Pike..? Oh no, I don't think we've got any of those

I'd heard there were pike in this most unlikely of places four or five years back, but never got round to checking it out until I heard a big fish had come out.

It hadn't just come out, it had stayed out - or so the story went. As in removed for allegedly tucking into the owner's prize waterfowl.

Ah well, end of, I thought. Then it cropped up a few years later, when I was having a mardle with a friend who - shall we say - has connections which stretch all the way to the upper-most echelons of society. We were on our severalth pint, admittedly. 

"There used to be some bloody great pike in there," my mate agrees. "They used to let me and some of the lads fish there. One of them had one last winter. Thirty-something pounds it was."

Thirty-something pounds. Last winter. Reckon I might (hic...) give it a go, the beer made me say.

"Don't you dare. You'll probably get boiled in oil or thrown in the Tower if they catch you fishing there," he says. "I'll have a word with you know who, they might let you in if you're with someone in the you know whats. Your round..?"

Like many projects said friend and I hatched whilst under the influence, the promised invite did not materialise. I forgot all about it, until I visited the place and got into conversation with one of the staff, as we stood by the water.

"Pike..? Oh no, I don't think we've got any of those," they shrugged. "In fact there aren't any fish full-stop. We drained it a couple of years ago to get rid of the lillies and dredge that stinking silt out. All the fish got took out first, not sure what happened to them."

Looking into the water, I can see the bottom two-thirds of the way across. Then a dark shape catches my eye. It's only a jack but it's still a pike - in a water where there aren't meant to be any fish, let alone pike.

On the way home, I pull into the first layby and phone my mate in the you know whats, about you know where. "Hi there, long times podna. Fancy going out for a pint..?"