For whom the bells toll: a buck for a feast
Summer evenings for me invoke thoughts of barbecues in the garden, Test Match Special babbling away in the background, with listeners occasionally tuning-in more acutely as the raising of commentary voices declare another England wicket. Or perhaps long evenings in the pub, with cold pints and good friends, whiling away the hours chatting about nothing in particular.
While both of these find themselves high up on my list of summer evening activities, further up the list sits a more solitary pastime. I find great solace in spending an evening out on the farm with my rifle, quietly awaiting a muntjac. There is a beauty in the quiet you experience when you are stalking, and it is a rare silence in such a hectic world.
On our little farm in Bedfordshire,
