Things I like part one - Saturday mornings, 6.15am

I feel like I've arrived as a blogger - I've been tagged in my very first meme. The idea with this one is that you write seven facts about yourself, then you tag other bloggers and set them the same task, effectively passing the meme on.

While I don't actually know if I've been around long enough to start tagging other people, I will definitely take up the challenge myself.

Thanks to the very excellent Mr London Street for tagging me. If you haven't already checked out his amazing blog, you should. Be warned though, it's addictive.

So on with the meme. As Mr LS did, I'm going to go with seven things I like. Starting with…

1) Saturday mornings, 6.15am

Every Saturday - well, almost every Saturday - the alarm goes off at 6.00am on the dot. Crazy, I know. When you've been getting up at 7.00am Monday to Friday, why would you want to drag yourself from your slumber so early on the first day of your hard earned weekend? What would be so good to justify it?

One word - fishing. Putting fake rubber worms on the end of a hook, dangling them in the water and whipping them out with the force of a juggernaught when you feel the bite. When you reel in that whopper, it's all worth it. Well, as far as the bloke is concerned, that is.

That alarm is not for me, you see. It's his early morning 'up and at em' call. The one that gets him out of the bed faster than a black bass chasing his prey. it's unbelievable. This is the man who needs nine alarms to get him out of bed on a workday for a 9.00am start. Yet 6.00am on a Saturday morning is no problem, if you throw slimy scaly water dwelling creatures into the mix.

One thing you can say for my boyfriend is that he doesn't do things by halves. If he likes something, he'll take it to the extremes. Snowboarding in Spain won't do - he instead goes to Alaska, where you've got the best runs in the world, only accessible by helicopter.

When he was into making music, he would spend hours locked away in the studio he built himself, driving himself crazy with listening to loops and sorting through a thousand different synths, searching for the perfect one.

His new mistress is fishing. And over the course of the past year, she's crept into our lives, slowly but surely bewitching my boyfriend and trying to steal him off me.

Friday evening trips to the fishing tackle shop have become a regular thing. You wouldn't believe the amount of paraphernalia - imported from America and Japan - you could fit into one room. Racks of brightly coloured-fake worms - some with glitter in them, some smelling of different fruits; a million different sized hooks and weights, little fake fish baits that look scarily real, and a million other things that i have no idea about.

And on the walls pictures of the owner Paco with various monsters he's caught during various competitions. One day the bloke hopes to have his walls filled with similar pictures, I'm sure.

Luckily the bloke has a partner in crime, my friend Sa's boyfriend Chucho. While we meet up with Two Shandies and PB for drinks at Lago, the boys go off fishing.

"I wonder if they sit and talk about you and Sa when they're together in the boat?" wonders Two Shandies.

"No, they just talk about fishing," says Sa.

"What, for seven hours straight?" asks Shandies, disbelieving. "Surely that can't be possible?"

Yes, it is. i've seen it in action. And the bloke has done his research. His bedtime reading is 101 Bass Fishing Tips. Whenever he's alone with use of the DVD player, he sticks on something that features men on boats showing you how to do drop shot or some other technique to raise your chance of success. They usually feature Kevin van Dam, the god of fishing - an American who's become a multi millionaire through fishing competitions. Some of the big tournaments have 1 million dollars prize money. The fact that i know these things troubles me.

But really, not that I mind so much. i've been on the boat with him and I can see the appeal. The sun is setting, blowing up pink and purple candy floss clouds in the sky. The lake is a rippled mirror, and it's all so peaceful.

I've even felt the thrill of hooking a big one. On my first go the bloke showed me how to cast, and pointed me in the direction of where he knew there was a a big female.

Before my hook had even hit the water, she jumped out of the water and bit down on the bait, and my rod bend double as she raced away. The bloke's eyes nearly popped out of his head. he grabbed the rod off me and wrestled the monster into the boat. She was the biggest catch of his fishing career - 3 kilos - and I had hooked her. The range of expressions on his face were comical. From pride and wonderment to extreme annoyance and jealously that his girlfriend had trumped his record.

I never much bothered with it after that. It's not like I can ever do better. I like to go out on the lake - but with the intention of sunning myself and reading a book. I certainly wouldn't leave my sleep at 6.00am on a Saturday morning - no matter how beautiful the lake looks when you're the only one there and the sun is creeping above the horizon.

So 6.15am is the time i love best. When the bloke has showered, got his fishing gear on, given me a goodbye kiss, and skipped out the door into the darkness. Not that i've seen him skip, but I'm sure that he's not far off actually doing this.

I fluff up the pillows, spread myself out in the bed, which is now all mine for the rest of the morning, and fall back to sleep. When I wake up four hours later the sun is probably shining and I can't help but feel happy with my lot in life.