A Fisherman’s Tale

I was at home yesterday afternoon practicing my rural accent with lot’s of Orrs, arrrhhs and Eeehss, and doing my homework given to me by the local Country Gentleman’s Sheep Shagging Association.
My English accent is apparently unsuitable for the area I now live in and I have to learn to speak as seen below in a ‘tune’ by the Wurzels .

I hate the song, but its part of the country curriculum so I have to work on it, and learn it verbatim,
as well as off by heart.
Please click on the song and then block your ears.

This is only one of the many tasks I have to succeed in to gain a high enough score to become accepted as one of the locals.

Apart from toning up my accent, I was given another highly onerous task to complete before the weekend, and that involves killing something considered to be vermin.

When I say Vermin, I am not talking about what so called normal people consider to be undesirables, such as rats mice Glynsky etc.

I am referring to a bloody big Pike, aka a freshwater shark, that probably should not be in this type of fast flowing river that runs around most of our rural retreat.


The locals want it dead, as in not alive, and it was my task to achieve the slaughter.

The pike in question happened to be lying in shallow water, dozing in a rare burst of sunshine when something even more frightening than the huge fish turned up.

Yes you have guessed it. It was Glynsky, who had arrived with a 7 foot tall builder, and a very strange young man, who appeared to have a broken leg and was limping badly.
The young man is the Builder’s assistant and his injury was apparently caused when Glynsky threw a full wheelie bin at him earlier in the day.
Don’t ask me why. Please direct questions to the man himself.

The builder had come to give me a quote on some work that needs doing but seemed more interested in piking the Pike.

If any of the above is starting to sound like a Fisherman’s tale then please check with Glynsky for the accuracy of his arrival and what was to follow.

Having explained my predicament to these three wise men, Glynsky, who is a real nature lover, kindly offered to shove a spade through it.


I declined his generous suggestion on the grounds that the method would not work and Glynsky would then end up attached to both fish and spade, water skiing down the river.

Then the young man with the broken leg offered to lean down pick up the monster pike and take it out the water.We all advised him that he had already crushed one limb that day and he was likely to lose a hand as well, if he attempted his idea.

The 7 foot tall builder decided that he would net the fish and dispatch it quickly by hitting it on the head with Glynsky, or some other kind of hard implement.
I wasn’t going to argue with a man the size of our village, and watched as the fish was landed and carried by the giant  to the chosen execution area.
My natural disdain of watching creatures great and small being banged on the head caused me to leave the scene and hide elsewhere like the coward I am.

The young man with one leg, who had by now been nicknamed ‘Ti-One Shoe’, and he wasn’t even Chinese, found a weapon to bang the fish with ( not in a sexual sense, although by now nothing would have surprised me)  on the head.


I then heard a crash as the rock, possibly the size of what is known as Gibraltar, was hurled down on the Pike.
I then listened three more times to more banging and swearing, as the fish had refused to die at the initial attempts.

By now I was feeling quite sick, as no doubt was the Pike, but cheers were eventually heard as the fish was pronounced deceased.

They then carried the creature, which now looked more like a flatfish than it’s original form, and  took it’s remains to the adjoining field, where no doubt some local fox will be dining in style for a day or two.
I have been left with feelings of strong guilt about the whole incident, and may well employ another builder for the work that needs doing.

10 thoughts on “A Fisherman’s Tale

  1. Wot thanks is that – all is (nearly)true but hell fire, the weak kneed one was skulking in the nearby bull neutering pen gibbering incoherently about ‘it ate the ‘kin ducklings, it eats all the fish fry, Mrs. Pete has lost a leg, my grandchildren have been traumatised by it attacking their chicken nuggets’ and the like.
    My cunning plan of a harpoon made from cable cut from the lampost was disdainfully brushed aside and the poor giant took pity on the display of Pete hysteria – not having been used to this before.

    You ommit that said Lim Pin was chastised by Igor with ‘don’t f***kin’ drop a rock on it ‘ere – the spawn will coat Pete’.

    The trespass onto your neighbours land to dump the carcass was tacitly agreed by yourself by justifying the spread of nitrate rich ‘blood fish and bone’ on the electrified fence.

    Bet the ducks look happier today, the birds are singing, the fish ‘frying’ and Mr. Reynard licking his chops.

    The things one does for a friend – with no effusive thanks – bah.

    PS. If you need it, am always on hand to shoot the fox.

  2. I admitted in the post to not wanting to watch the slaughter of Jonah.
    I have also noticed that since the public execution the river has gone very quiet.
    The birds are silent as are the ducks.
    The remaining fish will be holding a memorial service at 6pm tonight.

    I hope you have shown what was written to Mrs Glynskette so she can see the type of man she lives with.

  3. The Fox has f..ed off to another County since it read your comment.

    Thanks also to ER for his culinary suggestion which has come too little too late.

  4. Sorry ER, this would have been excellent fried on the cooker you so scorned – would have been a Pikeburger though.

    Fox popped in on his way – Does Mrs. Pete need a stole?

  5. Delayed in Istanbul Airport, so getting up to date. Only Glynsky can write an article about Pike Burgers as he is somewhat Pikey.

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