Monday, 13 September 2010

Home again.

I wish I could say it was good to be back, but this is what I left behind.

Eighteen of us in a 'house' with more rooms than most hotels I've ever been in. No live-in staff, we were left to our own devices. It did have free WiFi but I had resolved to take a holiday so that's what I did. No work, no newspapers, just a few days of boozing, smoking and fishing.

Fishing - no luck. There were sporadic downpours but few fish. Fortunately the place came equipped with a pool table, we'd brought booze and smokes and so the fishing wasn't a vital part of the weekend.

I'll miss waking up to this view for a very long time:

No smoking inside, as expected, but when you have a smoking shelter like this one that's a minor inconvenience.

Only two cars there at that point and I have removed identification marks because I wouldn't want them to lose value by association.

Okay, holiday over. Back to the insanity, the absurdity and the fury of real life.


subrosa said...

I know that place. Glad you picked it because it's rather good.

Thought about you on Saturday as I met two fishers in town and they'd had a miserable day. You should have caught something on Sunday though, the weather was more or less perfect for it. Tut tut.

Good to know you've had some Perthshire air. So much healthier than the Aberdeen air with all these helicopters and aircraft taking off so often, plus of course cars and buses polluting your lungs. Nothing like that where you were.

Leg-iron said...

The weather was certainly better on Sunday but there were Saturday hangovers to consider so casting was not as good as it might have been.

Saturday morning we woke to a thunderstorm, which didn't bode well for that day.

Besides, men don't go fishing to catch fish. We go fishing to drink and smoke and compete to see who can be the most vulgar while there's nobody around to tell us off for it.

See, men aren't naturally civilised. It's a strain to keep up the facade so now and then we have to revert to type just to stay sane. Entire conversations consisting of nothing more than grunts, and other things best forgotten until we get back to the primal form again.

If you try to keep men civilised for too long they go insane and turn into MPs.

subrosa said...

Silly me. Of course men don't go fishing for fish. They go to turn themselves into crabbit old wifies for a while.

Aye it wasn't good for you Saturday and it kept raining here (around 45 minutes drive away) until after lunchtime. I had visions of the fish leaping far more at your discarded fag ends than your flies.

Leg-iron said...

We didn't go through Dundee. Our driver thought it was a good idea to cut across from Kirriemuir junction to Dunkeld.

The Romans definitely built no roads in that direction. What's there would have made a Roman clerk of works cry. There can't be more than a hundred yards of straight road in any one place. I saw more of the inside of my eyelids than anything else.

Oh, and I never throw fag ends in the water. As you say, they compete with the flies for attention! And then the fish eat them and antismoking fishermen complain of fifth hand smoke...

William said...

"I had visions of the fish leaping far more at your discarded fag ends than your flies."

What does Leg Iron pack in those trews?

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