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Sunday, August 07, 2005

 

Back from Jollydays

Have had an absolutely spiffing time on hols in Robbagrockle, Cornwall. On most days, I have been sea fishing in excellent company even if the weather got a bit iffy ten miles out. Mrs Sticker and Step kids have been amusing themselves otherwise at various shopping venues around the county, leaving me to sit back, stick me rod out over the gunwales, tip my straw hat over my eyes and snooze until something gave me bait a nibble. It’s perfectly legal, honest, yer honour.

There’s something particularly soothing I find about being at sea. The quiet, gentle rhythm of the waves and the knowledge that the only unwelcome intrusions into your peace and quiet are the odd Herring Gull and perchance one of HM Submarines surfacing having been repeatedly pinged by an overenthusiastic soul with their fish finder full on, possibly thinking they’d hit a really big fish. “Thar she blows! – Oh shit.” Kind of thing. Saw this actually happen five years back, some ten miles off Eddystone rock. One minute we were watching this guy excitedly circling his little twenty foot cabin cruiser about a quarter mile to port (That’s on the Left to all you landlubbers.), the next, up pops the black hulk of a bloody great Hunter Killer Submarine flooding the radio frequencies with imperious messages ‘to all small vessels’ demanding to know their ‘intentions’. Snigger. Serves ‘em right for scaring off the sharks with their sonar.

All in all, a thunderingly good time was had. No one asked me what I do for a living, I studiously ignored all the tourist parking contraventions and busied myself with sorting out me tackle, playing with me rod and getting lightly pickled. Have not read a newspaper or listened to anything more than the shipping forecast.

My idiot dog, much to everybody’s amusement, spent a lot of his time enthusiastically barking into the live bait bucket. Wonder what would have happened if I’d caught a squid and dropped it in there? Might have shut the silly animal up and given all on board a couple of guffaws. Animal cruelty can be fun Mrs Robinson.

At the present moment of writing have not long arrived home replete with Cornish Oggies and Cripplecock Cider. Am also sea (If not sun) bronzed, full of vim and vigour and my freezer is now full with (Any vegetarians or vegans should stop reading here.);

12 Decent sized fresh Mackerel
4 decent John Dory fillets
5kg of the finest skinned fillet of Conger Eel (The rest went as crab bait)
10kg of Ling fillet

All caught, killed and prepared with me own fair hands, moi ‘andsome. Good job we invested in a big freezer.

I was hoping for some Porbeagle shark, which is comparable to Swordfish if you prepare it correctly, but alas, no reasonable specimen was caught. The little ‘uns we tagged and threw back for next year.

Last night I made a successful attempt at impressing my family (In-laws and out-laws) with my Conger eel Normandy style (Medallions of conger fillet fried in garlic butter and flambéed in Calvados), with home made chips (A household favourite), and buttered peas accompanied by Tartare sauce and one of my special apple crumbles with custard to follow. Yum.

I feel full of beans (Figuratively speaking) and ready for (almost) anything. Even going back to work.

Ah, that’s where it all falls down unfortunately. Hi ho. It was a nice feeling while it lasted.

Incidentally, regarding recent comments; Russian Sub? Space shuttle? What planet are you guys on? I’m a very literal minded person. When I hang up a sign saying ‘Gone fishing’ you can bet your durn tooty that’s exactly what I’ll be doing. I may muck about with names, times, dates and places in this blog to ensure my anonymity, but fishing is sacrosanct.

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Location: British Columbia, Canada

Exasperated expatriate expostulations all the way from British Columbia, Canada. As if anyone really cared. Oh, I also watch Icelandic Volcanoes and seismic activity. Don't ask me why.

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