Fishing in England

I've never understood why most women find fishing boring. If they object to the work, or to squishing grubs onto hooks, or to smelling like fish, or to not being able to visit the powder room all day, or to having to cast in public (which is a bit like having to throw a baseball in public...I try but can't seem to help that I throw and cast like a girl!!), I understand all those points. But I've always enjoyed fishing despite all that. My friend Ben and I spent 3 days fishing last week in itty bitty rivers north of London. We caught lots of fish. Most of them were little, but I got a good-sized Perch and Barbel, Ben banked a Pike, and his brother Gabs came out with us one day and landed some other kind of fish that starts with a C. :) I can't remember what it's called. Chub? Is that a fish?

It was SO cold out! Second coldest fishing trip on record for me, in fact. Ben and I would go out in the morning, fish for a few hours or until my toes were numb and we both were starving. Then we'd pack up all our rods and tackle and trudge back through the muddy fields and across dubious bridges to the car. We discovered a Garden Center in the nearest village, and we went in there something like 7 times in the first 2 days to use their bathroom, buy snacks, and defrost over a cup of hot chocolate after we had eaten our lunch in the parking lot. Then we'd drive back to the river, carry all our things back through the woods and fish until dark.











When Ben was off coaching football on Saturday morning, I went with his parents to see an intricate mosaic Roman floor that was uncovered where a house stood centuries ago. Part of the old Roman wall still stands as well, not far from St. Albans Cathederal.