Lee Swords Fishing

I call it Trent Fever because for some the river Trent has become an obsession that borders on the  insane, only last week did I see a bloke on the river with a giant tattoo on his back. Inspired by the artwork on the Memphis Belle, he said it was a girl with a fishing rod lounging by the side of Collingham Weir with a rather large barbel at her feet…To me it looked Like a bad representation of Paris Hilton flagellating a mermaid with a double ended dildo.

Only on the Trent could something like that occur, I don’t know if it is the fumes from the sugar beet factory in Newark  but something strange occurs to people that spend too much time by the riverside. It changes them, it alters their perception of time and space. Only on the Trent could three anglers share fourteen rods in one swim.

I have seen grown men fighting over who gets peg 1a next, I have seen tackle smashed, tyres slashed and windscreens smeared in excrement. All for the sake of a bit of fishing. Now is it me or are some people taking their fishing just a little bit too seriously?

Apart from the people I go fishing with, the last thing I want to see when I go fishing are other fishermen, for the most part I loath company. I am  ”Billy No Mates”, I deliberately choose to fish alone, I enjoy the solitude, it is what makes me happy. Last season I was fishing a really nice quiet area outside Sutton when the Worksop and District Gay and Lesbian Angling Society turned up for their summer social by the riverside. Now, working in the hospitality trade for 25 years nobody can accuse me of being homophobic so I simply got on with my fishing and enjoyed a bit of banter with the lads. It only went wonky when one of them asked me if I would like to join them for dinner, when I read the menu I must admit that I did get a bit nervous.

The boys and the girls were having a bit of a “come dine with me” theme and a lot of effort had gone into the planning and execution of the meal.

The boys menu started with “Cock-I-Likie” Soup followed by “Toad in the Hole” ( bring your own toad the menu said) finished off with Crusty Cream Chocolate Rimmed Doughnuts.

The girls however said that they couldn’t be arsed with all that faff and simply ordered a 36 piece bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken accompanied by sweet corn, coleslaw and a half pint of KFC gravy which they ate off of hairy plates, the accompanying bottles of Pepsi was soon polished of via the matching hairy cups.

I made my excuses and left early…something about needing to get home to watch Game of Thrones.

Anyway less of that and  more about why I dislike human contact so much when I am out on the river, I dislike human contact for the most  part because I never know what they are going to do that will piss me off and send me into an spiral of doom that can only be escaped from via me slitting their throat and playing “Waltzing Matilda ” on their vocal chords. Like I have said many of those that fish the river are certifiably insane

Trent Fever is what I blame…they are obviously insane, why else would they dump so much rubbish and litter on the rivers edge when they leave? They arrive with 24 cans of Premium Lager as a libation to the Angling Gods only to leave the empty vessels of worship behind when they go. I just don’t get it…the stuff is lighter…Take it the hell home!