There's part of the system where the maggot drowners reckon they're
plagued with pike. I read it in the local paper.
This scourge of the Fens was graphically explained to me in a tackle shop I occasionally frequent today.
Yew like yer pike, donch'a - well yew wanna' get down there podna, the man behind the counter says. Riddled with 'em it is. Well-known Match Angler reckon he was losin' feeders.
Taking his feeder they were. Dear old game that is losin' feeders. Cheeky bastards. They don't care, bloody things. I wait for the inevitable punch line. I don' mind 'em an' I know you pike boys like fishing for 'em an' all, but...
Not cricket, is it, I say. Taking your feeder. Dear old game. That's bang out of order that is.
Bang out of order, agrees the man behind the counter in the tackle shop, as I pay for my socks.
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