Having blanked a few times now, I took local anglers advice and walked down to the beach with my new neighbour as the sun went down and while the tide was coming in. 

I'd also bought a newspaper packet of lugworms, plus a few frozen sandeels and confidence was high. After a heatwave of a day, it was beautiful on the sand at night as the lights of Swansea twinkled across the bay and the furnaces of the steelworks sent the occasional plume of flame into the sky. 

We had bites from the off. Most didn't connect and the lugworm was pinched, but Glyn beached six bass, beating my five, but then I had the biggest fish. How big were they, well, mine came in at 5oz, 8oz, 4oz, 5oz and 4oz. OK, tiny schoolies, but perfect minatures and it was a great fun evening, still in short sleeves as midnight approached.

Two mornings later, I returned to the beach at first light in trunks, tee-shirt and a small backpack of lures and stood knee-depth in the water casting for the bass that were surely swimming all around me. Such fun! Nothing showed though, though after 90 minutes of casting, my nutsack had been breached by more than enough occasional higher waves of cold water and I admitted to myself that today wouldn't be the day. As  I dripped back home, I thought that I was really living my best life.