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Parr’s Diary – Rodless

  I walked among a small buzz of St Mark’s flies yesterday morning, hanging like charcoal-bodied sentinels, their long legs trailing like a ski-jumper in mid-flight. I’ve been told that their emergence  stirs the little brownies in the local streams into their first, reliable, rise of the season, and for the first time in 6 […]

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A Wandle barbel at season’s end

“Tramp” said her eyes, sunk into an intolerant, pityless look that contorted her face. “Weirdo” said the face of another, while hastily averting his glance less I ask him for any spare change. “Fisherman” said the welcome smile of a third. She knew her onions, recognised the rod as a tool (not a weapon), recognised […]

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