The Turdster's Pants, The Whittler's Secret Spot and Meercats

Sunday and it's Colchester Half Marathon. Raining and windy, not very nice, but The Turdster, Perry "The Cannibal" Taylor and a few other mates are doing it, so I can't bail out. I catch up with The Cannibal at the start line and we run most of it together at decent pace. I finished in 1.39.13, better than last year, so pretty pleased. Yes, I keep saying it, but I'm getting better as I get older. Me and Lady Bong then went for a pig out at a very nice local Italian restaurant for lunch to celebrate.
I sent a text to Turdster asking him what time he finished, saying I was having lunch and sent him photo of the calzone pizza pictured below left. To demonstrate what a strange fellow he is, in response, he sent me back photo of his feet and pants, with him appearing to be "on the pan". No explanation.  For your perusal, see below right.

The Whittler said we'd catch codling. Said he'd got a new spot. Said conditions were perfect. OK, OK, I told him, I'm convinced. So I popped off down to Mersea to dig some lug, stopping off to take "the" photo of the famous beach huts. A cliche, but they do look good. I dug enough lug to go with the squid and that evening we went to catch codling. It was windy, very windy. Like a hurricane.

I'd only been fishing a few minutes and the rod pulls over and the first codling of the night is on....no, no, feels a bit heavy and surprise, surprise it's a skate. I'm a skate magnet, me. 

Half hour later I do catch a codling, or more specifically a SIKI codling, which I chuck back. The next two hours I spend freezing my nuts off with no other bites. Whittler had a stream of small whiting. Nice. Take me home. Now.

Next day and I'm looking at the weather forecast. Wind, wind and more wind....but dropping off to nothing on Thursday. A few days later and I wake up to a calm, sunny morning. Work is, as they say, "laughed off" and very soon I'm at my favoutite spot. It looks absolutely spot on, chocolate coloured sea, offshore wind. Perfect. 

First cast, cup of tea poured and the rod springs back and the first roker of the day is on. Lovely. Then the Goozgog family turn up and join the fun, catching three in quick succession. Mrs Goozgog interrupts two Beach Gentleman engaging in some, erm, aerobics action. I warn everyone who comes here, but they never listen. The first bit of sun brings them out, they pop up, suddenly appearing in the dunes, "Like fecking meercats", as The Turdster says.

I finished up with nine skate and a stray codling. A lovely day spent sitting in the sun, chatting and texting The Whittler to remind him what he's missing. He ignored it, but I was happy in the knowledge that it irritated the hell out of him.