I think it's catching, Mike. Actually, that's the wrong expression. At about 4pm I opened the beer/bait fridge in the lean-to conservatory to get out the bait, and a 660ml bottle of lager jumped the rail on the door shelf. I did a bit of keepy uppy, but only got to two, and it hit the tiles and shattered. I had to do a bit of unscheduled mopping, brushing and hoovering to save the cats getting glass in their paws. I got to the river, well up as you can imagine, and picked a swim with a 10' slack inside while the main flow was running off like a train. I filled a baitdropper with hemp, pellets and chopped meat, stood up to swing it out and somehow knocked the lever against my leg, which opened the door and dropped the lot down the top of my wellie. I got some bait in the swim, got snagged twice (no joke on the gear I had on), didn't get a bite, and watched as several barbel crashed out 50m out in the middle where you'd have needed beachcasting gear to hold out. Two hours of this, and I gave it up. Things come in three's, they say, so I'm going to be careful for the rest of the evening.