August 19, 2004

Dave, meet Rod

On Tuesday Stuart took me fishing for the first time ever. Well, technically I took him, having persuaded Mum to lend me her car for the day. Normally borrowing the car when I go back home to the Island isn't a problem, so long as it isn't required for some greater purpose (shopping for instance). However, this time I wasn't getting my hands on the sacred Winnie the Pooh key ring without first apologising for rearranging all fourteen teddy bears that adorn the dashboard and surrounding recesses the last time I used the car.

Fortunately my girlfriend, who was actually responsible for the bear shuffling, had stopped short of hiding or (god help me) stealing any of them. That would have been 'game over'.

Not having fished before proved to be no real handicap under Stuart's expert tutelage. That said, Stu's expertise doesn't appear to belong to any traditional school of fishing. For example, most conventional fishermen do not use 'Spam' as bait. Fewer still justify the use of foreign languages as a complementary tactic to the use of 'Spam' as bait.

"You see...the fish think 'Oh god, I'm in France! I must eat some Spam!'..."

When the fish get wise, you have to switch languages. Laugh all you like but it actually worked for about three hours. It wasn't until they realised that you can't get 'Spam' in Russia that they stopped biting.

Next time we will have to try something more universally available. Like cheese.