Sunday, 27 March 2011
Something went wrong and the golf blog ended before its time. Therefore I am simply moving on to the the real point, which is that I have now come across an equally dangerous infection. Angling. Think of it. The fishing season lasts a good six months during which the angler rarely thinks of anything other than killing fish. Alone in a boat with one other person for many hours on the trot, the surprising thing is that so few of them turn to homicide when the trout aren't rising I have a friend who caught the most virulent form of the curse about ten years ago. A lovely man, who I had hopes of turning into a serious observer of the political scene, he has now taken to the water for the season. And when not hell bent on fishing on the Loughrea lake, he is lured by another addict to deplete the stocks on every stretch of water in the West of Ireland. In fact, now I come to think of it, my friend has even taken to foreign travel in his murderous stalking of the innocent trout. Only the other day, I discovered that he has now been elected president of the local angling club. This makes him a man of some clout in the environs of our lake and a person anyone thinking of impeding local rights of way to access the lake would want to be careful of. This is a warning that the clergy would do well of consider. For it is my experience that you cross an angler at your peril.