Bob-a-job week

So the football has been disappointing, annoying, depressing, noisy and inept and that's just England. This morning I noticed England flags in the road, torn from cars and symbolically strewn in the road (but not quite the end of the road). I've also noticed that I suddenly know a lot of Scottish people, even here in Manchester the Council are having to consider hiring extra council workers to cement over all the cracks in the pavement that our tartan friends have suddenly crawled out of.

This week I have been in Ireland with work and one of the first things I noticed was USA flags adorning pubs on my journey from Dublin to Shannon. Now I might just be paranoid but I'm beginning to think that they don't want England to do well. Just a nagging suspicion.......I suppose I'm beginning to understand how it might feel to be a Man United Supporter.

Football aside, I've had a very rewarding and successful week work-wise and it's now just two weeks until we leave for France for our Summer break. My pal Paul is flying over for our second week so we can spend some time fishing for Carp. We've fished together for as long as we have been friends (over 30 years) but lately real life keeps getting in the way and we are overdue some boyish banter and child-like japery.

On Thursday night we managed a few hours on the River Ribble near Preston, a beautiful stretch near a village called Osbaldeston. I'm a bit out practice and the lack of rain meant the river was extremely low. I didn't fancy our chances but was happy to immerse myself in the stunning nature. Paul had other ideas though and was soon landing his first barbel. Naturally he was delighted and he really felt this might be one of those sessions where things just went right.

Those hopes were dashed however when out of nowhere a horde of Cub Scouts descended like a swarm of bees into our swim, splashing around in the river, throwing stones and being incredibly noisy. Despite remonstrating with their scout leader they continued for about an hour before trooping off. Presumably they had gone to collect their 'angler baiting' badges which must have been introduced since I was in the cubs. Surely they should have been taught about consideration for others and respect for nature? Seemingly not.

Paul was fuming, his chances of a bagful of fish in tatters. Me? I was torn between trying to see the funny side of things or attacking young lads with my catapult.

Work Party (Two words that do not belong in the same sentence)

The first real signs of spring occurred this week and I could feel my spirits lift. The sun has appeared every day this week and you can smell spring in the air and I'm not just talking about the shit that the farmers have already started spreading on their fields.

My mind inevitably turned to fishing as it always does at this time of year. I'm looking forward to getting some lake and river time in France fishing for carp in between jobs that need doing. I'm also a member of the biggest fishing club in Europe -  Prince Albert and I was excited to learn that they have acquired three more lakes in the Midlands including one which has not been fished for 30 years. The only problem is that all three lakes are out of bounds for the next two years unless you undertake a 'work party' which will give you a special permit.

In my old fishing club a work party was a doddle, half a day of cutting branches, clearing paths and drinking coffee whilst talking about cutting branches and clearing paths. They were almost enjoyable.

Armed with that experience I booked myself in last week for a work party near Chorley in Lancashire. I was the first to arrive at 8am and my spider sense began to tingle when I spotted three huge mounds in the car park. One was sand, another gravel and the third ballast which is basically rubble.

One by one, other members arrived. Each face wore the same troubled expression as their visions of a pleasant day in the country evaporated into thin air and were replaced by the reality of a day of hard labour.

Eventually the work party organiser arrived. Wheel barrows and shovels were issued and instructions given including the inevitable health and safety demonstration.

The next six hours were tortuous beyond words as I carried barrow after barrow of each pile around to the other side of the lake to assist in the reconstruction of new fishing pegs. Everyone was feeling the same way and a mutinous atmosphere began to develop. Tempers were frayed, people accused of slacking and just as chaos was about to break out the organiser eventually allowed everyone to leave with their precious stamp in the book.

The drive home was horrific as my arms struggled to grip the wheel and my feet strained to push the pedals. I knew I would be in trouble the day after. As a man who is used to pushing a mouse around a desk, I began to appreciate just how out of shape I was and wondered how people do manual jobs day after day.

Sure enough, I spent the next two days walking like John Wayne though it has spurred me into getting into better shape. (which will be my third 'new start' this year)

My in-laws Fred and Pat have made huge progress in France. The central heating boiler has been replaced, electricians organised and the plumber starts on Monday as we turn the shell of a building next to our house into a  luxury holiday home that will boost our income in the short-term and in the long term provide a basis for semi-retirement in order that I can pursue my writing ambitions. Fred is working really hard each day, though he has kindly saved a number of jobs for me. I'm looking forward to rolling up my sleeves and getting back involved in the ever increasing list of jobs that need to be completed.

In France, the weather is even better than here and with less than two weeks to go until we set off for our ten day trip the countdown has begun. Mel and I are both well overdue a break even if it will be a working one.

What do you mean sporadic?

Well I did say that this blog would be sporadic and so it has turned out. I still do my other blog on Sundays where I blather about things which are either France related or France inspired but I like to keep this space for my special nonsense and streams of consciousness.

I'll try and update more regularly and perhaps add some other content that I've enjoyed elsewhere to try and get this thing off the ground properly. We'll see how it pans out.

First a tale of grisly murder.

About half an hour ago we just finished eating a beautifully cooked trout which, less than 24 hours ago was swimming in the River Ribble oblivious to the horrors that lay before it. I went fishing yesterday with my pal Paul. We decided to try a technique called trotting which involves standing in the middle of the river, wearing a pair of chest waders and holding your rod in one hand, letting your float drift downstream whilst you feed loose offerings with the other.

It is quite difficult to do well and consequently we didn't catch any of our intended quarry of Chub or barbel but as I was perfecting this technique (or at least becoming mildly competent) my rod suddenly arched over under the weight of a brown trout. At first it surged downstream but then for some reason decided to hare arse towards me at a speed which really took me by surprise. It nearly swam between my legs which would have been problematic but eventually it tired and I cradled a trout of just over one and a half pounds in my hands. Usually, I return fish straight back to the water but on this occasion the hunter in me surfaced and clonked it with a brick before sticking it in my rucksack.

I have to tell you, killing a fish doesn't sit easily with me but having just polished off every morsel, I think I may develop a taste for murder! Mel made a beautiful salad and fromage frais sauce with capers, gherkins, dill and lemon which was stunning.