Wordbender

I was there during this event, and the manhood-defining rabbit attack, and all I can say is, Elton conducted himself with dignity, class and calm authority. Wordbender, News At 10 - lying like a bleddy flatfish.

Does my ancient brain let me down again, or was the original 'Monkey Man' done by Toots and the Maytals'? Vey, vey, important that we know, obviously.

Super stuff. More please.

What a fantastic, albeit slightly harrowing, tale. And I was worried about having a ruck with a few young bullocks. Roll on Part Two. Marvellous stuff.

Well told, well caught - well-jealous! Top work, Anderoo, and what a cracking fish. Inspirational stuff and no mistake.

This week, I have mainly been trotting a brace of maggots down chalk streams in Berkshire, a bit of the Kennet, and the Colne. Much has been learned, and every moment savoured. My Berkshire excursion produced exciting tussles with grayling and dace, plus some certifiable fights with rainbows and brownies. Yes, the trout were off-topic, but their mad rushes and aerobatics would force a grin from the most granite-faced of traditional gits. Today's mooch along the Colne produced eight chub (only three 'proper' ones, the rest below three pounds) but in the process I had a toe-to-hoof brawl with a herd of bullocks - with me flailing at them with a reed mace plant in a baseball bat stylie, plus dishing out the occasional left jab - but I lost that encounter and had to retreat before my tackle got trampled. I was a coward, bullied, beasted and bested, by a herd of cows. I winkled out the biggest fish of the day, at 4.5lbs, from a tiny stream, five feet wide and less than two feet deep, and I was picking up chub and chublets on a regular basis, until I found the barbel...or carp...or freshwater marlin for all I know. Four runs alongside a giant snag resulted in three lightning strikes and no chance whatsoever of even playing these fish, let alone landing them. My 4lb mainline was easily 6lb shy of the required breaking strain, so after the third attempt to engage failed within a few seconds, I fed the snag and left the fish to scoff themselves into a false sense of security. As a chap once grunted - I'll be back. The only downer of the day was watching squadrons of cormorants heading for local waters; wave after wave of the pointy buggers, bound for an inland feast of our coarse fish stocks. Something really does need to be done, chaps. My ESP bait pouch was a Godsend, allowing me to flick in a constant spatter of grubs with minimal effort, and this 'very little, but very often' baiting approach seemed to flick the switch in most of the productive swims. I used maggots exclusively, but I'll be blagging some paste mix secrets from my angling chums, and trying a whole range of baiting options before season's end. I finished the morning in a glorious state of knackerdom, with so many lessons learned and my fishing batteries fully-charged. I've got myself an angling pursuit that I can weave around my job, and one which holds unlimited promise for me. I'm a happy man today.

Ah that designer OCC brand, eh? Ultra-cult and no mistake, Budge old boy.

I would never fish a lake for tench, carp, bream or pike, without exploring for features with a marker rod. In fact, I'd rather use a single rod on a spot found and baited with the use of a marker, than to fish three rods 'blind'. My marker rod is absolutely vital to my specimen fishing and I wouldn't leave home without it.

Now Budgie, you know as well as I do that, unless all of your rods match, and they're of the most fashionable make and configuration, you simply won't catch. Frankly, I'm amazed that you would subscribe to any other mindset. Shocked, I am. Yes, shocked.

Calm down dear - it's only Chesters! I do believe the old chap is being a bit of a naughty pixie and playing the pantomime curmudgeon. After all, nobody could really be that bloody miserable and still appreciate our beloved fishing, could they? Tell me they couldn't.

'Sex with farm animals'? Chesters old chum, you are the very epitome of 'needs to get out more'. That stir-craziness has obviously led to some seriously dodgy thought processes. I prescribe a nice holiday, preferably overseas among friendly natives.

Ah the days of our forebears. How this nation must miss rickets, child labour, the Thames filled with invigorating sewage and the constant stimulation of avoiding plagues. Them wuz the days, eh Chesters? *Goes all misty-eyed and that...*

Doesn't that make fishing a bit tricky, though? I've seen the web and I've seen a fair bit of the world, and take it from me, Chesters, the web isn't the world, mate. Not even with best monitor and sound system, like, ever. 'soon you will be dead if your lucky all that money and recollections will be remembered til the instant you die but it still will be a waste of money after you shuffle of this mortal coil' Erm...isn't everything that brings fond recollection therefore a waste of money? Should we not bother having good times, because they're no use after we're dead? The inhabitants of Chesters World would make the Amish look like ravers, no? I always knew travel broadens the mind, but I was unaware that the opposite effect is also present. Party on, dude!

Or, as my extensive experience has shown me, they may not actually hate us at all? You are entitled to your views, Chester, but are you seriously suggesting that we should never go abroad and no one from overseas should visit us? Really? Blimey, that's a sad old state of affairs and no mistake. No marvelling at the northern lights after a day spent watching killer whales? No bobbing about in a Louisiana pirogue as the sun melts into the bayou, no Grand Canyon and the adjacent madness of Las Vegas, no Paris and the Louvre and absolutely no magnificent overseas memories to replay in my head for the rest of my life? Oh no, I don't fancy that life at all, mate. Is that really what you meant? Apologies if not.

Oh yes, I can't see that causing any grief, Ziggy. Well, some over-sensitive types may react with the odd baseball bat, but I'm sure the rest will take it in the right spirit.

I'm sure my unrepentant Englishness had a great deal to do with it, Newt, but this particular incident occurred in a sports bar where a group of local worthies were picking on some lads from Newfoundland. My friends and I had enjoyed the hospitality of the Newfoundland people during a trip to St. Johns a couple of years before, so when it kicked off in the bar, we stood with the Newfies. It was all over in a few frantic minutes but those beastly locals called us horrid names and conducted themselves like complete cads. Anyway, that was a minor pimple on the otherwise smooth face of my global adventures, so I'm happy to consign it to the dustbin of experience. All the best.

As a reasonably 'worldwide' type of chap, Chesters, I'm happy to report that, in my experience at least, we Brits are not 'hated' at all, mate. In fact, apart from some unpleasantness in a decidedly French bit of Montreal, I've always been treated with the utmost friendship, courtesy and generosity. I believe that the lurid headlines generated by those few hooligan Brits abroad represent the truth about as well as 'anglers' who leave litter and discarded tackle behind them.

Hello all! Long-term member and occasional poster, Wordbender here, safely gathered from a week in mad-bonkers Ibiza and what an eye-opener that was and no little mistake. Those young people, eh? What are they like?!! Well, let me tell you. My eldest lad 'works security' (hoys drunks into and out of a couple of clubs in San Antoni) over there and I haven't seen him for a couple of months, so that's why I dragged my saggy ass to Ibiza. Taking the dreadful with the smooth, I'm glad I did. Even a rounded fellow such as me learns plenty about himself in a place like Ibiza. For instance, who could have imagined that acres of unbridled boobies could become 'meh' in around two days? The sight of a well-turned chest in a cheekily cut gown beats the lolling lallies all hands down, in the rheumy eye of this uncommitted clubber at least. I've already dallied too long on matters lallular, but I'm forced to make mention of the 70-something, thonged-up silicone sister who made breakfast at the beach bar quite uncomfortable for me and my basin of sizzling sardines. I now know that, within my self-oppressed world of the proper and the improper, there comes a point when exposing our ghastly bodies to an unforgiving sun is simply not in the public interest. Before I'm cyber-lynched by the feministas, that restriction applies equally to we chaps. Buckets of gut and man-boobs do not make for mealtime viewing. Ibiza fashion surprised me, and I'm quite the Gok Wan as you know. I'm sad to report that the influence of that unfairly talented Katie Jordan Price-Andre-Reid-Mostchaps is the major styling force for young ladies. The black hair, with cheap extensions revealed perfectly by the glare of the Spanish sun, matches the equally false lashes and genuine designer fake tan. Add some sort of toga dress-thing, the strappy boots, a subtle hectare of costume bling, even a tiara or two, and the look is complete...crap. Baffling. Young gentlemen prefer to shave their bodies to avoid hair spoiling the cut of their physical jibs. There is disturbing evidence of eyebrow pluckage and I'm sure some of these fellows are no strangers to the ouvre of Mssrs Revlon and Clinique. Quite what the likes of Lord Baden-Powell would have made of those young, hard, hairless male bodies a'glisten with scented sweat, I shudder to think. Amusingly, these poor chaps still cling to the 'crutch of trouser below the nutsack-swing line' look. This not only leaves the arse of their strides hanging like a soggy nappy, it lets us enjoy the sight of their underpants. Class, that. Drug dealing is more brazen here than in any mainstream resort I've ever lurked in. African entrepreneurs roam the beaches and byways, selling knock-off sunglasses from one box, and coke, skunk, ketamine, MDMA and ecstasy from their grubby pockets. Some bars sell the same across the counter, and it's all a bit sinister, really. That ketamine gear is an absolute b'stard, and my son reckons it's the cause of more insane rucks than any other drug, including booze. Yesterday, he was having breakfast with two other doormen and a couple of sturdy police officers, when a ket-head just ran over and started pushing him around. My son knew the score immediately, and immobilised the bloke, but ketamine apparently promotes the impression of invincibility and the idiot just kept lashing out. The outcome was inevitable and the police eventually dealt with it in their normal sympathetic way, with batons and pepper spray. My son is a huge man, his two doorman mates are even bigger, plus the law was there too; yet that poor deranged sod decided that attacking them was the way forward. The man didn't utter a word throughout the five minutes of frenzied conflict and it's probable that he'll have no recollection whatever of what the hell he did, but put a blade, bottle or lump of rock in his hand and somebody could be killed. The Ibiza plod taser first and beat the crap out of you second. My lad said, 'that was someone's son, dad,' and shook his head. I found the whole thing seriously scary, and told my lad that he was someone's son, too, and made him promise to put his own welfare first, but I knew what he meant. Poxy drugs, and a pox on those who prey on the 'invincible' young 'uns. In happier news, a visit to the further-flung regions of Ibiza revealed a stunning island beyond the reach of clubbing culture and the excesses that sustain it. The food was, generally, excellent, especially anything fish-based, and I enjoyed the squids' finest hour, here. Gilt head bream is the fish of the gods and sardines the size of herrings (body type-athletic), are the fishy dish that can be savoured any time, any place, anywhere. Prices went from mild to mad, with the biggest rip-offs inevitably directed at the young, free and bladdered. How'd you fancy between 50 and 100 euros to get into a club, and 20 euros a drink once you're in? Then again, at certain times the kids have booze lobbed at them for next to nowt, and 7 euros gets you a pint of Vodka and Red Bull (four vodkas in that, thanks ), plus a shot, plus a beer. Healthy alco-options, no? I was working for much of the time but saw enough to form the cock-eyed opinion you're suffering now, and certainly enough to know that I'd go back and have a week off-piste as it were. The invitation's there and I think I'll graciously accept it. There we are then, a very much potted Ibiza, as briefly enjoyed by possibly the least likely raver that insane island has ever seen. If you have - thanks for reading.

In the shell of a nut, Andy.

True, Den, but there are baits and rigs that catch more carp and fewer tench, bream and eels, mate. I've caught bream on 24mm boilies, tiger nuts and once on a roach head meant for eels, but very few, whereas I've caught dozens of bream on smaller boilies, corn and maggots. I've caught just four, albeit huge, bream on the 360 rig, plus two monster tench and exactly no eels. So, by choosing known feeding areas where carp dominate and using baits and rigs that bream, tench and eels have tended to avoid rather than relish, I can be more selective than if I just used bream-friendly baits presented in a bream-friendly way. Also, as I keep saying, there's no skill of any kind required to play and net a large tench, bream or eel on 15lb line and a 3lb TC rod. They are simply winched in, aren't they? Thus, if I do hook a bream, tench or eel while I'm fishing for big carp, my avoidance strategies have failed and I'm left cranking in a fish that's massively out-gunned on the gear I'm using. Honestly, I simply can not gain any satisfaction from a capture like that. When targeting a particular species, my satisfaction comes from finding the fish, working out where it feeds, offering a bait and rig that gives me the best chance of a pick-up from the type of fish I'm after, then playing it on the appropriate tackle. For me, it's about bringing it all together and enjoying the process and the result. Catching a bream when I've done absolutely everything I can to catch a big carp really doesn't give me the pleasure I look for from my angling. As for financial considerations, that isn't a factor and never would be. No Den, my angling is my own selfish pleasure taken, all too infrequently, in a world of working my bits off and taking care of my family. I'll continue to enjoy it on my own terms, mate, and I hope everyone else does the same. All the best.

Two things, Den; first the question was 'would you claim a record?...' and that means making a personal choice, which I did. Secondly, while I don't know the circumstances of the catch you've cited, if the chap was fishing for carp, then I don't regard it as 'perfectly valid', mate, for the reasons I've given. When I fish for carp I use the rigs, baits, locations and tactics that I know help me to avoid bream, if bream are a factor. When I catch bream in spite of doing all I can to avoid them, I absolutely can't regard this as an achievement. If anything it's a failure, and just because I happened to fail with a big bream I could still never claim credit, or a record, for failing in what I set out to do. As I say, others may feel differently, but I could not be any other way, because the process and overall satisfaction of my fishing is far more important to me than the size of the fish I catch.

And another thing; why is the Waller based pest control always left to me, eh? Eh? I mean, it's not as if swatting him, or parrying his crude thrusts at the nation's gentle carping folk, is difficult, is it? Now then.

Look, I'm a very busy man, with a desk diary and a BlackBerry and everyfin! It's alright for the Wallers and Newts of this world, who spend their time toodling about in boats bristling with more detection technology than Area 51, when I'm too busy being all vital and important and stuff. Oh yes, while they're out on the water lacing daisies into each others' hair, I'm having crucial meetings and using the latest buzz-words and prodding ever more importantly at my laptop with my executive finger and all that. So, to conclude, I didn't notice the bleddy date, did I? HTH

Absolutely not. My biggest roach, tench, bream, eel, barbel, crucian and chub have all come while fishing for big carp with big carp tackle, and I don't consider any of them my PB. How can I claim any credit, even to myself, through catching something I was actively trying to avoid, on gear that means there's no meaningful fight possible? Even a double-figure barbel is hugely out-gunned on a 3lb test curve rod and 15lb line. If I was fishing for one species and spotted an opportunity to catch something else, and re-directed my efforts and gear to catch it, that would be different, but anything that happens along and hangs itself while I'm after big carp can't be counted because, for me, there's no personal merit or satisfaction in the capture. Others are free to feel differently, but my fishing is conducted entirely according to my rules and to feel any other way would be deceiving myself - and my blessed pastime is far too precious for that.

*Rolls up sleeves, flexes fingers, sighs the sigh of the patient man yet again assailed by a tiresome dirge being played by the neighbours...* Pike will take anything anyone cares to throw at the dopey gits. If I had a quid for every one of the skulking numbskulls that has struck at my marker float, with not a shred of bait anywhere near it, I'd be less than ten grand behind Peter 'I only use traditional electronic fish finders, me' Waller. As for pike 'rarely falling for a boilie', oh dear Pete, oh very, very dear, mate. I've had at least 20 pike on boilies over the years, and hundreds of takes on boilies occur every year, with many of them on static baits. Ask Elton how often pike take boilies. Sorry, mush, pike is like well-fik, innit. Mind you, some anglers still require all manner of hi-tech, electronic assistance to catch them. Now THAT certainly does prove something. *Nods...*