Whilst the populace queued and fought over fuel and my work done I queued for snake oil from Mr Pharmacist then sneaked a few trots off the concrete tank traps guarding the mill, and gave the mostly masked passengers on the 210 Sanders service a dashing display of dead accurate feed, trot, strike and bat back stick float fishing at it's finest. Well, if the float ran through the sweet spot anyway. Which it did a few times. Warm out of the blustery wind, and the light taking on that sublime autumnal quality. Here's a sample of my spoils. And back home just in time for my tea.