Written by: Owen Yeates

I remember when I was about ten
My next door neighbour then
Being the same age as me
Told me quite candidly 

How he loved to go fishing 
And was for some company wishing
Asked me if I would go along
Sometimes the words from your mouth come out wrong

At six he said without warning
No not night as I thought but the morning
So I called for him, at dead on six
Just had time for cold milk on two Weetabix

We cycled to the river Roden
To which I am now beholden
For it just proved to me 
Fishing’s boring you see

We fished till late in the day
But the fish must have all flown away
Headed south for the winter no doubt
Not even a perch or a trout

Which I thought was quite funny in June
But my friend he loved it the buffoon
We had our lunch in the sun
At least to me that was fun

So we cycled our lonely way back
Not a word a was spoken mood black
When he asked would I go the next day
I said no I’ll just go out and play