THE ITCHY TRIGGER FINGER
I’ll let you into a secret: if I go out hunting and return home empty-handed I feel disappointed. Yes, I know, I’m supposed to have enjoyed the trip just as much for getting out in the Great British countryside, irrespective of the contents of my game bag. But, I’m afraid, the success of the hunt does matter to me.
This impulse is always close to the surface. If while out for a gentle family stroll I spy a bushy-tail high in a tree or hear a trout break the surface of a nearby river, I feel a deep pang of loss at an opportunity passing me by. At 37 years of age I have, of
