I don't know whether any of you remember the good old days when the local squire gave you a hunk of bread and cheese with some small beer to wash it down as the haywains made their way home and the plop of a fish getting itself outside yet another mayfly was a sound that resounded across the valley but..

..I got my rod license today. This in itself is extraordinary, given the state of the interweb (but that's another story). What really stood out about the rod license is that it needs a signature.

Imagine it, you're fishing with the lightest of tippets to the shyest of trout: you've brought rod, reel, line, tippet, flies, brandy, waders, forceps, bag, bicycle, whotsits (never quavers), emergency CDC and bare hooks, socks, some dirty underwear (don't ask why - they were in the back of the car and you never know) a kitchen sink, your mistress, a sleeping bag for the latter, a tent, a gas stove (just in case) BUT NO BLOODY PEN.

And the bailiff asks you to sign your name, just like on the license. And you sigh, and think of all the rubbish that has fallen through your letter-box requiring a signature and none of it would accept a signature from your old-style fountain pen, because it either needed a number or was made of plastic.

In the last 20 years, the only thing that has accepted a signature with a real pen is the Rod License. Good on the EA!

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Wanted: A polarised monocle.