So the end of the warm weather,as crept up upon us.Dark mornings,when we arise from are weary sleep. The alarm sounds at 5.00am. No birds are singing,only the screeching of the sea gulls,who have made there home inland. You wash your weary body,to clear the sleep from your mind. If like me,by the time you have reached the kitchen,to make your morning beverage,you have stubbed your toe somewhere,and you know,it's not going to be your day. You check your kit,like you did,just before you went to bed,the pevious night.To the wife's unapproving look.

Now to do what anglers need to do,which is like a religion, you must force yourself to go to the toilet,before you leave the house.                              

Its time to leave,you give your self plenty of time for travelling. You stroke your pets,and strain your neck,just so you can here the wife snoring,which makes you smile,even thou your big toe is still throbbing.

You open the front door to load your kit aboard. THATS! when you

notice the frost as attacked all your  car windows.Panic sets in. You start to run around like a blue arsed fly. Scraping away like a maniac.Fifteen minutes later,you now throw your kit in the back,along with the baits. You jump in the motor,and now you become Sterling Moss,to make up time. If like me! now you've got to pull into the local garage, for diesel, grub,and ciggy's. (i was going to put fag's,but there might be some American readers,and that word means something totally different to  them). You pull out of the garage like a nutter,wondering if your going to make the draw.After all that, you arrive in plenty of time,with three minutes to go before the draw. Everyone looking at you, like you've got two heads or something. After a bit of stick,and paying your fee's, you put your hand in the draw bag praying for a good draw. When you  pull out that number, its like stubbing your toe all over again, its crap. Everyone laughting,and saying that will teach you for not getting here earlier.(bloody frost).Maybe if i would have kicked the dogs, instead of patting, and stroking them, i could of got here earlier. Or maybe if i had'nt stubbed my toe,and done the fangdango for ten minutes, i would have had a good draw. As you can see, this is absolutely not my fault, its a conspiracy.  Normally when you get to your peg, you put your gear down gently, but today for some reason it hits the ground faster than a conker falling from a tree.The match goes, (as by now, how you expect it) really,really crap. You pack your kit away, not with the love you normally give it. Then after the weigh in, which you have'nt participated in. You stand , and watch in envy as the brown envelope's, are handed out. Then when nobody's looking, you jump in the car, and drive off. Without as much as a goodbye, or a glance to any of your mate's. You pull up outside your castle, turning off the engine, you reflect, on what a sh---y day you have had. The gear stays in the motor, with you quietly praying someone will nick your car. You walk into the living room, and there sat on the settee, is your darling wife. She innocently asks. Had a good day love. So if the police ,and do gooders have read this. NOW do you understand about domestic violence. The RSPCA, may well ask why there are two dogs running up the street, with boot  marks on there arses. WELL NOW YOU NOW?? so there.

C'mon we've all had days like this.