The green coloured angling umbrella could withstand most forms of weather thrown at it. Sheltering beneath the broad reaching canopy gave protection against the wind as it skirmished along the course of the river, provided a refuge from precipitation and a cool shady spot in the heat of the day.
On one of our all night fishing trips the brolly assumed an altogether more practical role.
For those worse for drink after a long session at one of the bankside public houses, close by our favourite spot, the camouflage coloured material was indiscernible to their bleary eyes.
What we perceived to be an unnanounced, short but heavy and violent downpour was in fact the aforementioned relieving themselves above our heads.
I often wondered if the path of the urine, once airborne, registered as being unusual with the perpetrator. Far from acheiving a new personal best in height and distance, a popular post drinking session pastime al fresco, the golden rope of liquid would strangely hit an invisible forcefield and simply course to the ground.
Understandably this would afford a very low level of satisfaction from what could be expected to be a highlight of any particular evening out in a quiet provincial town.
Cursings and exclamations of disbelief would be heard. We drew in a sharp intake of breath waiting for the sound of the trouser front zip to be safely engaged ,without mishap, before the chuntering, grumbling and yet more cursing diminished into the dark of the night.
Post-urination was a wonderfully peaceful time marked by a strange steamy mist working its way over the cooler surface of the river and into oblivion.
No comments:
Post a Comment