WE have gathered on the River Spey. The boy band has reformed for another tour under the leadership of Pedro, our generous host and piscatorial impresario. Lead singer and undoubted star of the show is Tiggy. We last met in the stands at Murrayfield when the proud Welshwoman, dressed as a daffodil, held her own amid a sea of blue-and-white faces. That time, Scotland emerged victorious; this time, we know we’re going to have to be on our mettle not to be beaten by a girl, even if she is, for the purposes of this week, an honorary bloke.
The first morning starts badly when, with a clarety head, I pull my waders out and am discombobulated to find a hole the size of an old penny. Despite hanging above what I assumed to be rodent level in the boiler room since the last outing, there’s no mistaking the deleterious effects of mice on neoprene.
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