Peanuts, but who cares?
Our little rough shoot is typical of so many, where a small syndicate has come together and shot together over a number of years.
One morning in December was what I can only describe as putty coloured and neither cold nor warm, at least to start with. We met in the stone quarry, our usual meeting place, at close on 9am, as we had a lot of ground to cover. Darkness comes early at this time of the year; a time when wild birds in our gardens have a long night, retiring at 4pm and not awaking until some 15 hours later.
There was the usual wait for latecomers — there are always some people who never arrive on time — and we moved off in cars. At the very top of
