‘Posh Bloke’ – an introduction…

‘Posh Bloke’ – an introduction…

I’m pleased to introduce the very first guest contribution to my website.  It’s the first in a series of guest blog posts by “Posh Bloke”.  An enigmatic and quite flamboyant character of the upper-class, written by a mystery guest writer, taking a snobbish but light-hearted view of all things fishing.



Hello old chams!

I thought I’d share a little tale with you regarding my latest adventure from the back of the old Charabanc…

It all happened a little while ago – whilst Igor was driving me to a discreet little ‘fishery’ in the middle of London, I spied (to my earnest delight) – a very pleasant-looking Angling Emporium. One always has to pop-in for a good snort about when one discovers such enchantments…

“What Ho!” – I cried. “In we go, Igor! Tally Ho!”, I shouted as he pulled in the car park, or should that be carp arc?

Upon entering this rather superb emporium, I must say I was impressed.

There were things I’d never seen before… strange umbrella-type tents (‘bizzies’ I think they are called) – but certainly one can’t beat the good old-fashioned log cabin for a one-nighter, you know it makes sense.

Around me were rods and pods and buzzers – I do like the sound of those… pretty much everything one could need to satisfy that peculiar disease caught off the infamous tackle tart.

In this beguiling emporium there was – of all things – a rather large carp section (which had a strange intoxicating drool-forming aroma about it). I discovered a superb selection of boilies, Bertie once had some boilies, on his bottom, if my memory is correct, but I digress. Nasty.

There I was, examining a concoction of ingredients and flavours, rubs and drubs, when this spotty little oik appeared and asked if I “rolled my own?”. Damned cheek! I informed him (not that it was any of his business) that all my cigars were imported from Cuba and were rolled by some dusky maiden, hopefully on her sun-kissed thigh… mmmmmm.

I digress again… but all this talk of cigars had awakened my cravings, so I wandered into the Match Department for a little smoke and to contemplate the lengths of pole available. I thought I’d mention that I also appreciate a nice seat box – and there were plenty to choose from – in lots of colours.

I was soon approached by another oik (not quite as spotty as the last) who proceed to try and sell me – of all things – a bait waiter! Well…

I certainly don’t want one of those, Igor makes a superb waiter, or baiter or whatever is required, these people just don’t understand how accommodating a man-servant can be.

So, rather despondently I moved on into the clothing department, but unfortunately all the jackets were rather drab, indeed they looked more like compost heaps than respectable tweeds.

I spotted some boots – if you could call them boots. In my day, boots had a sole made of solid leather, at least an inch thick, capable of breaking down fences, small trees or poachers shins with just one well-aimed kick. These latest ‘designer’ (flimsy) boots were made of nylon, probably weren’t even waterproof and were camouflaged to match the drab damned jackets. What?

If you took the bloody things off, you’d never find them again! I wonder if Mr Carp and company notices what colour one’s boots are?

Perhaps one should buy camouflaged underpants – one wouldn’t want to scare the local piscatorial population whilst answering a call of nature – would one? Or perhaps camouflaged false teeth, avoiding any glare when one grits and grinds them at yet another alarming missed run. I do get a little unstable after a quick run you know and expectations get a little blurred.

Where will it end? The underpants sound rather interesting though… I wonder if, dear Kylie…

Oh hum – must move on… I think I’ll take two pairs, they should last a couple of months between washes – won’t show the stains you know.

What? Yes Indeed!

Posh Bloke

Posh Bloke - angling adventures in a Charabanc

(That’s Mr Posh Bloke to you)

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