THE GLOUCESTERSHIRE farmer, standing by the fire in his brown tweed breeks, told me it’d hardly been worth it — up at dawn to drive right across the county, only to return home with almost as many cartridges as he’d set out with. “Four shots for nothing,” he answered with a shrug, when his daughter dared to ask during dinner, “Bag was just 19.”
When I pressed him, he explained vaguely that the shoot was part of some sort of rewilding project
