Catching barbel with Aunty

The river greeted me with the pleasing babbling sound of flowing water as I made my way toward's its edge in the mid morning sunshine. The middle Severn in Autumn is a glorious sight, and I had been lured there by the prospect of its beautiful scenery, fine fishing and the promise of an all expenses paid trip to do some filming for the BBC, about which I can say very little at this moment in time, other than to report it was a success, and a thoroughly enjoyable experience. I will furnish you with more details in the New Year when the program is advertised and I am no longer forced to hide behind the broadcasting equivalent of "if I tell you I'd have to kill you!"

Fishing a river "blind" (and this was my first ever trip to the Severn) is always a chancy affair, but fortunately the persuasive powers of the BBC had managed to arrange for a local angler, Ian from the Telford Angling Society, to act as a "fixer", and he had kindly reserved a couple of swims for me (one suitable for barbel, one for trotting) and had liberally trickled some overnight bait into the barbel swim. Not only did Ian do much of the "donkey work" locally, he was also my fishing companion for the day, the two of us sharing a swim, each with a single rod pointing skywards in the manner typical of those in pursuit of barbel.

I won't divulge anything about the filming itself, but the day's fishing that preceded it I am at liberty to report on. If a day's fishing were judged by fish caught as the sole metric of "success" then ours was only a limited one, but there's no premium that can be placed on a day doing something you enjoy amid wonderful scenery while in good company, and neither Ian's company or the magnificent environment in which we were fishing disappointed.

The conditions were glorious for sunbathing, but less than idea for barbel fishing; the sun was high and hot, the sky barely troubled by clouds and we were fishing in the middle of the day. For hours the baits remained untouched, the rod tips motionless, despite a regular trickle of bait and the occasional barrage with a spomb. A couple of hours before the film crew were due to arrive, and four hours into the session I even popped into the "next-door" trotting swim, but even here could only persuade tiny, but voracious, minnows into taking the bait, although I did make friends with an inquisitive pheasant who was happy to be fed the occasional maggot.

After half an hour of catching a steady stream of minnows I returned to the original swim, more in hope than expectation, a state of mind which was to change in an instant as my rod started bouncing and line was stripped from the baitrunner. The hooked barbel fought steadily but not as violently as is often their inclination, and after a few minutes was safely ensconced within the folds of the net. I posed for the obligatory mat shots, feeling far happier and more relieved than perhaps I had a right to, bearing in mind the fish's modest size by the middle Severn's high standards.

Shortly afterwards the film crew and presenter appeared, and from this point on my lips are sealed and my pen stilled - all I am in a position to say is keep your eyes on the BBC's spring program scheduling and all will be revealed; in the meantime Ian and I are in search of agents, and will be very happy to sign autographs and behave in a manner generally befitting of TV stars ........... not!