I used to go fishing a lot in my teens, but then I discovered girls, somehow the urge to go fishing disappeared in the face of raging hormones. That was twenty years ago and I'm glad to say that whilst the hormones haven't completely lost their grip, I've rediscovered fishing and I'm loving it.

It happened by chance a few months ago, when my 'almost father-in-law' told me that his grandson was mad on fishing and had asked him to take him to a local fishery. We got talking and I found all my old enthusiasm coming back. He'd not been fishing for about twenty years either and before many more minutes had passed we were discussing what we would need and planning our first fishing trip in two decades. Now whilst I was only ever a pleasure angler and a fair weather one at that, he was a pretty enthusiastic match fisherman in his day, so I thought I'd sneak out for a practice first and justified it on the grounds that I was introducing my six year old son Jonathan to the noble art of angling.

Our first trip was a disaster best brushed over quickly, but whilst we caught no fish, we did establish that maggots held no fear for my six year old apprentice and despite our lack of success he actually wanted to go again!

Next time, we went to a fishery. Armed with a pint of mixed maggots for me and half a pint of bronze maggots chosen very carefully by Jon, we set out to actually catch a fish. I soon learned that I need not have taken my own rod.

I set Jon's rod up for him and we got his line in the water, a crystal waggler dangling a pair of bronzies into the murky depths, a spray of their mixed fellows drifting down around them to draw in the fish, or at least I hoped so. I'd just got my own rod out when Jon anounced that his float had gone.

'Strike!' I shouted, 'You've got a bite!' Unsurprisingly he looked at me like I was a nutter, whilst I jumped up and down with excitement. Eventually it dawned on me that he hadn't got a clue what I was talking about.

'Lift your rod up and pull it back quickly,' I mimed the motion urgently, 'You've got a fish!'

Jon turned his attention back to the rod and did as instructed. To our mutual surprise, the fish was still there, the rod bent and the line zig-zagged madly in front of the peg. After a short and slightly confused struggle I slipped my landing net under a small, but perfectly formed, mirror carp of about 1 lb. I quickly showed Jon how to use the disgorger and we removed the hook.

'What do we do now dad?' he asked proudly holding his first ever fish.

'Put it back in the water mate.'

To be honest I was bit taken aback by his indignant response to that suggestion. Why, he wanted to know, were we catching fish if we were just going to put them back? Because that's what you do obviously didn't cut it as a reply.

'This,' he announced gravely, 'is not proper fishing! In proper fishing you take them home and eat them!'

I found myself looking round guiltily in case anyone had overheard him. Would we be mistaken for Eastern Europeans and chased out of the fishery? Grief this had the potential to be worse than getting caught using a barbed hook!

Against his better judgement, I persuaded Jon to put his fish back and we watched it disappear with a flick of it's tail. Then we set about catching some more. Between us we caught twenty five fish, mostly small carp, with a couple of rudd and a roach or two. We shared his rod, because I couldn't cope with supervising him and fishing in my own right, but it didn't matter, it was great fun.

If I had thought I'd been the one passing on his wisdom, I was soon put in my place as we packed up our gear. Had not the biggest fish of the day been Jon's? I was forced to admit that it had and hadn't the vast majority of the catch been taken on bronze maggots? Once again I had to admit the truth of it. Jon nodded in satisfaction, although he didn't spell it out, the implication was clear, perhaps next time I'd listen to him when it came to choosing bait and not insist on doing my own thing.