The River Arrow - Conkers and Consequentialisms

Sam was still welded to the duvet when I went to see if he was up for fishing, but as expected despite saying he would be up for it, he looked up at me, and said "I'll give this one a miss". It wasn't exactly early either because it was 7.10am and he is up that time for school, however much like his mother bed is his happy place.

What I didn't expect was 10 minutes later when loading the car, the kitchen door to the garage opened and a little face appearing it Sam had changed his mind 🤯. The Avon is still over its banks however the Arrow drops as fast as it rises so at least that would be fishable. 

The Jimny is 5 years old, and looking clean for once because of a recent service and MOT where it nearly ticked over to 40k miles on this trip out. It was a chilly morning at a nadger under 6 degrees however when we arrived at the river Sam was right out the door and was on the conker hunt. It's mad that he didn't play it in school (banned according to Sam in Health and Safety reasons) but he really enjoys it, because it suits his competitive nature. 

The earliest records of mentions of the game of conkers was in the early 19th century, with the first mention appearing in Robert Southey’s memoirs published in 1821. The game grew in popularity in the 1800’s across England.

Now the tradition way to score in a game of conkers is based on how many times a player wins / smashes an opponent's conker. The score is usually attributed to the conker itself, rather than the player. So for example, a conker that has smashed just one other conker is called a ‘one-er’; a conker that has smashed two conkers is called a ‘two-er’. 

 An added complication involved in scoring is that if your conker is a ‘two-er’ and you beat another conker that is a ‘two-er’ your conker turns into a ‘four-er’ (i.e. you add the two values of the conkers together - with the victorious conker taking the combiner value e.g. 2 + 2 = ‘four-er’.)

Other uses of the conkers include horse medicines, as additives in shampoos, and as a starch substitute. Chemicals extracted from conkers can be used to treat strains and bruises. There’s hearsay that if you place conkers around your house it will keep spiders away, but there’s no scientific proof that this is the case. (They didn't work for us !!)

The Victorians wrote recipes for making conker flour. The seeds were shelled, ground and then leached to remove bitter flavours. It’s not a common practise these days and if consumed in excessive quantities conkers are mildly poisonous.

The Arrow was within the banks but as expected it was the colour of chocolate and in most swims boiling and swirling. I had my chub with bread and worm as bait and I'd prime some spots before leapfrogging likely looking chub swims to try and catch one of the lovely chub that reside here.

Sam had his float rod with maggots and he was straight on to the fish from the off. There was about 5 inches of visibility and fishing shallow and maggots he was certainly being entertained.

Not the biggest of maggot munchers and minnows outnumbered this stamp 5 to 1. Anyway swim after swim the bigger fish didn't seem to be showing sadly. The bait(s) were presently nicely because the quiver was indicating small fish attacking their potential stomach filler, but not even a chublet graced my rod.

2 hours in Sam was getting bored catching tiddlers and he wanted a tussle with a bigger fish so we took it in turns to man the quiver rod. 

But unfortunately nothing whatsoever and we fished 6 or 7 swims I'd imagine. We disturbed a cormorant in one of those swims which was upstream of the banker. The banker it was motoring through however I managed to present a bait ok but after 15 minutes we were wasting our time.

The banker the fish are right on to the bait straight away if they are there but on this occasion their lair wasn't occupied. So around 3 hours fished and not a huge amount to show for it.....

...unlike Sam who not only outfished Daddy but he also collected a huge amount of conkers when I finished off in the weir for another biteless swim. There is more rain on the way but I watching the Avon levels like a hawk. 

I bet the barbel are out feeding when they can, and with a specific fish to target I'm hoping the river will tell me where it could be hiding out. The problem is, I need to be able to get to the river don't I. Anyway fingers crossed that won't be long, as I've not caught a decent fish in a while. 

On to the next one !!

The Tiny River Alne - Press Officers and Pen Rods

Who Runs the Club?

The Press Officer

Press Officer. It sounds grand, that. Conjures up images of high-level journalistic intrigue; influencing decisions in the corridors of power; mingling with the mighty; slipping high-powered crusading reporters the scoop of a lifetime.

What it boils down to more often than not is discovering the whereabouts of the local reporter and phoning him the results of the evening's match. (No £68,000-a-year taxpayer funded Angela Rayner official photographers to be seen here, you, yes you do as a favour)

The latter is often a difficult and lengthy operation because he can't hear you over the noise in the four-ale bar where he's putting back what the day has taken out:

'What's that? Bludgeon? Trudgeon? Dudgeon? Gudgeon! Why didn't you say so? That a fish? How do you spell it?'

However carefully you spell everything out, after the reporter has tried to translate his crumpled and beer-stained notes next morning there's no guarantee that the news will hit the streets in a totally accurate form.

'Prize for the individual weight went to the 2 oz nutter landed by Mr Alfred Gudgeon,' is what appears. '2 oz gudgeon landed by Mr Alfred Nutter,' is what you said. Curses! But at least you tried.

Even the smallest club needs a press officer if it is to get the publicity it needs to build up its membership and have its achievements recognised. 

Local reporters, though permanently hungry for copy, cannot always spare the time to go chasing after match results, and might not even know that a match has been held. So it's up to the press officer to make life easier for them, to save them having to stir too far from the pub.

Do not be put off from making personal contact by the popular image of a journalist - scruffy, stubble-chinned, chain-smoking, drunken, noisy and brash. Arrange to meet in a pub so that the contact will be friendly and informal, and which the journalist will suggest anyway. 

Recognition is no problem: just look for someone scruffy, stubble-chinned, chain- smoking, drunken, noisy and brash. Give a firm handshake, a welcoming smile and a warm sincere greeting: 'Miss Jones! So nice to meet you...'

Providing the local reporter with match results means that his or her valuable time is not spent attending the match itself. It means also that the results, barring accidents and misprints, are accurate; that impossible demands are not made on the club's hospitality fund; that the reporter doesn't stagger from the match HQ and fall in the water, and that he's not present for the statutory punch-up at the weigh-in.

Your duties include not only supplying information which reflects well on the activities of the club. You must also prevent leaks or rumours which would reflect badly.

'RUNAWAY TREASURER IN CLUB- HOUSE LOVE NEST DRAMA' is not the kind of publicity you want to attract, and it is your duty to put the record straight, i.e. flatly deny it.

Do not be too categoric in your denials, though. Do not ring up the reporter and tell him: 'There is absolutely no truth in the scandalous rumour that our treasurer, Mr George Thistlethwaite, 52, of Potbank Terrace, Sludge Thorpe, absconded last night with the social club funds and bar takings and is believed to be headed for the Cayman Islands. 

Nor that he was accompanied by Mrs Lulu Waghorn, 33, of Foundry Road, wife of the former chairman of the veterans' committee, Mr Josiah Waghorn, 73. And certainly no foundation for the scurrilous allegations that Mr Thistlethwaite and Mrs Waghorn have been indulging in anything untoward in the clubhouse broom cupboard after our Wednesday social evenings.'

Should you feel, however, that the situation demands such specific denials, don't waste them on the local reporter. Ring up the nationals and make sure you fix your fee in advance.

Make a special point of inviting the press to the club's important social events, particularly the annual dinner and dance. If there's one thing the average reporter can't resist it's a glittering social occasion such as a free booze-up. Provide him with a list of prizewinners and copies of all the after-dinner speeches before- hand, so that if he nods off or slides under the table he'll have missed none of the side- splitting jokes and pearls of wisdom provided by the speakers.

If any of the speakers has a fatal heart attack in mid-peroration, don't forget to mention this to the reporter when he comes round. He can then phone his news desk like a true professional and say, 'No story on the big speech. The speaker dropped dead."

Anyway enough of that, after a bit of a sabbatical Sam and I were back fishing again where the local Alne was about the best option. The Warwickshire Avon is in the fields however hopefully it will be fishable again where we are hoping to target Barbara the Barbel, some some renewed vigour.

Anyway nothing to write home about but Sam tested out his winter jacket and his new neoprene gloves where plenty of bites were to be had in the first swim, where oddly it was dead in the second. The Alne usually fishes well for the bigger fish in these conditions but they didn't show whatsoever, so my quiver rod didn't get much a testing.

'Return of the Sausages'

Life gets in the way sometimes, so picture heavy this one, but we all need a break from fishing and I did with a rather enjoyable trip to Glasgow for a long weekender just gone. The record label Selador and the like-minded were at the wicked Skyline bar with knob twiddlers Dave Seaman, Steve Parry, Kasey Taylor, Hannes Bieger and Tara Brooks. 

It felt like one big family of acid house lovers (very few under 30's 😂) and for those 13 hours of 💃&🔊, and to be fair, the whole weekend of good food and drink, one's mind was elsewhere and the world's ills forgotten about!!! Thankfully the Wife is on the mend and is back driving again, the pressure has eased off 👌, now where are those rods I can now manage more than a couple of hours.