A few years back I was fishing on a local pond for some crucian carp – possibly the prettiest of all coarse fish with those stunning butterscotch scales and blood-red fins. The sport was going well by midday, with three in the keepnet over the pound mark and several other palm sized fish to back them up. I struck into what I thought was another of these little gems but lack of movement indicated the snagging of some sort of weed or debris. As I slowly wound in, I noticed I had hooked a small black plastic bag. I netted it carefully and gently removed it from the hook. Curiosity got the better of me, so I whipped a pair of scissors out of my tackle box and cut it open to reveal the contents.

Was I about to peer in and find a large wad of cash, some expensive jewellery, or perhaps a little trinket that I would treasure for life and pass on down the generations? Unfortunately, none of those were even close to the actual contents. The lake was beside a well-used path, and what I had just cut into was a bag of dog poo. A couple of dry-heaves later, the bag went straight in the doggy bin behind me, and I washed my hands A LOT that afternoon.