The Fisherman, his Rod, his Wife and her Sandwich
It was the hottest day of the year. Even under the shade of my umbrella the heat was unbearable. I’d discarded my shirt by mid-morning, wading into the water in just my shorts and plimsolls. Casting my rod out, I’d watched the multi-coloured fly skim across the surface of the river whilst the waters slipped silently past. Like my life. It was peaceful here. Sheer heaven. Free from Gilda and her constant nagging: “Do this, do that. Clean the car, empty the bins, paint the kitchen, and don’t forget to mow the grass before your mother comes.” Oh yes, and kiss my arse. It was hard to believe Gilda was the same woman I’d married long ago with a smile that greeted me daily as I arrived home from my job with the council. How things change. Maybe I hadn’t been ambitious enough. My job cleaning windows wasn’t great. But