I found myself in the Grosvenor Hotel, Stockbridge, with time to kill. The art deco bar beckoned but there were trout to watch and tackle shops to explore.

Along the high street a small trout held station above a road bridge, ready to drift back into cover if unsettled. In a side stream beside the pavement, a much larger fish waited on a patch of pale gravel for bread or pellets. I had neither and it eventually slid upstream to rest alongside the pillar of a bridge. The late afternoon January sky threatened rain and it was chilly. Time to seek refuge in a tackle shop.

 

Five years earlier I had visited Farlows on Pall Mall. I wandered around the store, looking for nothing in particular, constantly telling myself not to buy anything. The rod racks were well stocked. I have always had a vision of my perfect fly rod; long, light, down-locking reel seat and cheap. I found several rods that met only the first three criteria.

A very helpful young man took a rod from the rack and gave it to me, a clever ploy which usually results in a sale. I waggled the rod. The double height ceiling enabled a good waggle without snicking the light fittings. I immediately felt a bond with the rod. I reached for the small price ticket tied to the butt ring and recoiled in horror at the number of digits. I forced a smile and gave the rod back, the young man looked disappointed. I left the shop, credit card intact, also feeling disappointed. In the taxi to Victoria station, on the train home and throughout the years since, I have regretted not buying that rod.

 

Meanwhile, I entered Robjent’s internalising a mantra to protect me from buying anything other than a few leaders and hooks. On a previous visit to the shop I had been bullied into buying a very expensive Rio fly line, a Robjent’s Chalkstream special. I was dubious but it turned out to be a game changer and I use it all the time.

Three tapered leaders were extracted from a drawer but I drew a blank with the hooks. A very helpful young man watched me while I examined the rods. We discussed rod lengths and weights and the conversation drifted towards my ideal rod. He said that he had such a thing but for me to hold it would be “dangerous”.

He produced, from the depths of a store cupboard, the model I had rejected at Farlows. The rod was lighter than I remembered, the reel seat had been improved and the tip was slimmer. Perfection. A significant birthday loomed. No celebration had been arranged. No fishing holiday had been booked. After acquiring more rods than I need, I had vowed not to buy another. Should I exit the shop, credit card intact, doubling my regrets ? No.

That evening I celebrated with a curry and a couple of pints. Since then I have waggled the rod most days, fitted my favourite reel and planned a day fishing for grayling. The trout season in mid-March is too long to wait.