A fish. Any fish. I just want a fish

January has been fishless and last Sunday's outing didn't improve things. Well not fish in the net or on the bank improving things anyway. I did get my bread dipped and in several spots too. But not my Stinking Bishop.

It wasn't bread though that got the tip quivering, it was a big juicy lob fished over to those reeds. I hadn't scoured my worms in a tobacco tin full of moss Swallows and Amazons stylee though and the hook came back sans worm or fish. The subsequent cast did result in a fish attached and a decent one at that but in true chub stylee (no chub in Swallows and Amazons) the fish attached the hook to a stick instead of nestling in my net. 

                                       

Car Trouble Part 2 (you've got to push push) at 420 quid and confirmation of cataracts  and possible torn retina in my all  (and my only properly) seeing eye whilst being trousered for a further whopping 270 quid for new specs wasn't really the week I expected, and top it off Littlest Little Un had another week of home schooling despite having beaten the Rona as school was rife.

So it was nice to actually get a fish in the net and on the bank today. Just 3 dace and 2 bumped but I'm off the 2022 fish and species mark. Quite a flow on today so they did twist and turn a bit. They became quite active right across in the second push where the side stream comes on dusk so it's back soon with a fixed spool or even the maggot feeder before they bugger off up that side stream to spawn.

Not much to report

We've had a mini plague pit going on here in Bureboy Villas, with all the testing malarkey that goes with it and the charabanc has been most bothersome so only able to wangle a brief run-out in the Commander-in Chief's station waggon late doors yesterday so plumped for an hour and a half clearing some of the dead rosebay stalks obscuring trotting eyesight lines for future trips and searching the bridge eddy, with trotted reds, than dendros on the tip. One missed dip of the float was my lot. Rooks taking an age to settle in their roosts, a glorious sound to contrast against the mew of a solitary buzzard, occasional parps from the Noddy train and a wedding party in the Hall gardens.

 

Time to prep for some proper chubbing once I am mobile again so out with the stinky cheese and left over bread to get some bait and feed stocks in the bank. Definitely store in the bait fridge stuff. And none of this remove the crusts and liquidise 3 times nonsense. 

Do they owe us a living?

Of course they do....Thursday saw me boarding a Basil bound for Norwich to hear Steve Williams, inshore lifeboat man  formerly Steve Ignorant, from Dagenham via Dial House, an anarcho pacifist commune set in  South West Essex with his compardres in Crass, in conversation with Prof Matthew Worsley as part of a project investigating protest song in England from 1603 to 2020 ( more info at  oursubversivevoice.com)  

An early train there and back as to be honest I didn't fancy hanging round after to catch the vomit comet and I just had time to get the Gregg Wallace hat, or poppadum a pint of ok ish 5 quid Kobold( a spirit that protects mariners). Cold and fizzy anyway, and a squint at the fanzine promo. I didn't hit the Crass merch table (tee hee). Nearly didn't get in as my Covid Pass wouldn't load.

The venue was the Norwich Arts Centre in what was formerly St Swithins Church, an irony not lost on Williams who's Crass certainly courted blasphemy. William's upbringing was in the Russell Kane vein, and his first moment of awakening he told us was via a neighbour's snappy two tone get up, and then Bowie, via another stand out and bullied school mate which was where his burning hatred of injustice began. Jolted into forming a band by the Clash and their retort to disgruntled punters to form a band if they thought they could do better. Don't think the hippy academia and right-on ness behind Crass really sat that well with him in the end.  I traded my Feeding the 5000 and some other bits for a battered bass and tried to follow the Clash's call to arms myself back in my day but it didn't go well.

I left before the Q&A in search of another pint and this Old Ale at a reasonable £4.30 from the Rumsey Wells was very nice indeed. They do pies as well.

I really ought to get a tripod and make a proper stab at night time photography but I did point my phone at  a couple of things on the way  back to the station

"Our" Shard

A new and ghastly faux Oirish Pub on Prince of Wales Road

The Wondrous Wensum

And a very becoming Basil waiting to carry me home at the dizzy hour of 9.15 pm. If memory serves me right my last gig before this was at the Arts Centre in Jan 2020, to see the screening of  Upstairs Planet and it's subject Martin Newell as we awaited the spectre of Covid. Masks and Covid Pass willing I'll be going to a few more this year. Though it is rumoured that Operation Save Big Dog  will include a scrapping of all Covid precautions from the end if the month as a populist sop to save Spaffalot....

Just checked, my last gig before Covomania's trumpet bought the walls of going out in Jericho crashing down was 1st of March to see Jay Rayner at the Assembly House.

Doldrums

I'm in the doldrums. Limited fishing windows and my choice making and application are wanting. Did break out the 5m whip to hand on a local staithe yesterday that usually throws up a small mixed bag in the winter with a chance of a pike as well but couldn't buy a bite.  The bank has been made into a proper mooring so I didn't get wet and muddy which was a tiny win. Back to work....

Slow start to the year then...

I probably didn't fancy it in all reality so I noddied about for ages before making up the flask. That soup again.

I drove about a bit after getting worms as the pub was shut and plumped in the end for the straight below the rail bridge as the mill pool I'd intended to roll worms around was a bit fierce. I left the quiver tip rod in the charabanc and took out the pike rods. Bait, halved pollan. Strange looking things. The small scales fall off really easily I think the myth is that they are buoyant. Until you cut them in half anyway.

Fished to and down from two bush swims, and searched the slack between them quite hard. The  river dropped noticeably, being run off at the end of the non tidal. 

Two bleeps on the pollan head which didn't develop, on retrieval the hooks were attached to  a branch, The larger tail portion also raised two sharp knocks on the rod tip to no avail.

Slight disappointment soon dispelled by Man U loosing to Wolves. Phil Sausage Meat Jones being dragged out to play after 2 years off and all. 

Shining lights

New Years Day means one thing round these parts. No, not the self acclaimed Saviour of The World habitual wrap around orange shades even indoors wearing Bono. Yes, it's the Cromer fireworks. 

After food of course

Anyhoo, down to the foreshore we trudged and I pitched camp  to capture 15 minutes of glorious pyrotechnics. Here is my perfect spot.

What you can't see in the shadow is a person in a nice red Puffa jacket. Because he is sitting down.  As the drone went up to capture the view  from the sea, the crowd hushed in anticipation. Cameras primed, phones raised the crowd gasped as the first fusillade split the sky. Cue for Puffa jacket man to hoist himself up from the shingle and right into my lens line. Where he stayed for 15 minutes. And in the process completely stymied my battered Nikon's focussing.  So here are some heavily cropped and out of focus fireworks.

 

The money shot. It turned into a smiley aceeeeed face. One year it spelt out die soon. Which was nice. 

 And as well as shooting burglars round these parts we say Old Years Night. Just so you know.