The strange things we (I) do...

[Steve Double]

On the way home from my London commute last night, I decided a spot of pre-baiting was in order. Bag of boilies in hand, I strolled about half a mile to my chosen spot in the middle of nowhere. No one could possibly spot me.

As I lobbed the boilies into my chosen spot, I suddenly heard voices. I'd forgotten it was a public footpath, and two blokes came over the horizon, probably taking a short cut to the village pub.

Being an office wallah who'd had a client meeting earlier, it was only then I became acutely aware that I was wearing a pinstripe suit, with collar and tie, while standing knee deep in nettles, tossing small objects into the river, in the middle of nowhere. After initially presuming they were fellow anglers, I'd also adopted a "I'm not really doing anything at all, guv" stance while pretending to admire the, err, reeds?

They walked past and we exchanged "Evening" greetings, and they then proceeded to give my backward glances for the next 200 yards. I carried on staring at the reeds.

They must have thought I was stark, staring mad. And they could have a point.

 

[Howard Cooke]

Ha ha! Brilliant. Your narrative didn't include details of your footwear which could be vital here given its likely contrast to your city suit. Was it waders? Perhaps they imagined that after another gruelling day and commute, it was time to bring matters to a sorry end and not living close to the sea, your only option was to walk into the Loddon. The flaw being that you might have just emerged on the opposite bank very much alive but very wet with a gudgeon sticking out of your breast pocket.

 

[Rhys Perry]

Maybe they thought you were a gangster drowning one of your rivals.

 

[Dave Taylor]

One particular incident that befell me on a chilly day on the Avon turned out to be up there with some of my most embarrassing moments.
To feel more cosy I thought I would tuck my sweatshirt into my oversized combat trousers which meant loosening my belt. Just as I undid the buckle the rod went round and I found myself playing a good fish and fighting gravity at the same time.
Well, despite all my attempts to keep my knees as far apart as humanly possible gravity won the day.
It was at this point in time that I heard chuckling from the far bank and noticed two blokes enjoying the floor show.
This was a double whammy as they now knew that as well as being a good spot for a bit of light entertainment it was also a barbel swim.
The barbel proceeded to take me and my trousers down stream where I landed it to applause from the other bank.
The two guys walked off giggling and one said to the other....wait to I show Doris....I've been living in fear of a picture popping up on a fishing website or worse...You've been framed !
The fish was just under twelve.

 

[Steve Brand]

pre baiting

Ha ha! Brilliant. Your narrative didn't include details of your footwear which could be vital here given its likely contrast to your city suit. Was it waders? Perhaps they imagined that after another gruelling day and commute, it was time to bring matters to a sorry end and not living close to the sea, your only option was to walk into the Loddon. The flaw being that you might have just emerged on the opposite bank very much alive but very wet with a gudgeon sticking out of your breast pocket.

When I read this first thing I thought was Kenny everet cant think why

 

[Ian Crook]

That footpath is a known homosexual pervert meeting place Steve, they probably thought you were just another "one of them"!!!

 

[Ray Thorpe]

On the way home from my London commute last night, I decided a spot of pre-baiting was in order. Bag of boilies in hand, I strolled about half a mile to my chosen spot in the middle of nowhere. No one could possibly spot me.

As I lobbed the boilies into my chosen spot, I suddenly heard voices. I'd forgotten it was a public footpath, and two blokes came over the horizon, probably taking a short cut to the village pub.

Being an office wallah who'd had a client meeting earlier, it was only then I became acutely aware that I was wearing a pinstripe suit, with collar and tie, while standing knee deep in nettles, tossing small objects into the river, in the middle of nowhere. After initially presuming they were fellow anglers, I'd also adopted a "I'm not really doing anything at all, guv" stance while pretending to admire the, err, reeds?

They walked past and we exchanged "Evening" greetings, and they then proceeded to give my backward glances for the next 200 yards. I carried on staring at the reeds.

They must have thought I was stark, staring mad. And they could have a point.

So that was you Steve at Whistley mill. I was upstream fishing the opposite bank. Thought you were going to jump in.

 

[Steve Double]

Not me, Ray - must have been some other nutter, though I must confess to some be-suited pre-baiting down there before now.

It was actually the Blackwater. I went back last night properly attired and fortunately there were no men in white coats waiting for me. Just a 3lb chub.

 

[Russell Emms]

I was in my garage last night glueing pellets together when my neighbour come round, he looked at me and asked if i was a wierdo, which i thought was a bit strong!!

 

[Gavin Hoe-Richardson]

Hey, many of my mates think I'm a weirdo just because I'm an angler. What confirms it in their view is when I acknowledge that yes, I do 'throw' them back.