In my opinion, this is fishing.
Spey casting for salmon on the River Tweed. You can barely see me in this photo because I have succeeded in my mission of getting away from people.
But now I have two young sons who want to come fishing with me, today's fishing trips are less about listening to the river and more about trying not to swear around a lake.
With fly fishing, you flick a fake fly into a fish's face. With coarse - you use variety of baits to catch fish like carp, perch, tench or pike - in a lake.
My father taught me coarse fishing when I was a boy and it was only when I walked into the coarse tackle shop I realised the last time I went coarse fishing was when I was the boys' age.
Good tackle shops are rare. They're almost always situated in little housing blocks out of the way - but they're like the Tardis when you walk inside. And because they're independently owned, shopkeepers actually help you instead of licking the walls.
Richard, from the brilliant Medway Tackle, gave us all the kit we would need to lose in the lake once the boys got started.
Landing mat, special rigs for carp, pellets - and of course maggots.
When we got to the lake, I quickly set up one of the rods, cast it out and gave it to one of my sons.
"Leave that in there for ten minutes and don't touch it unless you have a fish."
I started to work on the next rod.
Within 30 seconds:
"Dad, erm sorry I'm in a tangle."
"But I said don't touch it."
"Yeah, I know but I just wanted to try it."
I have learned you need three rods for fishing with boys. You will get no fishing done. The third rod is the spare or the one that they've just broken and you need to fix while they fuck up the next one.
I managed to get the next rod set up and started to fix the tangled one. What a mess. As you can see from the main photo, there were several of these tangles to fix.
I don't mind untangling. If anything, I quite like it because it teaches you something about life - patience. You're always going to get tangled - so you might as well play the knots a bit to see if you can get out. Sometimes, you have to cut your losses and start again, but often with a little work, you can find your way out.
But I do get annoyed when it's one son's tangle after another.
There is no peace.
After just ten minutes of arriving - only 30 minutes after breakfast, one of them said: "Dad, we're hungry."
Being the intelligent father that I am, I'd forgotten to pack lunch or snacks, so after a quick trip to Budgens, I returned to find some more chaos.
"Dad, we've got some news for you. While you were gone (10 minutes), your chair blew into the lake and so did some of your equipment. We managed to get it out."
Oh good. Nowhere to sit down now.
After zoo feeding time was over, the elder son caught something - the only catch of the day: another fishing net.
A little time passed and once they'd sufficiently lost half of the brand new kit in the lake, I decided it was time to go old school: maggots.
The boys were terrified of them. Getting them to put a maggot on a hook would slow the rate of equipment entropy.
With boys, within seconds, everything becomes a test of toughness.
"I'm not touching that," said one.
"I touched a maggot," the other boasted.
"Yeah, well, I put one on a hook and it squished juice everywhere."
"Urgh, urgh, it's still moving."
The noise levels alone from all the shouting are difficult to manage - especially when there are older fishermen are trying to get some peace and quiet.
You have to hand it to the creators of the Minions for their depiction of little boys. They turn from being unaware to worst enemies to best friends - all within chaotic seconds.
I finally got my own fishing rod set up and cast in. When I looked up, they had both disappeared.
Then from a distance, I heard one of them shouting:
"Michael Jackson - hee-hee."
He had ventured up to the match fishing lake to go after big carp. These anglers are serious and wouldn't be happy.
As I sprinted to the bank, I heard the other son call from the other direction:
"Dad. Sorry. Can you help?"
His line was caught in a tree near some other fishermen - with more equipment about to be sacrificed.
I reclaimed my moonwalking son from the fishing match and went to cut the line of the tangled son.
It was 4.45pm. I was exhausted. We'd caught nothing and lost most of the kit we'd bought.
"Time to go home boys."
"Dad - thanks for taking us. This was the best fun ever. Can we come again?"
Of course, we will.
- Fishing tickets: £5 each for the boys (the bailiff didn't have the heart to charge me and had heard me swearing)
- Half a pint of maggots: £2.50
- Kit in the lake: £35
- Memories: Priceless.