The Alternative Angler

Never mind smelling the flowers, don’t forget to take time out to see the satirical side of fishing life and grab a laugh along the way as well. So here’s a regular column from Kevin Perkins to remind us that life is for laughing at, or taking the p*** out of, whenever we can.

And yet we always harp on about not having enough representation, no one to put our case forward, absolutely no political clout, which considering there are one, two, or even three million of us. Estimates on numbers appear to be divided, hardly surprising if we decline to stand up and be counted! We would be able to claim any amount of funding and support if we were a registered political/ethnic/religious minority of this magnitude. In fact, if we were, we would probably be forced into having some form of representative body, by law.

Perhaps that is the answer, declare Richard Walker as our patron saint and swear our unswerving allegiance to the God of the Water, John Wilson. Our faith will only allow us to wear distinctive clothing to mark us out (except in France, of course). We will regularly go on long pilgrimages to the bankside carrying heavy loads. These pilgrimages will last for many days and we will meditate in the quiet moments and read passages from the scriptures according to the Mail and the Times.

Our unwritten rules of association shall be (Well they are written down now because I had to tell you – obviously!):

Ask for advice and it will be freely given (not the right advice, of course, just any old twaddle).

Verily, if I am fishing wearing running spikes, you need not bother to ask if I have a current licence.

Cast in my swim just once more, Brother Angler and I will surely smite thee.

When I have finished making baits in the kitchen, I have to rush off straight away and I do not have time to clear up after myself.

And just because I do spend hours in the kitchen using every pot, pan and utensil I can find, it does not mean I can cook the dinner for once, just to give you a rest.

My subscriptions for club books and weekly magazines have to come out of the housekeeping, not my beer money.

Fishing is more important than mowing the lawn, decorating, shopping, housework or visiting your relatives.

It isn’t my fault that our wedding anniversary or the wife’s birthday seem to fall on a Saturday and/or Sunday every seven years or so, I still have to go fishing.

I don’t know why it is when the holiday list comes round at work the only time left for me on the rota is always the last two weeks in June.

That smell is quite natural, it’s probably a pheromone (which is why it attracts so many flies).

All of the above would appear to single out anglers as insular, even slightly selfish loners. In fact, there does seem to be a growing movement towards even further individualism. Particularly when it comes to claiming records, you will probably soon be required to nominate your species before you go fishing. Membership of the ‘Eel Pout Conservation Group’ would automatically allow you to claim a record for this particular species. Any outsider with the temerity to try and claim would of course firstly have to prove they were worthy enough to even be fishing for said fish.

Then the method of capture will come under intense scrutiny to see if it complied with correct laid down procedure. Witnesses (4) would have to be of a position in society at least equivalent to archdeacon if the alleged capture were to be considered. And of course the fish would have had to been caught from an approved swim on the correct day of the month. If the bait was approved, hook style and size incorrect, inappropriate line, rod, reel, chair, boots, underpants or anything else deemed to be ‘not quite right’ the claim will be thrown out. (Sounds a bit like any insurance claim I try to make, “we would have gladly paid out, but regrettably must draw your attention to clause 4 sub-section 3, paragraph 6c, which invalidates your claim……”).

Too extreme, maybe. But what if trends swing the other way and we all become ‘pot hunters’, and start claiming for everything and anything we can lay our hands on? For example:

Most bream landed on a Tuesday – Collect your medal.

Largest carp caught on a side hooked boilie nut by a bloke called Peter who has size eight feet – Illuminated scroll on its way.

Heaviest barbel landed by an angler using a worm known as ‘Nobby the Lobbie’ to his closest friends in the compost heap – Wall mounted plaque being despatched now.

Largest chub caught on a spinner on a particular day from a certain weirpool on the Upper Thames – It’s me! Where’s my trophy? I know this is a record because I was the only one fishing there all bloody day!