It was Saturday, my day of rest. Well, bit of a lie really. I mean, how can you have a day off from your daily chores, when on Saturday you have three kids, and a husband, all arguing about what TV channel to
watch?
Nevertheless, this Saturday, it was going to be hot, and I wanted to top up my already tanned skin.
“Let’s go fishing,” Barry, my husband suggested as he sat casually strewn across the settee like my winter
blanket.
I pulled a face, as did our daughter Elizabeth, whilst middle child, Josh turned from his laptop and grinned.
I knew what was to come before they even began the dash to the shed to get their rods, chairs and so forth. Maggots. And muggings here was chosen to do this horrible task.
They know I hate going in the fishing shop, the smell makes me heave before I step into the door of the shop, and today? I bet it really stank in that already muggy place. But Barry was busy getting his bag of something he had hidden at the back of cupboard in the kitchen and making it into a paste, and getting Josh to get the loaf of bread that I had only bought the day before and a tin of sweet corn out of my other
cupboard.
With maggots tightly caged up, the car was ready and so were we. Well, forced to, I did have better things to do, but that was not important, when Josh ran to the car like a dog ready to stick his head of the car window and pull that ecstasy face.
The pool was large and many were around to attempt to find the biggest fish in the pond. We found
a place where there was shade, and threw all the contents out of the fishing bag on to the floor, whilst Liz and I made haste with a blanket and sat behind them.
Now, fishing is supposed to relaxing, calming, sit down and sleep with the fishing line wrapped around your toe, like Tom Sawyer, so that if you caught a tiddler, your toe would wiggle. Not with my wonderful family though. No sooner, as the first rod was cast, Josh had it tangled around a weed and as usual, Barry
moaned.
Yes, great day indeed was on the horizon.
Two hours had passed, I was bored, Liz, was bored, Josh was bored, even the fish were bored, yet, Barry sat waiting, hoping that a great white shark would take the bite of his readymade paste and maggots.
“Come on let’s go through there,” he suggested after another hour had passed and nothing was biting.
We grabbed a rod and crawled through bushes, which opened up to a private haven and sat waiting, hoping for a catch just so that I could go home. Alas, nothing took a snap at the hook.
“Come on,” Barry sighed, “let’s go home.”
I was quickly on my feet followed by Liz and began to crawl back through the bushes.
We began packing things back in to the bags, like robbers taking money out of a safe, eager to get back home and relax in the garden, wine on ice, and the Barbie calling to be used later that evening.
However, as we packed, the bushes that we had crawled through, gave a very strange rustle, a few bangs and then a scream.
I looked at Liz, and she shrugged back unsure what was going on, until Josh came out of the bushes looking as though he had seen a ghost.
“It’s dad,” Josh panted “he’s hurt himself.”
Now I was worried too, we had only just left him, so what had he done in that short moment?
He came out seconds later and I looked at him. He didn’t look injured or nothing, but I noticed his fishing rod was held strangely.
“I tripped” he said casually, as he held his hand up in the air. “The hook’s stuck in my hand.”
Now, that was when I turned white, especially when he dangled the hand in front of me and the hook was dancing around in his skin.
He walked back to our spot, grabbed whatever he could to pull the hook out, but it never gave.
“You’ll have to go to hospital,” I winced as his skin rose ten foot away from his body as he attempted to get the hook out of his hand with pliers.
Just then, a group of ramblers walked by, and stood right by us watching us with curiosity and I cringed with embarrassment as they stood like mannequins in a shop ogling the scene in front of them.
“Caught anything?” the posh lady asked as the small crowd walked forward to see what Barry was trying to
unhook.
“Arr, me self” Barry shrugged as he showed them his wound.
Consequently, the day was spent sitting in A&E waiting for a hook to be taken out, and my relaxing Saturday was slipping away in to the oblivion.
Next time he goes fishing? He’s taking a fishing net, it’s safer and less hassle.
Regards Victoria
watch?
Nevertheless, this Saturday, it was going to be hot, and I wanted to top up my already tanned skin.
“Let’s go fishing,” Barry, my husband suggested as he sat casually strewn across the settee like my winter
blanket.
I pulled a face, as did our daughter Elizabeth, whilst middle child, Josh turned from his laptop and grinned.
I knew what was to come before they even began the dash to the shed to get their rods, chairs and so forth. Maggots. And muggings here was chosen to do this horrible task.
They know I hate going in the fishing shop, the smell makes me heave before I step into the door of the shop, and today? I bet it really stank in that already muggy place. But Barry was busy getting his bag of something he had hidden at the back of cupboard in the kitchen and making it into a paste, and getting Josh to get the loaf of bread that I had only bought the day before and a tin of sweet corn out of my other
cupboard.
With maggots tightly caged up, the car was ready and so were we. Well, forced to, I did have better things to do, but that was not important, when Josh ran to the car like a dog ready to stick his head of the car window and pull that ecstasy face.
The pool was large and many were around to attempt to find the biggest fish in the pond. We found
a place where there was shade, and threw all the contents out of the fishing bag on to the floor, whilst Liz and I made haste with a blanket and sat behind them.
Now, fishing is supposed to relaxing, calming, sit down and sleep with the fishing line wrapped around your toe, like Tom Sawyer, so that if you caught a tiddler, your toe would wiggle. Not with my wonderful family though. No sooner, as the first rod was cast, Josh had it tangled around a weed and as usual, Barry
moaned.
Yes, great day indeed was on the horizon.
Two hours had passed, I was bored, Liz, was bored, Josh was bored, even the fish were bored, yet, Barry sat waiting, hoping that a great white shark would take the bite of his readymade paste and maggots.
“Come on let’s go through there,” he suggested after another hour had passed and nothing was biting.
We grabbed a rod and crawled through bushes, which opened up to a private haven and sat waiting, hoping for a catch just so that I could go home. Alas, nothing took a snap at the hook.
“Come on,” Barry sighed, “let’s go home.”
I was quickly on my feet followed by Liz and began to crawl back through the bushes.
We began packing things back in to the bags, like robbers taking money out of a safe, eager to get back home and relax in the garden, wine on ice, and the Barbie calling to be used later that evening.
However, as we packed, the bushes that we had crawled through, gave a very strange rustle, a few bangs and then a scream.
I looked at Liz, and she shrugged back unsure what was going on, until Josh came out of the bushes looking as though he had seen a ghost.
“It’s dad,” Josh panted “he’s hurt himself.”
Now I was worried too, we had only just left him, so what had he done in that short moment?
He came out seconds later and I looked at him. He didn’t look injured or nothing, but I noticed his fishing rod was held strangely.
“I tripped” he said casually, as he held his hand up in the air. “The hook’s stuck in my hand.”
Now, that was when I turned white, especially when he dangled the hand in front of me and the hook was dancing around in his skin.
He walked back to our spot, grabbed whatever he could to pull the hook out, but it never gave.
“You’ll have to go to hospital,” I winced as his skin rose ten foot away from his body as he attempted to get the hook out of his hand with pliers.
Just then, a group of ramblers walked by, and stood right by us watching us with curiosity and I cringed with embarrassment as they stood like mannequins in a shop ogling the scene in front of them.
“Caught anything?” the posh lady asked as the small crowd walked forward to see what Barry was trying to
unhook.
“Arr, me self” Barry shrugged as he showed them his wound.
Consequently, the day was spent sitting in A&E waiting for a hook to be taken out, and my relaxing Saturday was slipping away in to the oblivion.
Next time he goes fishing? He’s taking a fishing net, it’s safer and less hassle.
Regards Victoria
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