SQUARE PEG ROUND HOLE

This month whilst driving to work with the roof down in my midlife crisis car, a couple of lanes over I spotted the rear of brand spanking new, bright red Ferrari convertible . I couldn't see who was driving, but I fancied it must be a passing celebrity or super model. After all, this is Leicester and it should be apparent to anyone who has driven through this concrete bomb crater of a city that there clearly isn’t anyone living around here who could afford the servicing costs, let alone the car itself.

After some nifty lane changing and a bit of weaving I managed to get myself level with the Italian beast and looked over. In the driving seat, rather than a lithe tanned film star, was a complete Walrus of a man in his early fifties, with a full on Bobby Charlton three strand comb-over wafting in the breeze.

What the hell happened there? Apart from the fact that it must have taken 3 helpers to tyre-lever him into the seat at the dealership, where the hell were this guys friends when he bought the car? Any true friend would have slapped him roundly on the face and quietly told him what a Muppet he would look like, whilst at the same time giving him a gentle shove towards the nearest Rover dealer.

So disappointed was I that it wasn’t Jennifer Aniston, I considered an outraged phone call to Ferrari HQ to snitch on the dealer that sold fat bloke the car. After all, I’m fairly sure that all the staff at the Ferrari P.R. department would spontaneously combust if they had any idea that this globule of a man was in effect driving around as a living advert for their brand. Possibly the coolest brand on the planet?

Fast forward to my latest outing, a quiet couple of hours with the small boy, a 3-metre whip, a picnic, (for when he got bored) my domestic goddess (for when he got really bored) and a huge shoal of hungry mini Rudd. The water was perfect for him, small, quiet, pretty and he could get 2 to 3 bites a minute on a single pinkie. Exactly what a small boy, with the attention span equivalent to that of a goldfish with dementia, needs when they are learning to fish.




Small boy is three years old and I have this theory of increasing the length of his whip inline with his age that means he should be confidently chucking a small pole about around the age of 8, I’ll keep you posted





We set up in seconds and settled down to fish, sitting on the grass amongst the reeds. Family angling, is there anything better? Father, son, nature, it was great and so heart-warming I half expected the leafy green landscape to change into sepia tones and to look down to discover I was wearing slippers. Then, in the midst of this tranquil scene, I was sure I heard the strains of the Eastender's theme tune...

On investigation I spied something so absurd it left me gasping like a banked Chub. A couple of pegs away, a guy had set up a full-on carp pitch and was laying on a bed chair watching TV. So vast was his bivvie that it can only be described as a tented village worthy of Glastonbury. In fact, amongst his entire spread of kit the only thing missing was a hoard of dope-fuelled hippies desperately searching for the face painting tent.

This pool has about 20 pegs and nothing bigger than 8lb and yet he had a full 3 rod pod sporting 3lb test curve rods, heavy braid, swingers and more electronics than a North Sea oil rig. He only paused form his TV to catapult pouch after pouch of lime green and bright pink boilies at his swim, from his chair, before settling back down to catch up on what fat Pat butcher was shrieking about this week. So many boilies did he pile in I was sure the water level rose by an inch. What the hell has this man's efforts got to do with angling? A TV for goodness sake! If that’s angling I think I’d rather stay at home and quietly scoop my brains out with a rusty bread punch.

So much of the approach by these type of anglers is so wrong that poor Isaac and Ivan would be spinning in their graves. These people are simply bed chair potatoes, a carbuncle on the foot of angling. Not content with swelling themselves up to Prescot proportions they are intent on doing the same thing to their fish. Presumably the fatter and unhealthier they are the easier they are to catch. What is wrong with natural baits? after all, when was the last time you saw a carp in the royal box at Wimbledon scoffing a bowl of strawberries and cream?

And why must he fish with three rods? If you are fishing the Ebro in Spain fine, likewise one of the big carp waters where you have to hit the horizon just to contact fish, fine, but anything less than a couple of acres..3 rods? Come on boys and girls, you're cheating and it just points out to others that you aren’t really any good.

When I think about this TV watching angling idiot, alongside walrus man in his Ferrari, I have to consider again where were this guys friends? Why wasn’t someone slapping him very hard around the face, warning him he would look like a Muppet and Selotaping any article about, or by, John Hofgardner to his eye balls? John is a truly magnificent carp angler who stalks his fish using a traditional and natural approach and almost always kicks the angling backside of the guys with all the gear and no idea. He is often reported catching huge fish under the noses of lakes full of blanking anglers who are using every modern angling aid available. A continuous string of stunning captures using no bivvie, no bed chair, no rod pods, no hideous artificial baits and absolutely no TV. Now that’s what I call a carp angler.

I know that I am at risk of being besieged by hoards of fuming carp anglers waving posters of Andy Little, but this is fact:

The type of angler I encountered on my tiny pool, of which there are increasing numbers, are way, way out of place within our noble sport. Just like our man in the Ferrari, most modern carp fishing methods bear no more relation to angling than fat bloke's comb over does to his beautiful car.

You know I'm right.

Angry Angler