"Naaah, never went all season," says my My Old Mate from years back when I bump into him in King's Lynn. "Can't afford to keep pissin' money down the river like you boys any more. Must cost you a fortune these days."
Not so long ago, MOM lived for his pike fishing. He had all the latest kit and used to laugh at my battered old gear. I'd turn up looking like I'd been dipped in glue and thrown through the window of an Oxfam shop. He'd be in the latest realtree, imported straight from the US. When he went through a slow spell, he'd have a buying spree. He probably kept half the tackle trade in business single-handed.
"I still go carping and stuff," he shrugged. "Least with that you know if you spend the money you'll catch something. I'm off for a few days next week if you fancy it. I can guest you on a syndy lake I'm in, I can take someone on for £50 for 24 hours. Even you could catch carp on there - if you've got the right gear, mind. And the bait, obviously. You'll need to chip in a few quid for that."
Even me MOM..? I'll pass on that one. Pissing money down the river..? I smile to myself, knowing that's what it felt like half the time last winter. While I've found myself short of a few bob or two enough times in my life to know what it feels like, I've never been so skint I couldn't go fishing.
I reckon the sum above's roughly what an average day's pike fishing costs me when it comes to bait and tackle, adding a bit more to cover rod licences, club tickets and so on broken down over the course of a winter.
What does cost, entering a whole new dimension, is the actual getting there, as in the cost of fuel. I have a feeling I'm not the only one looking at a cheaper mode of transport.
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