Oh Lucky Man

Or, as Uncle Rod used to say " Don't forget to small the flowers along the way ".

Last week I was a miserable old git. The old Hymer was still in bits at the garage and the feedback I was getting was not reassuring. My work van had developed a problem that had already cost me several hundred quid and was still not resolved and a couple of other things had all conspired to put me on a downer.

However, on Monday morning I hopped on the push bike and cycled the ten or eleven miles to the garage, ready to have it out with them. What the hell was going on?

To my surprise,  they'd almost finished it and my mood lifted. Cycling back along those tiny lanes, skylarks and corn buntings singing, hawthorn blossom out, I was reminded that it doesn't get better than a sunny day in May.

Coffee and toast in the garden and then did a bit of work, no van required.

Pushing the mower, with the strimmer and blower balanced precariously on top, I managed to do three gardens before it was time to jump back on the bike, this time with fishing gear and head to the river.

My favourite spot is only a five minute ride away and I take the absolute minimal amount of gear.

I wouldn't say I've sussed the mullet out by any means, but most sessions, which last no more than ninety minutes, result in a fish hooked, often landed, sometimes not.

The evening was mulletless, but no matter, lots of mini bass kept me occupied, hitting the flies with reckless abandon, sometimes two at a time.

Cycling back the few hundred yards to the house, along the gravel path by the river, the estuary full of waders calling and the sun setting below the horizon, I reflected, not for the first time, on what a lucky bloke I am.