This week, I am mostly being existentialist

Back in the old country (i.e. Islington), I used to get my exercise along the Regents Canal towpath. Venice it wasn't, but at least I could get from Holloway Women's Prison to the fleshpots of Camden with a minimum of time spent on the open road, and more importantly out of view of the Metropolitan Police's finest. When I say that the Regent's Canal differs from Venice, I mean that it differs in the following ways:

Venice is home to some fabulous examples of renaissance Art, whereas the graffiti on the Regent's Canal is particularly uninspiring (not a patch on the sidings at Royal Oak, for example).

Although I've heard that it can stink a bit during the summer, Venice is not home to such a fascinating array of dog feces.

Whilst Italians can come across as a bit poncey at times, they at least have an exuberant culture. The Regent's canal is home to a bunch of stone-throwing, uneducated violent little thugs who are only separated from prison by time.

Finally, it's not always pissing down in Venice.

As I went about my business along this supposed waterway, I was always struck by the number of anglers in evidence. On any given Sunday, every hundred yards there is some pasty man fishing. What could possibly be so bad about their life at home that sitting under an umbrella fishing in a canal that probably contains no life form yet known to science is preferable?

By induction, it also begs the question what sort of gaping void has my life turned into, that I choose to spend time posting this dross? Shock and Awe is the Captain's very own sunday fishing trip.