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Friday Funny... Field of Dreams
The venue was lined with carpy-looking overhanging trees, stunning bays, and large sections of open water. The birdlife was incredible and, despite there being a fair few anglers who fished the lake, it was rare to see anyone else.
The one ‘issue’ was a lack of toilets. Now, I’m not adverse to doing my business in a bucket in my bivvy but at this stage in my carping career I was less experienced and certainly less hardcore than I am now.
On this particular summer session, I had woken at first light and sat with a cup of coffee awaiting that magical sunrise take. As happens all too frequently, sod all happened and after three cups of coffee I was more than ready to visit the gents for a number two. As this stage, bite time was well and truly gone and I couldn’t help thinking the combination of chicken and prawn masala with coffee wasn’t really the optimum choice for a place with limited toilet facilities.
I wound in the rods and weighed up the situation. As I did this, the twinges started in my stomach and those familiar feelings in the pipework forced me into making a decision, and fast. My swim backed onto a huge open field, lined with a thick privet hedge. I hurdled the barbed wire fence and stood with trowel and toilet roll in hand, staring at the open field. There was no way I could go out to the middle of it – I would feel far too exposed and vulnerable.
I ambled towards the safety of the hedge, stopping every few yards to clench and avoid any unnecessary accidents. I surveyed the area, still feeling a little nervous about my first outdoor toilet experience.
I was confident no-one was around. Unfortunately, things had ‘moved on’ and I was reaching the point of no return, shall we say! I started to dig, feeling reassured that my sensitive parts were facing the hedge. I squatted over my new trench with my toilet roll safely stowed on the trowel handle and went about my ‘work’.
As I approached the middle of my ‘shift’, I remember feeling relieved but also refreshed by the sun beaming down on me and the sight of deer in the far corner of the field. It was the quintessential British countryside summer scene.
As I finished what ended up being particularly long and sloppy shift, I cleaned up and buried the evidence. As I stood, I was greeted with a sound that shocked me to the very core. “Ahem.”
I froze while I tried to process where this undeniably human-sounding cough was coming from. I heard a murmur and, like the worst horror film imaginable, I knew the sound was coming from behind me…
I turned slowly, only to be greeted by the sight of three men and a woman dressed in camo and tweed with binoculars and official-looking lanyards. They had been hiding in the hedge all this time as part of a deer population survey (that’s what the bailiff told me later).
I was instantly overcome with embarrassment at the fact I had just done my business not two feet from where they had been set up. I must have turned as red as beetroot with the feeling of pure embarrassment and shame. Standing face-to-face with them and their judgemental, disgusted expressions, I panicked and simply shouted “Morning!” before grabbing my trowel and toilet roll and running faster than Usain Bolt, back over the barbed wire to the safety of my bivvy.
I sat there going through it all in my head, wishing the ground would swallow me up. Needless to say, I went on to blank all day and then had to suffer the bailiff laughing his backside off at me when he was informed of these shameful events by the landowner.
The moral of this story is that you need to have a better ‘pre- match’ pitch test to avoid your blushes. Anglers be warned!