Re: Monnow Social VI "This Time Its Personal"
Regular recipients of Fly Fishing's most sought after social ticket will be delighted to hear that one of our most celebrated and feted sponsors will be joining us once more in May. If the Monnow Social is the most eagerly anticipated event of late Spring, then it is only enriched further by the burnished presence of Llandeilo’s legendary Lothario, that prince among piscators, “Sir Rhodri Rogerewe”. Keen eyed social historians will note that our esteemed guest has, once again chosen to adopt a new pseudonym for the new season. Who can forget the embarrassment of four years ago when his cover was broken by an indiscreet leak? Maiden attendees of the function are asked to respect his requests for anonymity on peril of – and I quote from his bodyguard – “A quiet end to their miserable, 5h1t filled existence!”
But let us not dwell on the negatives... as social secretary it was my pleasure and privilege to hook up bankside with the great man for a couple of hours this morning as he visited Longtown to make inspection for his lodgings this May. Once that his customary, if unorthodox needs had been explained to a dumbfounded innkeeper, the young barmaid’s hysteria calmed, and the detailed arrangements laid out to his scrutiny, the old rascal demanded a pre-lunch cast or two:
“Been a while since I had a crack at the ladies TM!” he giggled, extracting from his car a well trimmed cane by Fosters of Ashbourne. Brandishing it with zeal he regaled me with tales of chalk and rugby as we strode to the river’s edge. The Monnow was in perfect nick, the gentle warmth of the sun inviting a steady trickle of small dark olives to the surface, and here and there, mullion disturbance betraying the presence of rising fish. We both set to work eagerly though the grayling proved hard to come by.
“Damn you TM!! Leave the bl00dy trout alone will you! I despair of you. I don’t wonder sometimes you’d f*ck a woman even when she’d clearly ‘gone communist’ on you.” Unforgiving yet salient as ever, and I withdrew from the stream to watch the old master swish his cane. Another swirl ahead of him... “A grayling if ever I saw one!” and he bade me tackle my rod up with a raggle taggle DHE he found in the bottom of his snuff pouch. “Hand me that Sage poker!” and I do believe he said “please”. After a sighter, the DHE landed prettily on the slick whence his quarry lay. Seeing yet nothing, no disturbance in the surface, no signal of activity to indicate a taking fish, my jaw dropped and brow furrowed as the great man’s instincts took over, quietly he raised his rod and tightened into a good fish. Liquid silver, and a slender Monnow grayling was played out and with no more than a nod and a wink in my direction, given quick release. A remarkable sequence of events and a remarkable man. “I think it’s time for lunch TM” he said, handing me my rod and making for the cars, “I’ve quite an appetite by now.”
Generosity was his, and once in the comfortable bar of The Skirrid Inn, local lambs liver and onions were ordered up along with pints of the good Reverend James. The grayling episode had clearly pleased him; jokes were cracked and mercifully mirth was easy to find his humour. Presently though... trouble creased his brow: “TM... tell me, there are women coming to this year’s social no? It worries me... the Black Mountains can be cold and unforgiving of a Spring evening, I wonder... perhaps you’d like to extend them an invitation to share my lodgings? Tell ‘em they’re welcome to join me, and I shall extend them the fullness of my hospitality.”
Stroking his moustaches thoughtfully and warming to his idea, “Tell you what...” he said, winking, “Tell ‘em we’ll make a special cane and silk weekend of it... I’ll supply the cane ...and they can bring their own silks eh TM! I’ll treat ‘em too, first... a game of feed the pony, and then... they will be given a private viewing of my rod collection including my vintage 8.8 incher... that’ll get ‘em gasping.”
Sir Rhodri was in full flow by now, in eager anticipation of pleasures to come. “What d’you think then TM? Will they take me up on my offer? Tell ‘em all I expect in return is for them to bring their own supply of jazz talc, and to wash thoroughly before joining me,” lowering his voice to add: “particularly no tarmac around the garage door eh! Nothing more off-putting when we get around to playing hide the tradesman later on.”
Lunch finished he beamed across at me and declared himself finished with fishing for the day. “The ladies of Llandeilo await my return and there is champagne and dunkies to be purchased before Waitrose closes. I bid you adieu!”
And with that flourish he was gone. A taste of what we are in for come May, and as always we are left clamouring for more. Polly, and Mrs DanC, perhaps you would be so good as to drop me a pm indicating whether or not you wish to join Sir Rhodri for his weekend?
__________________
"A homeward tramp thro' mist wrapped night,
With heart and creel in common light,
Complete content, the day has brought it,
They fished for pleasure - and they caught it"
P F Morgan
taken from the catch record book at Llanthony Hotel, Honddu Valley, Aug 1942
www.monnowlogue.com
www.monnow.org.uk
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One question springs to mind though, just how many moustaches does he have? 
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