Sling some pike in - that'll thin 'em out a bit

New signs have appeared in the village and there are men with clipboards surveying the Village Pond.

Veronica, the Vicar's Wife and the Village Shop Lady are being interviewed by a TV crew. The Village Pub is a-buzz with rumours that this has nothing to do with Chip Van-gate, the media interest focussing more on ducks than the lack of takeway food outside the Vicarage on Friday night.

Hanging baskets and herbaceous borders are being pecked clean. Washing is disappearing from washing lines, the culprits (allegedly) leaving a trail of feathers leading to the Village Pond. Those living close to the water's edge find their 4x4s sometimes fail to start for the school run, as duck down clogs up air intakes.

Something clearly has to give, I agree with Malcolm, as we sip pints of Shuck and watch the media circus on the Village Green from the beer garden of the Village Pub.

"I reckon you ought to sling some pike in there. They'd soon thin 'em out a bit," he whispers. "I know someone's already tried, they just bought the wrong fish, some sort of carp or something, yah..?

"Might help get the parish council on-side if you ever fancied building an extension - you know, scratch my back and all that."

I raise my glass as I consider the ethics of breaking Section 30 of the Salmon and Freshwater Fisheries Act in order to obtain planning permission for my new extension. A pair of ducks skim overhead on their final approach to the Village Pond, narrowly missing the camera crew interviewing Veronica, the Vicar's Wife, and the Village Shop Lady.

I think back over a summer briefly dominated by the saga of the pike in the Village Pond that turned out to be a grass carp, which culminated in the invention of the Sausage Roll Rig, before I make my excuses and leave.

Monster pike mystery solved at the Village Pond

It's 5am and no-one's about, which is just as well when you're about to try pike fishing with a sausage roll for bait. But I've done my research and thought long and hard about this, fine tuning my approach down to the last detail. As I creep across the Village Green, I feel the hand of history on my shoulder.

I've sliced up a sausage roll ready to throw it in the Village Pond to see if there's really a pike called Mike in said water, which has developed a taste for pastry products from the Village Shop over the road.

When I scoffed at the last pike in village pond story which hit the Parish Magazine - distributed by the parish council on the last Wednesday of every month, with a foreword from the Vicar - I got it badly wrong.

There really was a pike in the village pond concerned. And someone caught it at over 28lbs. So this time, the gloves are off. I have a steer on where it knocks about. I know it's been devouring sausage rolls like they're going out of fashion, mainly thanks to the Bread Man and the Village Shop Lady.

As I sit back on the Memorial Bench with a double expresso from Starbucks in a can, I feel quietly confident. I have brought three sausage rolls with me, for the benefit of those who may be wondering how the sausage roll method pans out in practical terms.

Those who fish on a tight budget may care to note that it is cheaper to buy sausage rolls in threes from the Village Shop, with a triple pack weighing in at £1.99, as opposed to 99p each for single sausage rolls.

This clearly represents a considerable saving over the course of a season. I also once found a pubic hair in a sausage roll from the Village Shop, back in the days when I bought them one at a time, but have never to date experienced this problem with triple packs of sausage rolls.

Sausage roll one, as in the first sausage roll out of a pack of three, is for baiting up with. Sausage roll two, as in the second sausage roll, has been attached to a trace via a pair of size four Owner ST36 trebles. Sausage roll three, for those who like to keep count of their sausage rolls, is in case this turns into a longer session than envisaged and I require food to see me through, although I may inspect it for stray body hair of the short and curly variety first to be on the safe side.

I have attached a two ounce lead to the trace clip, which you need to sink a sausage roll from the Village Shop. This is owing to the highly bouyant nature of its folds of puff pastry which is made by Marnie, who works at the Village Shop on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturday mornings.

I am not sure what Marnie does to the puff pastry which encompasses the sausage rolls they sell in the Village Shop, not to mention whether she was the cause of the pubic hair issue I once had with a sausage roll from said outlet. But they are so bouyant that you could probably get away without a life jacket if you ate one or two before you went out on a boat and stuffed a couple more in your pockets just in case. 

I have also tied a poly ball to the bottom hook, so the sausage roll will sit just under the surface, as I twitch it back. The pike will see this as a silhouette, but should hopefully be able to ascertain that this is a premium sausage roll, made from organic pork with extra sage and onion without added preservatives,  from the Village Shop.

Presentation counts, in my experience. And details like this can sometimes make all the difference.

The chances of anyone I know coming along are fairly remote at this time of the morning. This is fortunate, as I am doing my best to keep the Village Pond off the radar, to spare Mike the inevitable attention that speculation in the weekly angling papers might bring.

I am wrestling with the dilemma of whether or not to go public in the Parish Magazine, with the background to the pictures blurred in Photoshop, when a chunk of sausage roll disappears in a swirl. I reach for the rod. It's game on.

A gentle overhead lob, past the free offerings, and the rig lands in a straight line just shy of the reeds on the far bank. As I twitch the popped-up sausage roll, a bow-wave appears as a long, dark back scythes through the water towards the puffs of silt kicked up by the lead and the bouyant pastry snack on the end, made by Marnie from the Village Shop, from organic pork with added sage and onion - not to mention the occasional public hair.

I can see the headline in the Parish Magazine, which generally comes out around the last Wednesday of every month, with a foreword from the Vicar.

EXCULSIVE - Pike Ace tames monster in Village Pnod

Veronica, the Vicar's wife, does not always use spell-check. At times, this has been the source of some controversy, such as the occasion when the Count of Monte Christo led the bill at a film festival at the Village Hall. But I understand the pressure the modern media often find themselves under and am sure she will do the story justice if I supply her with quotes and pictures.

It may even make the front page, and rival talking points such as the lack of bins for dog mess on the Village Green, or the day the bell ringers smuggled a sheep home on the bus after their annual outing to Fakenham and released it in the Village Pub, where it now works behind the bar.

I see the sausage roll hovering in the margins, as I give it one last twitch. A shape glides into sharp focus from the depths, long and dark, with piggy little eyes. I strike the bait off just in time and the fish devours it as it floats to the surface.

Mike the Pike is no pike after all. It's a sodding great grass carp. As I pack up the rod and net, I see the Bread Man's van coming down the hill, as the lights in the Village Shop go on.

Th'ass called Mike - as in Mike the pike

You have one new message. Press one for main menu, press two for... "Hella, hella - yew there Cress..? I got some more information for you about the pike w'oss in the Village Pond. Th'ass called Mike apparently. As in Mike the pike.

"I heard that off the Bread Man. He say him and the Village Shop Lady's been feeding 'im on the quiet so they don' upset the parish council.

"An' yew know what - that likes sausage rolls, old Mike do. Bread Man reckon he was on his lunch break, threw half a sausage roll in and ker-splosh, that come right up and took it.

"He say that hatta' be a pike, great big long ole thing, so they call't 'm Mike, like - as in... Anyways they bin bungin' the odd sausage roll in ever since. They reckon he live right in the corner by the shop. Sits there waitin' to be fed he does. Bread Man reckon he's a real big 'un too. Thought I'd better let you know. See yew roun' podna."

I 'd forgotten the pike in the Village Pond. Put there (allegedly) to thin out the ducks. The one I was going to try and catch before it got boiling hot. The one that's now developed a taste for sausage rolls. The one the Bread Man and the Village Shop Lady have christened Mike. As in Mike the pike.

I weigh up the options. Popped-up sausage roll on two size four Owners. Catch pike and offer story to Village Magazine in exclusive deal. Ace village pike angler foils monster in Village Pond on snack from Village Shop.

I retire to my study, to get a rod sorted.

We are the Sultans of Swing

The pub is heaving like the Relief Channel in a good blow. I have sunk a Friday night's worth of beer alongside my friend Malcolm, who is an architect - matching him glass by glass as the evening unfolds to the sound track of a live band.

Nature calls, as Norfolk Enchants launch into their penultimate Dire Straits cover version of the night.

"There's a shiver in the dark, tha'ss a rainin' in the park," sings the singer, as I ricochet down the corridor on my way to the toilet.

"Band was blowin' Dixie, double four time. An' a big well done to Marnie Hodges hooz won the turnip carvin' at the young farmers do for the third year on the trot, we are the sultans, let's hev a big hand for Marnie, we are the sultans, of serrr-wing."

"We are the sultans," the bar chorus. "We are the sultans, of serrrr-wing."

The lights flash on and off as I select a urinal and make room for more beer. Last orders. I fend my way back through the singing, swaying throng in search of a top-up, as the band begin their final Dire Straits number.

"Jer-hoo-lee-yurt, the dice was loaded from the start," they sing as I spot Malcolm, who has acquired a 30-degree list during my absence. "When you gonna realise, it was just that the time was wrong, Jer-hoo-lee-yay-yay-yay-yurt..."

Malcolm is waving a £20 note in the air over the bar. This is what architects do on Friday nights, as closing time nears in rural Norfolk to the final strains of an eponymous love song inspired by Shakespearean tragedy, which reached Number Eight in the charts in January 1979.

The barman shakes his head and points to his watch. Malcolm shrugs, puts his money away and breaks into song without correcting his lean, as the band begin to pack away their instruments.

"Jer-hoo-lee-yurt, the dice wossh loaded from the sshtart. You ole tart. Hwoaah, hwoaah. When we made love. Get in there son. Phwoaah, hwoaah, hwoaah. You used to cry. Jer-hoo-lee-yay-yay-yay-yurt. Bitpissedbettergohome,"  he explains, as I lift a pint of Black Shuck which appears to be between owners.

"Howcomeyougotanotherpint. Julietthedicewasloadedfromthesshtart. Sultansofswingyeahright. Direstraits. Gotalltheiralbums. Lissenreallygreattoseeyou. Mustdoagainmateytopnight. Bitpissedbettergohome.

"Lissenmustgofishingsometime. Heardaboutpikeinthevillagepond. Letsgocatchit. Givemeacallyah. Seeyoutomorrow. Wheresthefrickindoor. Julietthedicewasloadedbaby. Dicewasloadedfromthestart. Sultanswearethesultans. Sultansofswing. Seeyouseeyou. Bye."

I wave meekly, as Malcolm lurches into the night, still singing. "Right then," says the barman, as he heads towards the door to cut off any further escapes. "Who's on for a lock-in..?"

+++Monster pike in Village Pond rumpus mystery solved exclusive click here.

To the Village Pond, for a pre-breakfast session

It's time to put the pike in the Village Pond story to bed one way or the other. If I get up at 5am, I can give it an hour to see if it's a goer, as in there might - or might not - be a large pike, introduced to said water with intent of serious duck removal.

The roads are quiet, mainly because it's 5am, as I snap a trace on the single rod and sling a mackerel tail out in the middle. I've set the float at 6ft, but it still lies flat as I tighten up.

I set it at 4ft, recast and the orange blob sits up reassuringly, as I drop the rod beside the net in the reeds and sit on a park bench to roll a fag. The lights go on in the Village Shop, as the bread lorry arrives.

"Fifteen sliced Hun, fifteen bloomers and hev' you got any more o' them crusty rulls..?"

"Cor blast I dunno how many rulls I got on board darlin'. How many yew lookin' for..?"

"I rickun about 100 cos that's bridge club today an' they got a coffee mornin' at the church."

"Blast me I dunno if I got that many, darlin'. Carn't yew tell 'em to make do with samwidges..? I got some cheese here somewhere. That'll do 'em with a bit o' pickle."

The Bread Man's van lurches off up the lane. The float remains motionless, as kids begin queueing for the school bus. I reel it in to make my way to work, dropping the mackerel tail in the nearest dog poo bin. I pop into the Village Shop in search of sustenance.

"Yew the chap what was fishing when I open up for the Bread Man?" asks the Shop Lady. "Thought I'd give it a go," I shrug, as I eye up the pile of newly-made cheese and pickle rolls in the fridge.

"Well you'd better go back and catch a fish or summit," she smiles, as I open the door. "Cos yew can't have any of them - they're for the bridge club. I got sossidge rolls, mind. An' crisps."

There's a pike in the village pond, you know

"Much else happening in the village," I asked one of my parish council contacts I'd phoned to get the inside track on whether or not a Hollywood A-lister had bought a house in the area.

"Well now you mention it, there is something you might be interested in," he said. "I think we've got a pike, you know." What, as in it's gazumped Johnny Depp, I ask.

"Oh no, nothing like that," he said. "You know we've got a bit of a problem with the ducks in the village pond. Well between you and me, I think one of your lot's took some direct action and stuck a pike in there to thin 'em out a bit. Quite a big one too, by all accounts."

Monster pike in village pond stories surface from time to time in Norfolk. Mainly in villages with ponds, where not much else happens. The last time there was a big pike in village pond story doing the rounds, someone caught a 28lbs pike from said water.

The village in question also has no pedigree as far as pike fishing's concerned. But it does have a pond and an ongoing row over whether there are too many ducks, just the right number or whether the ducks will become the biggest threat to rural life since New Labour's landslide victory in the 1997 general election.

Last time I drove through the village, the water was covered with ducks. Young mums with toddlers in prams were chucking them bread.  Now signs warn ominously of a duck cull, when I go down there for a gander.

A 4x4 nearly ends up in the pond, as it swerves to avoid an old taggler zig-zagging up the lane on his bike. "Why don't you look where you're going, you silly old fart," shouts the driver through the open window.  "Up yours," responds the old chap.

The theme tune to The Archers drifts from a cottage on the village green, as peace returns - punctuated by the occasional defiant quack from the reeds around the pond. You're going to look really, really stupid fishing here, says a little voice in the back of my head.