Friday, the sun was beating down as I walked the river bank, talking to a couple of anglers for a while, nice to make the acquaintance again of Rory, for whom I arranged the sale of a Fred Crouch Truepin Trotter earlier in the season - he loves the reel. Talking also for a long while to Diana, a Swan Rescuer, time usefully spent to put my point of view and ensure anglers are seen as caring. So that's two or three hours killed and I sat under the shade of my brolly to await the evening, and surely but sureley a barbel would grace my net. Not so, I was plagued with weed which kept catching my line and causing me grief, at one point I had to retrieve both rods and cut the resultant tangle free, but I lost not a smidge or tackle, unlike some who left trailing line and weights in a nearby tree. Why do they not sort this and get it back, leaving the tree to look like a tree, and not like a clothes line devoid of clothing but festooned with all manner of hanging detritus. Had another angler not been in said swim I'd have spent a few minutes and easily removed it all, but by the time he'd gone it was near to midnight.
Anyway, the night sky was as clear as I've seen for a long while. I wish I knew more about the stars, as surely I could have identified more than the plough. I've been there before, with sky-watchers book in hand, only to find that the damn things have moved.
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