Partridges, crackling and Dad’s ‘dull’ chat
I have the distinct impression that Charlie finds my borderline obsession with grey partridges borderline dull. I become excited about the profundity of tussock grasses in a margin, but my son is ambivalent at best. Cover crops, about which I wax lyrically, he sees as a rather mundane affair and a thick hedge he treats to no more than a passing glance.
However, when he does actually see a partridge, he becomes more animated. The boy has eyes like a hawk and spots a couched covey with startling ease. Car journeys in Charlie’s company are like listening to an overenthusiastic presenter on a talk radio show.
As he stares out of the window, he treats me to
