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Attacked In My Bivvy


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#11 Janet

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Posted 14 August 2009 - 07:51 PM

Classic...absolutely classic!

Elton, you can be such a muppet at times....

Big, brave carp angler chased out of his bivvy by a wickle fluffy bunny wunny?

You great big girls blouse.....!

Are you a man or a mouse (and please stop squeaking whilst I'm talking to you....)

Janet

#12 John S

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Posted 14 August 2009 - 09:15 PM

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Quanti Canicula Ille In Fenestra

 

Species caught in 2017 Common Ash, Hawthorn, Hazel, Scots Pine, White Willow.

Species caught in 2016: Alder, Blackthorn, Common Ash, Crab Apple, Left Earlobe, Pedunculate Oak,  Rock Whitebeam, Scots Pine, Smooth-leaved Elm, Swan, Wayfaring tree.

Species caught in 2015: Ash, Bird Cherry, Black-Headed Gull, Common Hazel, Common Whitebeam, Elder, Field Maple, Gorse, Puma, Sessile Oak, White Willow.

Species caught in 2014: Big Angry Man's Ear, Blackthorn, Common Ash, Common Whitebeam, Downy Birch, European Beech, European Holly, Hawthorn, Hazel, Scots Pine, Wych Elm.
Species caught in 2013: Beech, Elder, Hawthorn, Oak, Right Earlobe, Scots Pine.

Species caught in 2012: Ash, Aspen, Beech, Big Nasty Stinging Nettle, Birch, Copper Beech, Grey Willow, Holly, Hazel, Oak, Wasp Nest (that was a really bad day), White Poplar.
Species caught in 2011: Blackthorn, Crab Apple, Elder, Fir, Hawthorn, Horse Chestnut, Oak, Passing Dog, Rowan, Sycamore, Willow.
Species caught in 2010: Ash, Beech, Birch, Elder, Elm, Gorse, Mullberry, Oak, Poplar, Rowan, Sloe, Willow, Yew.



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#13 benacre

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Posted 15 August 2009 - 06:14 AM

Run rabbit run rabbit run run run :bigemo_harabe_net-163:
I'm lucky to go fishing everyday (when the FPO allows me)

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#14 Newt

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Posted 15 August 2009 - 06:36 AM

Murph - this may be similar to what you had to endure.

Youtube Video ->Original Video

" My choices in life were either to be a piano player in a whore house or a politician. And to tell the truth, there's hardly any difference!" - Harry Truman, 33rd US President

#15 DavyR

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Posted 15 August 2009 - 09:24 AM

Now come on, be fair - they're not all as harmless as they look...

Youtube Video ->Original Video

Can't make the damn link work..

http://www.youtube.c...h?v=XcxKIJTb3Hg

Edited by Si..., 15 August 2009 - 03:15 PM.


#16 Leon Roskilly

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Posted 15 August 2009 - 10:24 AM

Those 'cute little bunnies' can be terrifying when they turn nasty.

I'd hate to be trapped in a bivvy with one :eek:

(Which is one more reason that I don't 'do' carp!)

Glad you got out alive Elton :)

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#17 Wordbender

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Posted 15 August 2009 - 06:48 PM

Those 'cute little bunnies' can be terrifying when they turn nasty.

I'd hate to be trapped in a bivvy with one :eek:

(Which is one more reason that I don't 'do' carp!)

Glad you got out alive Elton :)


And now, the shameful truth of that particular matter. :rolleyes:

First, let's get one thing absolutely clear, shall we? Elton is my mate, we've scarce had a negative word in all the years we've been chums, he's my brother of the angle, the very finest of bankside company, and if he needed a bodily organ I could spare, I'd cut him a deal. Sadly, but undeniably, he is also a raving bloody queen.

Not only did a family of mallards totally mug him of every particle and boilie he put out on a close-in spot, his very first cast with the marker float landed expertly, and with admirable velocity, right at his feet. It was the classic 'swisssssh-splosh!' of the tip-tangled chucker.
"I'm exploring the margins," muttered a red-faced Murph, not daring to look my way. It set the tone for the session.

My three rods were out by the time Elton had deployed the first of his, but I suppose there's no hurrying a true master of his craft. Quite what this has to do with Elton I'm not sure, but watching him get his life sorted on the bank is the rarest of treats. He always seems to be doing something, yet nothing ever seems to get done. It's a fascinating thing to witness and I'm convinced it asks important questions of the universal laws of time and motion.

Elton eventually declared himself satisfied with the setup of his bivvy, despite it looking like it had been thrown into the swim from the back of a speeding lorry, and pegged-out by someone who'd heard of a fishing shelter but had never actually seen one. A fine five hours after arriving at the lake, it was time to settle into the session and like proper diehard carpers...we went straight to kip. It should be understood, here, that even before the session began, Elton had me waiting at the gates of Wingham at 4am, after assuring me that it got light about then, and definitely not at 05.30 like it did in my native Surrey. Cue an hour-and-a-half of staring out of the clubhouse window at the blackness before we could go for a first light moochabout. I'd left home at 02.30, so a teensy snoozette wasn't unreasonable.

The time passed, as fishing time always does, at a cruelly accelerated pace, and apart from Elton's chair collapsing and sending him tumbling backward in a pantomime stylie, Elton avoiding his cooking and washing up duties via a brace of moody phone calls, and me losing two carp to hook pulls in the weed, our precious hours in paradise drifted peacefully by, until first light on our final day, which still insisted on arriving at 05.30.

I was enjoying that blissful semi-conscious state that precedes full awakening, with the sound of songbirds in my ears and the residue of cremated barbecue chicken in my sticky gob, when the dawn chorus was silenced by a primitive combination of roaring, shrieking and decidedly girly squeaking, all of which came from Elton's bivvy, and specifically, Elton. The rules of this forum and those my parents instilled in me, prevent the reproduction of what Elton was actually bleating, but a 'robust' version of 'Gosh, what the heck is going on here, then?' should clue you in.

I was then treated to the sight of a three-quarters grown rabbit lolloping unhurriedly from Elton's bivvy, before it gave me a casual glance and disappeared stage left into a patch of friendly nettles. Next came Elton, moving considerably faster, fetchingly clad in carp pyjamas and fake Crocs, spluttering, stuttering and gathering his skirts about him as he did a terrified dance right in front of my bed chair, still emitting the occasional squeak between accusations that I'd thrown something in his bivvy. As soon as I could stop laughing long enough to breathe normally, I pointed out that gathering fresh-picked rabbits from the field was beyond my meagre talents, and that the one which had so viciously assaulted him by running about a bit inside his tent, probably strolled in through any one of the gaps left by the sloppy git who'd set it up. It was quite 20 minutes before Elton could compose himself, and with trembling hands he put on the kettle to make our final cup of low-grade, supasava, BOGOF coffee.

"Erm...I suppose you'll tell that lot on the forum about this...won't you?" said my traumatised fishing pal.
"Oh, only everything. You know, the whole deal. All of it." I assured him.
"You really are a total...."

And we'll leave it there, ladies and gentlemen, save for my assurance that, if anything, I have spared my friend's blushes by under-telling this sorry tale, but then that's the kind of fellow I am. Elton, on the other hand, is the kind of fellow that does a wee in his pants when a tiny baby bunny whiffles its nose at him. The screaming great tart. :lol:
And on the eighth day God created carp fishing...and he saw that it was pukka.

#18 Alan Stubbs

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Posted 15 August 2009 - 07:11 PM

And now, the shameful truth of that particular matter. :rolleyes:

First, let's get one thing absolutely clear, shall we? Elton is my mate, we've scarce had a negative word in all the years we've been chums, he's my brother of the angle, the very finest of bankside company, and if he needed a bodily organ I could spare, I'd cut him a deal. Sadly, but undeniably, he is also a raving bloody queen.

Not only did a family of mallards totally mug him of every particle and boilie he put out on a close-in spot, his very first cast with the marker float landed expertly, and with admirable velocity, right at his feet. It was the classic 'swisssssh-splosh!' of the tip-tangled chucker.
"I'm exploring the margins," muttered a red-faced Murph, not daring to look my way. It set the tone for the session.

My three rods were out by the time Elton had deployed the first of his, but I suppose there's no hurrying a true master of his craft. Quite what this has to do with Elton I'm not sure, but watching him get his life sorted on the bank is the rarest of treats. He always seems to be doing something, yet nothing ever seems to get done. It's a fascinating thing to witness and I'm convinced it asks important questions of the universal laws of time and motion.

Elton eventually declared himself satisfied with the setup of his bivvy, despite it looking like it had been thrown into the swim from the back of a speeding lorry, and pegged-out by someone who'd heard of a fishing shelter but had never actually seen one. A fine five hours after arriving at the lake, it was time to settle into the session and like proper diehard carpers...we went straight to kip. It should be understood, here, that even before the session began, Elton had me waiting at the gates of Wingham at 4am, after assuring me that it got light about then, and definitely not at 05.30 like it did in my native Surrey. Cue an hour-and-a-half of staring out of the clubhouse window at the blackness before we could go for a first light moochabout. I'd left home at 02.30, so a teensy snoozette wasn't unreasonable.

The time passed, as fishing time always does, at a cruelly accelerated pace, and apart from Elton's chair collapsing and sending him tumbling backward in a pantomime stylie, Elton avoiding his cooking and washing up duties via a brace of moody phone calls, and me losing two carp to hook pulls in the weed, our precious hours in paradise drifted peacefully by, until first light on our final day, which still insisted on arriving at 05.30.

I was enjoying that blissful semi-conscious state that precedes full awakening, with the sound of songbirds in my ears and the residue of cremated barbecue chicken in my sticky gob, when the dawn chorus was silenced by a primitive combination of roaring, shrieking and decidedly girly squeaking, all of which came from Elton's bivvy, and specifically, Elton. The rules of this forum and those my parents instilled in me, prevent the reproduction of what Elton was actually bleating, but a 'robust' version of 'Gosh, what the heck is going on here, then?' should clue you in.

I was then treated to the sight of a three-quarters grown rabbit lolloping unhurriedly from Elton's bivvy, before it gave me a casual glance and disappeared stage left into a patch of friendly nettles. Next came Elton, moving considerably faster, fetchingly clad in carp pyjamas and fake Crocs, spluttering, stuttering and gathering his skirts about him as he did a terrified dance right in front of my bed chair, still emitting the occasional squeak between accusations that I'd thrown something in his bivvy. As soon as I could stop laughing long enough to breathe normally, I pointed out that gathering fresh-picked rabbits from the field was beyond my meagre talents, and that the one which had so viciously assaulted him by running about a bit inside his tent, probably strolled in through any one of the gaps left by the sloppy git who'd set it up. It was quite 20 minutes before Elton could compose himself, and with trembling hands he put on the kettle to make our final cup of low-grade, supasava, BOGOF coffee.

"Erm...I suppose you'll tell that lot on the forum about this...won't you?" said my traumatised fishing pal.
"Oh, only everything. You know, the whole deal. All of it." I assured him.
"You really are a total...."

And we'll leave it there, ladies and gentlemen, save for my assurance that, if anything, I have spared my friend's blushes by under-telling this sorry tale, but then that's the kind of fellow I am. Elton, on the other hand, is the kind of fellow that does a wee in his pants when a tiny baby bunny whiffles its nose at him. The screaming great tart. :lol:



Terry and Elton, aka 'The Knights of Ni'

I haven't laughed so hard for years! Terry, you're a star.
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#19 Wordbender

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Posted 15 August 2009 - 07:29 PM

Terry and Elton, aka 'The Knights of Ni'


Oi! Hold hard there, Stubbsy old thing.

While Elton Doolittle may be some sort of comedy carping act, I am a monument to serious cypry'ing at its very finest. A MONUMENT, Sir! :angry:

Now then. <_<
And on the eighth day God created carp fishing...and he saw that it was pukka.

#20 Alan Stubbs

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Posted 15 August 2009 - 07:40 PM

Oi! Hold hard there, Stubbsy old thing.

While Elton Doolittle may be some sort of comedy carping act, I am a monument to serious cypry'ing at its very finest. A MONUMENT, Sir! :angry:

Now then. <_<



Well, I wasn't going to....

Two weeks ago, I was fishing Ecclestone Mere and had my first run of the season from the water......
My left leg slipped andI did the splits ending up falling sideways into the water. .... no change of clothes with me.

OK, so I wasn't gonna get rabbitted to death, but I could easily have been gummed and lipped to death by carp and bream!

You may be, nay, are a veritable monument - Terry, I have to agree...you're bigger than me! On your scale, I was more like the 'B of the Bang' in its current state.
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