May I hold your rod?

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It was definitely a day for laughing.

And crying.

I can't really recount it all here, it just doesn't work that way.

But I do know that when Boonie and I found ourselves on the way home on the train at ten pm devouring mini bottles of Vodka from the train dining cart, it had been one of my better days out.

So the significance of holding the rod? Sorry, it's not as dirty as you'd like to think it is. I simply asked a gentleman who was fishing on the lake at dusk if I may hold his rod for a moment - and realised fairly quickly that it hadn't sounded the way it was intended. Etiquette has never been one of my strong points. But it did illicit some laughs from nearby onlookers.

Oh so many thanks go to one of the members of the Brotherhood of Michael who made my day one worth remembering. High Grassglockner would've sucked anyway!

(Photos coming soon)

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