It was THIS big…

Gregorio Fuentes. His rod was too big to fit in the picture.

My adventures with the fish of the sea (as per the topic chosen by the Loose Bloggers Consortium) in five casts.

1. Fishing off the north Antrim coast. In a proper boat. Made of wood. We run aground. Luckily my Dad can tow us off. It’s that shallow. And we’re very light.

2. Best place for fish in Ireland? The Cook Inn off Tates Avenue, Belfast. Also very good for chips.

3. Some people hate fish. Like a housemate in Cardiff. She’s a vegetarian biker, but eats fish. Because she hates the slimy scaley beasties. They deserve to die.

4. Best place for fish in London?

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Just say no…

I’m being leant on to write about a particular topic at the moment. But I’m doing my best to resist.

As everyone’s favourite agony aunt Nancy Reagan said: “Just say no.”

If only I’d taken her advice that first time I tried something new, life might be quite different.

Worse. But different.

Angling festival, Hastings Pier, 1948

Back then there were different worries – like the pier pressure of trying to land a big one at the seaside with everyone watching.

No one wants to be seen by all and sundry brandishing a tiddler, do they?

After all, you know what anglers are like. They’re always bragging about how theirs was THIS BIG