The Adventures Of Donald Effingham-Mudde & Damien

DAMIEN SETS THE PACE

Bad weather at the start of the year meant that Damien (and of course, Donald!) hadn’t been able to get out and get any fishing done. Damien was itching to give his new carp barrow a workout, and was looking for a chance to get at least one weekend session in sooner or later. Luckily the storms abated and a trip was on. Damien was going for the weekend, but Donald was not allowed to stay out all night in case his already creaking joints seized up altogether, so Damien’s parents said they would collect him on the Saturday evening.

Damien viewed this news with mixed emotions; on the one hand he had to look after the old git once more, on the other, he would at least get one day’s fishing to himself. It seemed the best compromise.

On the Friday night he started to load up the car to be at the lake for a start by sparrow’s fart and Donald had watched Damien toiling over his bait-making in the kitchen. He couldn’t refrain from making a few comments.

“Boolies, what are they all about? Just seem so artificial, all those flavours and colours. In my day we only used natural baits like par-boiled spuds,” he said.

“They’re called boilies, for your information (‘because they’re boiled yer daft sod’, said under his breath) and as for par-boiled spuds, now, let me think.” Damien theatrically rubbed his chin and looked skywards. “Oh yes, that will be the potato trees all round the lake, dropping their ripe fruits into the water for the fish to feed on, all very natural, just like elderberries.” He chuckled out loud, well chuffed with that reply.

Donald jabbed his pipe stem towards Damien, “Cheeky young pup, you know what I mean. In our day carp were much cleverer, we could only use paste or spuds for bait, and it took someone as smart as Dick Walker or me to catch ’em.”

Damien just laughed, “So that’s what you’re taking for bait is it?”

“Course it is, don’t need all that Dolly Mixture stuff, just confuse the fish, that will.”

“Yeah, right,” thought Damien. “We’ll see what happens tomorrow.”

They arrived at the lake next morning to find the car park was empty. Damien loaded Donald’s gear onto the barrow and raced off, with the old boy dawdling along behind, a cloud of noxious Dark Shag smoke trailing in his wake.

Damien dropped Donald and his gear at the first swim they came to. “You fish here, uncle, it’s one of the best swims on the lake.”

“Thanks laddie, that’s very kind of you. Where are you going?”

“Not sure,” said Damien, “probably over there somewhere.” He waved vaguely in the general direction of the hottest swim on the lake, which was empty.

Donald started to tackle up while Damien made two trips to his swim with his barrow and baitboat. He was just setting out his gear when he heard the splash of the par-boiled potato hitting the water some twenty yards from where Donald was sitting. Then the noise started.

Donald had managed to obtain a bite alarm, which had two volume settings – off, or causing bleeding from the ears. Although Damien was forty yards away the constant racket was grating already. He marched round to Donald’s swim.

“What’s up now? Can’t you switch that bloody row off?” Damien shouted at Donald, who was fiddling about down by the reel with a piece of silver paper.

“Won’t stop laddie. In my day we just put this paper on the line and put a stone on it. But it won’t stay still.

Damien looked down, and could see line peeling off the spool. “You’ve got a run. Pick the bloody rod up yer daft old sod!”

“I say, I say, no need to be crass young man,” Donald gasped as he slammed over the bale arm and swooped the rod off the pod. Damien was stood just behind Donald as he played the fish, which was a mistake, for excitement always worked the old boy’s bowels and a foul stench rose, making Damien gag.

There followed a spirited tussle, with Damien now at a safe distance while he netted a six-pound carp for the old boy. After they slipped it back, Donald slumped into his chair, looking quite red-faced and puffing hard. “Need a rest; they fight harder than I remember, laddie. Must be getting old, in my day we would pull twenty-five pounders out like shelling peas. Do you know, in my day……” Donald found he was talking to Damien’s fast disappearing back.

Damien got back to his swim and sent out the fully loaded baitboat. It was almost back on the bank when Donald wandered over.

“Good God, whatever next? That would not have been seen as cricket in our day, not playing fair at all, don’t you know.” said Donald. “That contraption’s a bladdy disgrace.”

“Well, it’s what we do now. Anyway, stay here for a minute while I go back and get some more bait from the car. If any of my alarms go off, just strike with the rod where the buzzer light is on. Got it? Damien pointed to the indicators.

“I’m not bladdy stupid young ‘un, anyway, get a move on if you’re going, I was listening to the cricket.”

Damien went off to the car, and came back after short while to find Donald sitting in his bivvy. “All right, I’m back now, you can go and listen to the tennis or whatever.”

“Beds, tents, boats, fishing three rods, you young ‘uns are going soft. In my day if we stayed out all night we only had a gas cape to sit under. Anyway I’m off, feels like I’ve got a touch of indigestion.” Donald was muttering away as he ambled off.

“Indigestion my arse,” Damien chuckled quietly to himself. “More like bloody wind. No wonder they had gas capes, probably needed them to stop them f***ing gassing each other.” He loaded up the baitboat for another trip, still chuckling away at his own little witticism.

He just wanted to settle down now and get some fishing done. He decided to bait up another area but overshot the target. Cursing under his breath, he started to reverse the boat. As he did so he saw Donald stand up. The old boy sat down again as Damien’s boat reached the target area. Damien reversed the boat a fraction and Donald stood up again. Damien had no idea what Donald was doing, but he thought to himself, “probably praying to the Fish God of Redmire, or failing that, he’s having a good old fart or two and getting rid of some of that trapped wind. Either way I’m glad he’s forty yards away.”

Damien unloaded the load of boilies and started to bring the boat back. No sign of Donald, until he got the boat to within ten yards of the bank and decided to be a flash git and reverse it in. As he did so Donald leapt to his feet, and that cacophonous row from his bite alarm started up again. Damien was not amused.

“What is that old tw*t doing now?” Damien was really pissed off. “I’m going to go over and insert a par-boiled spud into the speaker of that f***ing alarm and if he’s caught another fish I swear I will get hold of his rod pod and shove it right up…” Damien was stopped in mid-flow as he saw Donald’s right hand grab at his heart and the old boy stumbled forward, then keeled over……

Damien covered the forty yards between them in about five seconds. Donald was on his back, pounding his chest with both hands and moaning, “It hurts, it hurts!”

“Uncle, uncle, what’s up, are you in pain?” Damien felt helpless as he watched the old boy writhing on the ground. There were two thoughts racing through his mind, in parallel. Of course, he didn’t want the old bugger to die; on the other hand the thought of having to administer the kiss of life to that bewhiskered, tobacco juice stained mug was less than appealing.

Damien quickly phoned for an ambulance and his parents (using the latest colour screen mobile phone, complete with digital camera and FM radio) and it was they who arrived first. Donald appeared to have brightened up a bit, but Damien’s mum went with him to the hospital while his dad helped him to pack up the gear.

By the time they got to the hospital Donald was hooked up to everything. Whilst they were waiting for news Damien suddenly remembered he had forgotten his drifting baitboat. He was all for rushing back to get it when his dad advised him that might not be the caring, sharing, thing to do whilst his uncle Donald was lying in a hospital bed. After a couple of hours a doctor came round with good news for the anxious family.

“Judging by his description of the symptoms it looks like some sort of electrical transmitter interfered with his pacemaker, causing him to make involuntary movements. He’s checked out okay now though but we’ll need to investigate how it happened to prevent it happening again. For the time being he’s been advised to stay away from where it happened in case there are some strange electrical fields in the area. Bit of a shock for the old boy, he’ll need a few days rest. All very strange, we’ve never seen anything like it.”

Damien and his parents thanked the doctor and were just going in to see Donald when a thought flashed into Damien’s head.

“It happened every time I reversed the boat, every time I flicked the reverse lever on the baitboat remote control he stood up!” He was just about to run off and mention it to the doctor when he suddenly thought better of it, and a mischievous grin slowly spread over his face……