Uncle Lawrence was not a successful fisherman. In forty years' spent sitting patiently at the riverbank he caught just two fishes. One bit him so badly he nearly lost a finger, the other gave him food poisoning. He didn't eat it, but he let it cook for him in return for its freedom.
Yet despite being the most hopeless fisherman in history, he was devoted to his hobby. Every weekend you could find him in his favourite spot, sitting contentedly on top of the sewage outlet pipe with his rod, his sandwiches and a big box of maggots.
What compels us to continue to do things we are bad at? Was it really fishing that Uncle Lawrence enjoyed - or was it sitting on sewage pipe? And if so, what were all the maggots for?
Life prompts so many questions. If he were alive I'd ask him what he thought about for all those hours. What great wisdom did he acquire up there on his perch? It'd be disappointing if it was all about sewage and maggots.
This is brilliant almost Samuel Beckett in its bare essence. Love your writing style.
ReplyDeleteSewage & Maggots - an almost-successful folk duo from the early Seventies.
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