon could be nudging 40 degrees this week. Forty! That's not weather for Warwickshire; that's weather for lizards, tourists with regrettable sunburn, and blokes who insist on wearing socks with sandals. I spent most of the morning wondering whether to fill the bird bath or simply climb into it myself. The talk everywhere seems to be…
Friday afternoon once work had finished began in thoroughly civilised fashion. A couple of drinks in the sunshine with my good friend Beth beside a rather pleasant stretch of the River Leam which coincidently just so happen to be part of the WBAS portfolio. It was all terribly sophisticated and cultured. Unfortunately, I had already made the fatal mistake of thinking about fishing. Before Beth…
Now there are wellness retreats costing thousands of pounds where earnest people sit cross-legged beside scented candles attempting to discover inner peace. Personally, I prefer a stick float, a pint of maggots, and a slightly damp meadow somewhere along an English river. The beauty of trotting a float is that absolutely nothing much happens. In modern life, this is a rare luxury. Emails don't…
Now here are few things in angling more baffling than a shoal of chub in full feeding frenzy. One moment they are charging about like shoppers on the first day of a closing-down sale, hoovering up every crust of bread that lands on the water. The next, they have collectively decided that bread is a dangerous conspiracy and should be avoided at all costs. I have often suspected that chub hold…
Forty-eight hours before the start of the river season, after Sean's monumental efforts a day before I was hard at work cutting fishing pegs on the syndicate stretch. Armed with loppers, a strimmer and a healthy dose of enthusiasm, I spent the morning transforming overgrown jungle into fishable swims. By the time I finished, I was hot, tired and ready for home. The job had gone well, the pegs…
Now mad Ed Miliband has announced that by 2040 we shall all be doing our bit to save the planet by eating less meat, fewer dairy products and, if the CCC head wand experts get their way, possibly surviving entirely on kale, lentils and positive thinking. Apparently livestock numbers must fall, fields must become forests and cows will need to find alternative career paths. It all sounds terribly…
Working from home does have its perks. Whilst some people spend their lunch breaks discussing quarterly projections and key performance indicators, I find myself pondering far more important matters, such as whether the charcoal snake on the Weber kettle is progressing nicely and if the pork shoulder is receiving sufficient hickory encouragement. The kids, despite looking like they have seen less…
Now every angler has a favourite fishing spot. Some choose vast reservoirs. Others prefer commercial fisheries and mud muddles however during the close season(s) I have spent many a happy hour beside the Stratford-upon-Avon Canal, quietly contemplating life, watching the float, and occasionally remembering that I am actually supposed to be catching fish. What I sometimes forget is that the canal I…
Back in April I decided to revisit one of my favourite stretches of canal, a place packed with memories and fishy achievements. This was the pound that had produced my personal best roach, a fish so improbably large that I spent longer staring at the scales than I did actually celebrating. It was one of those captures that gets filed away in the memory bank forever, alongside first cars, first…
A friend at work asked me the other day why I still fish canals when I’m not exactly emptying a keepnet after every session. Fair question really. Modern anglers seem to judge success entirely by whether they need a forklift truck to get the fish back into the water, not by completing a quest to catch a stone loach like I did , or how many likes on Instagram they get. Take good mate Nic from Avon…