Prep
Most of the day to make the most of, no rain forecast and fish reported in the town reaches. Long old trek and an hour had fallen off the clock. If all came to nowt always the pub. Water clear as gin with non existent flow and a nasty swirling wind. Over to the boats, 28 gramme cage feeder holding with virtually no bow in the line. Roach were there, but too big for the perch/zed rod, tiny perch down the edge which might have to do. Rain, lots and lots of unforecast rain, everything soaked in an instant, groundbait now soup. Too wet too pack up, still getting roach on an empty feeder but felt miserable and too wet to face the pub. Chicken soup from the flask was cold and these pies were the most disappointing thing I've ever eaten. Pickle my arse. Ate half of one, the rest in the bin.
Worst thing on these occasions is the mountain of wet stinking tackle to dry off back home.
