There we were , somewhere in Texas, fishing for Bass, and they weren't biting, until they did. Clamp! Vise-like jaws snapped shut on an alluring dark plastic worm and in came a fish, an apocalyptic leviathan of a Bass.
GWB soon caught up with some swift action, and after an hour at the lake we were neck and neck at 3 fish each. By then the sun was setting, the lake was still as glass and it just seemed right to try out the Tiny Torpedo topwater method.
A small strike, almost more of a gulp, later and kaboom! A big fish was on, leaping and fighting, playing out the drag as it stormed and thrashed out of the water. Excitement wasn't in it, this was a serious fish.
As if on cue, lightning flashed through the thunderheads, right there, at the Basschaton.
OK, I know this doesn't have anything to do with eating ribeye steak or shooting enormous handguns, like LL's Smith & Wesson .460 Magnum revolver which, by the way, is perfectly capable of taking out a Main Battle Tank (MBT). No, this is about bread.
Bread Rising
One of the things I miss about England and Canada is good white bread. It's hard to find here in rural Texas, especially the white farmhouse loaf that goes so well with a Ploughman's Lunch or just about anything else, for that matter.
So, how to get that bread. By waiting for the Government to give it to me, as in the days of ancient Rome? By waiting for the State to take someone else's bread and deliver to the Compound just because I didn't have any and that's not fair? No, I bypassed Leviathan and its Big Bakery cronies, and made that loaf myself. In fact I made several. And it was right tasty, not that I'm an expert. Moral of the story?
Some Fresh Baked Bread
Don't put up with ersatz rubbish, not least food, and make the effort to be self-sufficient. There's a virtue and no little degree of satisfaction in that. And, of course, shoot huge revolvers whenever possible.
