Fishing

River Len where it flows into the lake

Tries harder.

I've kept every personal letter anyone has ever sent me.  Even the only one I ever received from my mother (which told me she thought there were fleas in my carpet).   Some of my favourites are from my cousin who lived in Maidstone -  she's kept all mine too.

Dear Freckles

I am sorry you have all gone home now and it will be boring again.  Mum did another one of her special recipes (errrr) it was a berlati (?) bean bake and it was horrible. We fed it to Fred when she wasn't looking and later he was sick on one of her cushions, the new ones with the ribbon. Cathy had put it on the floor for doing headstands. Well she went mad. Her and dad had a screaming row and we couldn't even watch Doc. Who. She realized what we had done because of all beans in the dog-sick!

The fishing was fun again wasn't it? I saw those boys but I was on my bike so I just rode off really quick. Next time if you can get nets from the beach shop that would be better because the thing with the tights gets all sludgy doesn't it. Greg said he caught an actual trout but we don't believe him.

I have a new plan. At exactly precisely 7.00pm on Monday night you pinch Soppy Sister W and I will pinch Soppy Sister C. We have not finished getting them yet, no way.

I have asked my dad and the thing about the Free House is definitely not true, so that is the end of that plan.

See you in two weeks, countdown 14 and backwards.

M xxx

We used to fish in the stream by the waterfall in Mote Park, just around the corner and over the road from their house. We made fishing nets by threading a metal coathanger through the top of a nylon popsock (American Tan, no doubt), twisting it into a loop, and then ramming the twist of metal into the top of bamboo cane.  These nets we dragged endlessly in the mud and occasionally caught a stickleback.

Sometimes we would look down and realise that a leech had attached itself to our skinny ice-cold calves. We knew the remedy and had already pinched a couple of cigarettes and a box of matches from my dad. Light up, take a couple of puffs to make the end nice and red, then touch it onto the leech: taking care not to touch it onto your own skin in the process.  Then pretend to smoke, by putting the cigarette in between your lips and trying hard not to breathe whilst looking as if you were.

The places are all still the same. Maybe kids still fish for sticklebacks in the park? Or maybe that's so last-century. I don't suppose I will stand in a stream again, fishing with an old stocking until my feet turn blue with cold. These days feel like yesterday, and a lifetime ago.

Half of life has passed, maybe, likely, more. And maybe there will be less first-times, and an ever-growing proportion of last-times. And for some things it's already been the last-time, even if we don't know it yet.

I struggle to accept this. I do.