The plan was to go for the perch on the canal at first light, then walk to the nearby river for the rest of the session. It turned out a day of three halves:

 

1st: Having bruised my knuckle opening the stubborn metal gate, the first chilly morning of the year (3 degrees) helped stem the blood flow. The perch were still reasonably active, with six coming in the first hour of daylight ,with two about a pound.

 

2nd. I made my debut fishing the weirpool, squeezed between two alder stumps for a few tiny roach and one clonking great dace. After an hour I moved on to a straight stretch of the river known as parliament drive. Here I managed to get a shoal of roach feeding, and had nine, two of which were a good half pound+. I lost a few, then added hemp to the loose feeding to hold them. But then the west wind fired up, creating quite a chop and making me think my presentation via a 4AAA loafer was not as controlled as it had been, and the bites stopped. 

 

3rd. I moved swims, and while baiting it up, managed to stick my hand into excrement, which I told myself at the time was not human, but I strongly suspect was. There were no bites here either trotting the maggs or after switching to a legered lob. Back to my 'roach' swim, there was nothing going despite prebaiting again with maggs with the odd ball of mashed bread for 15 minutes before recasting.. With the prevailing wind still prevalent, I moved again, to a more sheltered section with a footbridge. I prebaited judiciously,  but not a single bite on the trot, or the legered worm.

I'm starting to think that the chub are laughing at me, I just can't seem to catch one.