My brother Brian caught ‘The Sargeant’, celebrity carp at Bury Hill lake in Surrey.
What a whopper!
I am really sad to learn that my former teacher and form tutor, Brian Bunker, passed away earlier this year.
At Carshalton High School For Boys, Mr. Bunker was notorious for his great eccentricity and had multiple idiosyncrasies that made him simply unforgettable; to most boys at school, he was ‘Basil Bunker The Biscuit Cruncher’ due to his almost hollistic dependancy on Lincoln biscuits and his belief that they helped his dodgy stomach. He often poked and proded his stomach when he was talking to you.
To me, Mr. Bunker was the last bastion of school teachers who believed in strict discipline and commanded respect whilst in the classroom; indeed, he was like a living relic from a different age of schooling, the old schoolmasters who believed in caning unruly oiks and grabbing rude pupils by the scruff of the neck.
Basil Bunker, as he preferred to be known, mainly taught English and History, but often gave us random lessons in Latin; even though I went to a scabby old secondary modern school and Latin wasn’t on the curriculum.
He was one of the only people I ever willingly addressed as Sir and I absolutely idolised him because he would spend so much time mentoring me with my studies and I eventually came to consider him a good friend and confident; I will never forget how much he lectured me in Wallington High Street one afternoon when I bumped into him, he was disgusted that I’d pursued a Business Studies degree rather than English Literature.
Given the existence of my blog and my love of writing, I have come to the conclusion that he was right and my decision to ignore his recommendation of doing an English degree remains one of the few regrets that I have in life.
That said, it’s never too late! Maybe I’ll do him proud one day!?!
I shall remember him for many reasons (how I cursed him during cross country!), but most of all for being the man who inspired me more than any other during my academic years.
Rest In Peace Sir.
My brother Brian is an absolute loon when it comes to his love of fishing; he’ll set up his rod whether it’s freezing in the winter, cast out into gale force winds or suffer intense mid-summer heat out in Spain whilst living off of the pears from surrounding trees.
Today Bri is fishing down at Bury Hill Lakes which is situated in beautiful Dorking, Surrey and today is his 42nd birthday; by Sunday afternoon, he will have spent 3 days fishing. Nutter.
I arrived at the lake around midday following an altercation with a cyclist on the main road. The whole thing enraged me, and I think it would be a good thing if I blogged it to get it out of my system once and for all.
I overshot the turn-off to the lake and had to do a 3 point turn which seemed straight forward because nothing was behind or in front of me down a very visable main road road, apart from a distant cyclist who was about 300 yards away; so I decided to start the first phase of the manouver.
By the time I’d completed it, he had caught up to me, at this time I was sideways blocking the lane I intended to go back down on and my bumper was flush facing the curb at a 90 degree angle; I had deliberately left the cyclist enough space to easily go around me, and waved him on to do so, bearing in mind there was still absolutely nobody else down the road whatsover.
At this point, the lycra clad little man (who looked a little like Richard Dreyfuss) started swearing at me. Ever the peacemaker, I apologetically raised my hand up (even though I don’t think I was in the wrong) but this was not good enough!!
He kept going on and on and on, incessantly, before going around my car, swearing as he went and pulled into the road that I had initially missed. I took a deep breath and then continued on and turned in to the country lane to find him cockily sat at the top of the road on his bike to stop me coming in; I think his intention was to get me to hit his bike.
I parked up, got out the car and felt my blood start to boil as the guy hurled insult after insult at me without pause; what a self righteous prick? I got the feeling that this pathetic little man was the sort of dick-less individual who Jeremy Clarkson loves to rant about in his annual book that comes out in time for Christmas. The guy clearly had a problem with motorists which is amusing because I could see that he had brought his bike up this way using a roof rack on his car!!
I have no love for Mr. Clarkson, but now I can understand his point. Why didn’t the guy just go around me in the first place without being such a martyr?
He called me something rather derogatory and that was it, I snapped, I calmly went to the boot and retrieved my tyre arm and told him in no uncertain terms to pop his bike back onto his car’s roof rack and then go and enjoy his gay little sport somewhere else whilst getting as far away from me as he could; and quickly!
He then threatened to call the police before driving off; I assume he’s at home watching Strictly Come Dancing tonight with his ‘meal for one’ from M&S and carrot juice. Part of me wishes I had caved his fucking head in to be honest. What a wanker!
Brian’s calming influence was much needed and I drank in the tranquil surroundings of the Surrey Hills before we arrived at his ‘swim’ pitch. Bri showed me around, almost like a fishing version of MTV’s ‘Cribs’. “Here’s my tent, here’s my chair, here’s my rods, here’s my bitches!” living like a pimp down by the lake.
After disappearing into the tent, Bri came out sporting a bright yellow furry hat; a Winnie the Pooh hat in fact.
BRIAN’S ONE-MAN-DEMONSTRATION AGAINST PEOPLE WHO TAKE FISHING TOO SERIOUSLY
Bri proceeded to tell me that the hat was in protest of a rather sad individual who had reported him to the lake authorities for no real reason at all; sounds like the guy is a bit of a prat and somewhat jealous of Brian given that my brother is a naturally talented fisherman and probably feels threatened by the fact that Bri had recently caught a whopping big Carp only weeks before and has a picture up of him holding the fish on the Lake’s noticeboard.
Brian’s rival has obviously been drinking from the same water supply as the Richard-Dreyfuss-lookalike cyclist cock-knocker I’d just encountered because you could tell that he thought he owned the World as well!!! This was confirmed when the man decided to use a ‘bait boat’; an offensive contraption that caught my eye, boldly gliding into Nick’s (Brian’s friend) fishing area, which in fishing terms is a bit like Germany invading Poland.
A ‘bait boat’ is a multi-purpose remote controlled boat which a modern ‘fisherman’ can use to deploy his bait thanks to the bay doors in the hull which open with a push of a button. The bait boat can also drag the line/hook/rig out to the desired part of the water rather than casting. I call it an offensive contraption because to me, it just reeks of laziness and using one is poor form???
A good angler spends years honing their skills so that they can repeatedly cast out and hit the same spot after they have baited it using a catapult; Brian informs me that some of the boats come equipped with sonar so that you can see where the fish are? Sonar!?! Where’s the sport in that?
I appreciate that technology is part of modern fishing and can be found in the reels, bait alarms and even the bait itself because it comes from a labatory rather than Mr. Maggot’s tackle shop!; but surely you have to draw a line (no pun intended) at using a poxy bait boat? It’s fucking blatant cheating if you ask me!?! Kind reminded me of the little remote controlled bomb car that you can get in the Call of Duty Black Op’s game?! O-ffensive with a capital ‘O’.
BAIT BOAT FOR CHEATS!
Still, we’ll see who is victorious tomorrow, my money is on Bri! Purely because he is wearing the furry hat of destiny! I’m sure you’ll agree that my brother is one of England’s great eccentrics!? Just look at all the cans of Stella he takes with him!?! Food? Pah! That’s for people who come 2nd!!? Right Bri?