news/editorial

8 November 2015 News/Editorial

As the rains, finally after many months without a proper flush-out/cleansing flood, fill the main stem of Tweed and its tributaries, allowing the fish to travel as far as they must, there are those who have found these pages too heavy of late.

“Not enough jokes!” cry those who are good enough to suffer this weekly effort, tired of the gloomy state of this autumn’s fishing, the tirades against Government, the weather, those who would only spin, the uncontrolled numbers of goosanders and cormorants, those who would introduce beavers…….against this, against that and the other.

“What did the boy fish say to the girl fish?”

“Your plaice or mine?”

or

“What swims in the sea, carries a machine gun and makes you an offer you cannot refuse?”

“The Codfather”

You can find these and others, if you are that desperate, simply by googling “fishing jokes”.

But rather as nobody has really cracked making fishing or angling TV-worthy, in the way that Mary Berry has cracked TV baking, I am not convinced fishing/fish are really that funny.

It is the teasing, the joshing and camaraderie amongst friends around fishing which is the fun, and funny, rather than the fishing itself.

My father used to relish, like a perennially naughty schoolboy, the angling misfortunes of others.

When everyone had caught something by lunch, bar one unfortunate, he would say with a twinkle in his eye “Why are you no good?”; or if a monster was lost after playing it for 40 minutes “Serves you right for playing it for too long”; or if someone, disconsolate, had lost two or three before lunch, he would go straight in with “Why do you keep letting them go?”.........all done with underlying humour, aware that fishing is a fickle business and if you can’t take a bit of ribbing, you shouldn’t be doing it.

I have a friend, in the loosest definition of that word, who tells jokes, not fishing jokes, but any old jokes, and when I row him for a day, I have to go into mental training beforehand, aware that with a captive audience in yours truly manning the oars, he will go through the full repertoire, mercilessly subjecting my fragile brain to a constant stream of jocular drivel.

Brian Johnston, the great cricket commentator, was my Uncle William’s best friend and co- conspirator, when young, in endless practical jokes, dressing up as vicars at important lunch parties, laying dummy, but highly realistic, crocodiles in the Leet to terrify those passing by, tying an Oxford police car’s bumper to a lamp post with inevitable results when the police car then tore off in pursuit of miscreants…...and so on.

As you will see, their humour was feeble, childish, mischievous, essentially schoolboy-ish….and remained so until they died.

Such as …….

“ A young, recently married man was a member of his local Round Table. Once a month they had a meeting when the newer members had to address the other members on a subject which was drawn out of a hat. He drew out “Sex” and proceeded to give a masterly discourse on the subject based on his new experiences as a married man. When he got home he told his wife he had had to make a speech, but was too bashful to admit what the subject was, so when she asked, he said it was “Oh, er, yes…... it was on yachting”.

The next day the young wife went into the Bank, and the Manager came forward and said how excellent her husband had been, with such an expert knowledge of his subject.

“Good heavens” said the young wife, “that’s odd, he’s only done it twice. The first time he was sick …….and the second time his hat blew off!”

Or…….

“A woman was driving up the M1 doing 70 mph in the centre lane. She was knitting at the same time as driving. A police car drew level in the outside lane, lights flashing, and a policeman unwound his window and shouted to her “Pull over”.

“No!” she shouted back “ Pair of socks”.

Or….

“In pre war days a vicar was driving his bishop round the parish in a pony and cart. As they were bowling along the village street, the pony let out a very loud, and rude, noise.

“Sorry about that, bishop” said the vicar, slightly embarrassed.

“Not to worry” said the bishop “if you hadn’t said anything, I’d have thought it was the pony”.

Or (and finally).......

“ A judge was about to sentence the accused who had been found guilty.

“Is there anything you want to say before I pass sentence?”

“Bugger all, m’lud” said the accused.

The judge, who was hard of hearing, said to the clerk “What did he say?”

“Bugger all, m’lud” said the clerk.

“ No, no” said the judge, “he definitely said something, I saw him move his lips”.

You see what I mean.