Stuck in the mud
The bright, blustery day last March had started well. AC had phoned to say that he had found pigeons on a field of winter rape that he had not looked at for a week or two. “How soon can you get here?” he asked, bubbling with the excitement of a possible day’s sport following a quiet few weeks. I was soon on the way.
By the time I arrived, AC had built a double hide in
