Centre of attraction
RECENT day’s fishing trip to Scotland – from Warwickshire – reminded me that there is more to antique-hunting than just auctions. So, Reveille: 3.30am. Arrive Coldstream: 9.30am. The wind, forecast to be an irritating 18mph to 20mph westerly, is so strong that it threatens to smash the car doors open. Blown into the fishing hut, Paul, the charming and immensely knowledgeable gillie, almost has to choke back tears of mirth as he greets us with the timeless: “You should have been here yesterday.” Dan, ever hopeful and very kind to invite me, mentions the 22lb springer caught a few days ago. “That was above here,” says Paul, sinking us into even deeper gloom, “you want fish being caught below here.” Deep into Tweed I stagger in my waders. Paul starts me in the most protected spot. Bill, the third Rod, is a magician and can spey cast both left- and right-handed; way beyond my skill set. I point out some fishermen on the opposite bank. A local syndicate,
