“Son, son, you forgot your sandwiches” I could hear the voice shouting behind me. I was thirteen. It was three o’clock in the morning on June 16 1977. My dad was running down the road in his pyjamas with my spam and piccalilli sandwiches and a flask of tea under his arm. Like most boys of thirteeen I greeted my dad with a mix of public embarrassment and private gratitude. It’s a nice memory of dad helping me as I grew up, particularly now it’s my turn to look out for him.
For a fisherman, particularly coarser types, June 16 is a magical date as it is the first day of the fishing season. On that morning in June 1977, I was about to take an epic three ‘night bus ‘ road trip from Fulham to the pond behind the British Gas building in Staines,
My best friend’s dad worked for British Gas and he had got us passes to fish this lovely little lake for a whole season. We arrived before dawn. It was still dark and we set up our rods with a torch while chatting excitedly in whispers. Dawn broke, and the early morning mist rose off the pond and a little water snake swam up past us and into some nearby reeds.