Accident to angler

People often tell me that I have life taped. They see that I work from home. They know I have a good mix of interests with two columns in one of the world’s great newspapers and with many other columns and presenting outlets.

Even with all this work there is still time to down tools and get out on the river. But this last week has not been good. Illness forced me to cancel a few appointments and writing my columns was a struggle. You don’t get sick leave when you work for yourself.

Then yesterday I had an email from the editor of the Weekend FT telling me that he was giving my fishing column to someone else. All very breezy and straightforward. I’ve been fired!

I don’t think I have been so unceremoniously dumped since my teens when my first girlfriend gave me the push. I remember I wrote her a poem. Well he’s not getting a bloody poem.

Instead I have composed, in my mind at least, a variety of disgruntled emails. None will be sent. It would serve no purpose.

We’d had lunch just a little while back. A bit of relationship-building, I thought. He could get to know me, I him. Unfortunately it must have been like one of those speed-dating events where one party thinks that everything went swimmingly while the other smiles and shakes hands, limply, promising nothing and dashing for the door.

Such is the feudal system that calls itself the newspaper industry. Writers need to be reminded of their peasant status every now and again as they plough their individual furrows.

My life tends to go in ups and downs, alternating between big wet kisses and stinging slaps. Getting that column was a big kiss. Losing it is a slap and it smarts. Last night I was like Mr Toad in Wind in the Willows after he has been thrown in to the clink.

I was still stewing this morning when I thought of Charles Rangeley-Wilson and picked up his book, The Accidental Angler. Charles is another one of those people who seems to have discovered the good life. Just now he’s in Tasmania (this explains why - see the entry by "accidental"). I had a drink with him before he went.

I have been envious of his success but he deserves every bit of it. If you saw any of his TV series under the same heading as the book, you will know how much he refreshed the way that fishing can be treated by television. These were travelogues built around angling.

He tries hard to project a laid back, almost casual style in his presenting. It looks a little lazy but it isn’t; far from it. A lot of thinking and a lot of work goes in to this "natural" approach. From where I’m sitting he seems to have it all. But even Charles has his disappointments. The TV series was such a success among a general audience that, in its wisdom, the BBC decided not to do another one. Here was someone who had achieved the magical cross-over in genres but budget cuts put the kibosh on plans for a second series.

The old budget explanation was trotted out for the demise of my FT column but I’m not convinced that was the real explanation. If people want to keep you they can find the money. Most likely it's the new broom syndrome - the freelancers’ peril.

So what now? Well I’ve enjoyed my fishing writing so much over the past three years that I do not intend to give it up at this juncture. That’s not in my nature. Besides I have had too much encouragement from readers. They, at least, have been positive.

For the moment I shall continue to write fishing pieces on my website. But I hope to find another outlet very soon.

Meanwhile Charles is busy reviving his own fortunes. Since losing the TV series he has tried to create his own video but going alone is a tough old path. Now he’s embarked on a third book project. He will succeed. I read a line from The Accidental Angler this morning, describing a large fish on the line, running downstream "in that way you see big dogs take anxious old ladies for walks across the park." I wish I had written that. Maybe I will.

Just now I’m down but it won’t last. Sooner or later something new and shiny will float over the horizon and it’ll be "poop, poop!" all over again. Yes my teeth are feeling as if they have been in close contact with a boot, but this kind of thing happens in journalism. Where I come from we call it motivation.

Postcript: Talking of encouragement, I mentioned the loss of my column to some of my fishing friends. Jerry Harrison wrote: "We are all thinking of you in these difficult times...Don't suppose you can lend me some tackle as you won't be needing it?"