Long, long walk today - to an area I know hardly ever gets fished. It would have been paradise found if I'd managed to catch anything.
There ought to be pike here, in the scheme of things. But I try swim after swim, baits on and off the bottom; sea deads and bloods, without so much as a sniff.
What a day it turns into all the same, with azure skies and the gentlest of breezes whispering through the flag rushes.
When I run out of drain, I notice the brambles that riot over the floodbanks are in full fruit.
Out comes a carrier bag. I reel the baits in and spend half an hour filling it with blackberries. The wife's well-impressed when I tip my booty into a collander.
"Glad to see your hunter gatherer instincts han't diminished over the years," she says, as she admires my haul. My pike catching skills may be taking a bit of a back seat at the moment. But I know where to find the best blackberries in the Fens.