I had a tickle in my throat, which was causing an irritating, and otherwise unnecessary cough. A cough that was surely irritating my wife. She bought me some cough mixture, and I noted from the side of the bottle that the stuff was just made from a bunch of crushed roots. In that vein I suggested we also try honey and lemon. But alas , we had no lemons. But our neighbour has a lemon tree which hangs over the wall, and the topic went to the legality of plucking lemons if they hang over the fence. I have an inkling that there is some or other latin or Dutch phrase in the law that renders it a legitimate practice. So my wife went off looking for low hanging lemons, and I remained in the warm sun listening to a song I recently came across, for the umpteenth time. I got to considering all the other ways in which I might inadvertently have been irritating to those around me in the past.
Once, we were fishing on a stretch of the Mooi, which, if the truth be told, we were probably poaching . There was a misleading sign on the fence, and I am sure there is a latin legal term about that. Or is it Dutch? Anyway, I was having a field day, but my friend Roy was just not connecting.
In an effort to be less annoying, I reeled in and went to see if I could get him into a fish, but in a way of course that didn’t make it seem like I was feeling sorry for him. That would have been annoying. I drew level with him, and saw that the spot he was in was all bedrock and fast flow, and I suggested he reel in too, and that we go looking for some more likely water. He agreed and wound in, slowly tucking his fly neatly into the keeper.
I, for my part, kept the fly between forefinger and thumb as we walked. At the ready. You just never know. As we ambled up, Roy indicated that he might fish the piece we were passing, and I was adamant that it would be a waste of time. “Bedrock” I explained. No food: no fish. And we walked further past more and more dolorite bedrock. Roy suggested again that he fish it, and I said “No!”. But at one point I saw a hollow about the size of a two litre coke bottle, and because Roy would have taken forever to get his fly out of the keeper , I released the fly from between my finger and thumb and flicked it into the spot, just of the off chance. A Trout took the fly.
Mercifully, Roy refrained from smacking me on the head with his landing net. Roy was good like that.
There was a time when I sat in the bakkie and ate all the toffees while my mate toiled through a wild storm with no Trout to show for his fortitude. As the rain abated, and I finished the last toffee, I stepped out of the vehicle, tackled up, and caught a Trout on my first cast. I suppose I should have replaced the toffees at least.
Come to think of it, a toffee might just soothe my ticklish throat, so while my wife is off looking for lemons, I might just polish off that packet in the cupboard. I really don’t try to be irritating. In fact I plan to hide the empty packet and not mention that I finished the things. That ought to help. Let me rewind that song and play it again….its just such a fine tune.
I am sitting out this week-end, given my condition, and the fact that no-one seems to be catching Trout anyway. But if I get a chance I might just sneak out for an hour or two during the week when the pressure is just right.
I promise, I really don’t try to be irritating.
Now where has my wife got to with those lemons?
