Dampsquib

’TWAS a game of two halves in the Canaries last week – but I got a result in the end.

I’d gone to Lanzarote planning to fish from a boat and maybe try my luck from the shore as well.

But when we arrived, it was blowing a hooley and forecast to keep blowing most of the week.

The boats weren’t going out but I managed to book a trip for the Friday.

This was on the Monday so I was at a loose end, the gales not being ideal for light float fishing from the shore.

Friday brought milder winds but the boat guy bumped us to the Saturday due to heavy demand, so I headed to the beach.

It soon became clear that my killer float rig wasn’t suited to the gently shelving, snaggy coast nearby – it was designed for fishing deeper water off the rocks.

I was set to head home but just on spec, I tried a silver Toby – with instant results.

My first cast produced a nice frying-pan-sized sea bream, so I took a photo, chapped it on the head and stuck it in my bag.

That looked like being it, however, as a further hour of casting delivered nada, so I headed back towards our apartment, fishing as I went.

At the sandier bit of the beach, a lifeguard told me they didn’t like folk fishing there as lost tackle was a hazard for swimmers.

Fair enough, thought I, so I moved back where I’d been before – and promptly got snagged on a rock.

It wasn’t far out so I waded in to get a better angle and managed to free the lure. A big wave broke over me and I was wet up to my neck but that was OK – all my kit was safe in a plastic wallet.

Except it wasn’t. I’d taken my phone out to take that picture and left it in my pocket, so it was dead.

My e-cigarette was in the same pocket and went on the blink for a while but I think I’ve managed to save it.

But the real blow came when I went to put the phone back in the wallet. I hadn’t closed it and all the contents were soaked.

Sixty euros, my fishing permit and the passport you have to carry to prove that the permit belongs to you.

Pretty disastrous, I’d have to admit – especially when I ducked home to dry them out and discovered that in my haste to go out, I’d lifted my wife’s passport instead of my own.

I’ll spare you the domestics and tell you about the boat trip next week. Hasta luego.