The other day, my brother and his two sons who were over
from the States, happened to invite me to join them for a day’s fly fishing
on the River Test in Hampshire. In the past I have been hunting and shooting
but I shall be honest, I have never tried my hand at fishing.
Of course, of great concern to me was what I should wear. In
the end, I opted for a blue gingham shirt, nicely frayed at the collar, a
threadbare olive lambs wool V neck pullover, khaki needle cord trousers and an
old Barbour jacket that I had bought in Portobello market second hand years
ago, after all I didn't want to look like the new boy on the block.
I was particularly fond of the Barbour because it had
knitted cuffs, which stopped the rain dribbling down to my elbows, a detail I
think Barbour have since dispensed with (bring it back I say!) For a day in the
country I took that most essential accessory - my gun dog Muffin, although she
would run a mile at the sound of shooting being more adept at photo shoots.
The Test is a
beautiful and crystal clear river that meanders through unspoilt water meadows
not unlike a Constable painting. My first attempts at casting very quickly
found me out to be a townie despite all my efforts at dressing the part. But eventually after six hours of clumsy and
awkward casting I finally caught a silverback trout.
I was asked if I would like to take it home for supper but I
demurred and slipped it back into the river. Travelling back to London with a
very damp dog in the back of my now incredibly muddy Range Rover, I began to feel
rather hungry and thought how delicious that trout might have been
grilled, with new potatoes and petit pois. As it was, I settled for beans on
toast in front of the television and watched News at Ten.
What can I say? I'm a man of simple pleasures.
What can I say? I'm a man of simple pleasures.
