The joys of angling.
I've just returned from a lovely sun-dappled day on the banks of the creek. On a few occasions I was forced to stow my tackle and retreat to the bushes, as the creek is very popular with teenagers, but no incident arose (except for dropping my favorite fishing cap, which one of the little scamps tried on, deemed "gay," and threw into the water). So, soggy and unpopular fishing hat on high—keeping me rather cool, in fact—I did pass the morning in casting and by lunch time my creel held two fat little perch. A chilled pint of Fuller's London Pride, a hefty slice of Mitton of Pork (picked up takeaway just yesterday at the Crab & Pickle), and I was fit and fortified for the afternoon. A few more hours' endeavor brought forth three more from the river, little beauties all, and tonight I imagine quite a gathering-round as I prepare the fish fry. Naturally I shall place a call to Ray, so he can sample the freshwater fruits and perhaps develop a taste for the sport himself. A casual discussion of the various expensive tackle one can purchase should whet his wallet sufficiently, I should think.