A couple of weeks after moving house (and having to plead guilty to treason - crossing the Dorset border (just!) into Somerset, I met with an accident which turned first my body then my world upside down). To paraphrase Morrissey, I can laugh about it now but at the time it was terrible.
Whilst stopped in a layby for coffee, I looked round just in time to see an aquaplaned Land Rover probably about to instantly kill me and managed to move just enough to avoid this fate. The driver's application of the brakes spun the vehicle and the back of it hit the back of me, catapulting me over a small hedge and into a small drain I never knew was there.
Salvaging my specs, my work suit was obviously a write off but the real problem kicked in as soon as I was back on my feet. My backside felt like I'd been attacked by a jilted rhino - with a telegraph pole. The only flipside was it saved drinking what the first sip told me was the worst coffee I had probably ever tasted, it was like Bisto had gone in the coffee market.
In short, I was removed to hospital where my top memory was an A & E consultant telling me my glutinus looked like a Jimi Hendrix album cover - an interesting mix of black, purple, green, yellow and a host of other colours.
The worst casualty, however, was my nerves. Until the middle of last month or so, it felt like every bad thing in life was being slowly drained out and, after three months of feeding koi and goldies, I finally felt able and empowered to pick up a rod again.
Opposite my local tackle shop is a darned good Chinese takeaway and, being the shallow Hal I am, I felt a combined visit could work out, so I bought some stuff from the tackle shop, left at closing time and sat in the car for the half hour till a darned fine special fried rice and lemon fried chicken became available.
Anyway, that explanation of my absence I hope sufficing, the day after I had a slow, meandering Sunday morning drive to a nice section of the river Yeo on the outskirts of Yeovil.
As the section is not terribly wide and there are some tree lined areas, I opted for an 11ft Drennan Matchpro rod, with a Daiwa 125 holding 2.6lb line down to a 16 to 1.7lb length, via a 4 no 4 MAP stick.
I kicked off with two discs of punched bread, 6mm, which, with some punch crumb accompaniment brought a few small roach, a small dace and a small rudd but nothing of any great note, maybe a pound and a half of fish. That said, the weather was pleasant, settled and the river behaving itself so not all bad.
I switched down to an 18 and to a single red maggot. Things sped up a tiny tad and among the similar stamp of roach, a perch joined in and then two chub, giants of maybe 7oz and 12oz. Still, it was a start and these were the first fish from my now local river.
A few more small roach followed and one bite which felt a little heavier and better but which suddenly went slack - disappointing but, after recent events, I simply smiled - it didn't matter in the great scheme.
I packed up and drove home, sitting watching the fish in my back garden pond whilst supping some decent coffee, noting some new inhabitants - frogs. Not only were they not paying rent, they were squatting in order to get their legs over. The cheek of it!! Again, a big smile. Glad to see them.
Anyway, gents. After a worse December and January than even Jurgen Klopp had managed, I knew it was time to pull my mental socks up and I hope I've now done that. I'm looking forward to a few more sessions in the near future and, particularly, to a week on the Wye in the Summer - here's to Birra Moretti, fishing till the light goes and another shot at that first double whiskers. Till the next trip out, thanks so much to those who asked after me. Very much appreciated.
