Fishing

He sat at the same spot by the river every Sunday, line in the water for effect.
He hated fishing and he'd invested hundreds of pounds in state-of-the-art equipment just as a smokescreen to sit and drink a carrier bag full of beers in peace and quiet.
He cracked open his third as something took his bait. The line moved around in a circle and the rod started to bend.
He took a sip of the warm beer and rolled his eyes at the potential catch.
The rod snapped and disappeared down the river. He watched open-mouthed as the one that got away caused him to spill half a can of lager.