It's Tuesday and Bure Boy is on his way over so we can have a go at the Fenland pike in a favourite drain. The weather forecast doesn't sound great but I'm sure we'll be able to comfortably cope with whatever the weather gods decide to throw at us.
This is my last chance this season because family commitments and taking our oldest Jack Russell, Barney, to the veterinary referral hospital near Newmarket means that my season ends a couple of days early. So a cup of coffee and a chat first then we're off for the 'last hurrah'.
As we leave the wind is building and rain is in the air, the drive along the drain reveals waves and whitecaps on the water along with foam lanes more suitable for a lake.
We walk up and down weighing up our options and decide that it is simply to dangerous to fish, you could try and fasten a brolly down but I'm sure it would come up on Air Traffic Control's radar. Bure Boy decides to head for a sheltered pond nearer to his home so I give him my bait and after he leaves I take another walk and check some of the old landing stages. The two landing stages I test are wobbling like a jelly because of the force of the storm and the weight of the water hitting them so reluctantly I head for home, my pike season over for another year with a whimper.
When I get home the weather gods unleash their full fury, an absolute howling gale and three millimetres of rain in just five minutes beating a drum roll tattoo on the windows. Suddenly a cup of coffee with Bure Boy's gourmet pork pies seems a very attractive proposition.
The plan didn't come together on this occasion so it's time to clean the gear, do a stock-take to see what is needed for next season and fill the optimism tanks over the close season with a little reservoir trout fishing.
Today, if the fat lady sang we didn't hear her for the noise of the wind and rain.