The daffodil flowers faded not so long ago. Now their leaves are starting to wither untidily among the long weedy grass stems. I shan’t cut them just yet, not if I want an even better display next year. Most of the buds on the surrounding trees have exploded into a green haze, among the branches
Ice crystals keep trying to form amongst the brown and broken weed stems, then a cold blast of air sweeps across the water to lash my face, and the crystals are gone. I had arrived at the water over two biteless hours ago, warmed by the car’s heater, and full of optimistic expectation. The warmth
There will come a time in the life of a fishing widow when your teenaged anglers decide that they want to go on a fishing holiday with their friends, one of whom has access to his mother’s car for the week. Of course they do. It’s all part of the growing up process, the beginning
I’m sure my brain cells are being destroyed by global warming, or something -possibly gin. At our final work party, a few weeks ago, Jack attempted to clear one of the remote swims. A fair sized tree had tumbled from the high banks of the country park which lies adjacent and landed in the lake.
I never expect presents from abroad, particularly from my family. They are always too busy at a water’s edge to stroll round towns or villages looking for suitable gifts to take home and I don’t blame them for that.When number one son returned from a carp trip in deepest France, though, I thought he had