It was a gentlemanly clay shoot between two London livery companies, all just a bit of fun. Which meant, of course, that it was seething with a competitiveness that would have embarrassed a Manchester football derby.
I’d put in decent scores on the two driven birds stands, including the specks thrown off the high tower, smashing 18ex20, thought, “Well, I’m on reasonable form, should end up with a respectable card,” and then turned the corner and came to stand three: the rabbit. All hope disappeared quicker than a double malt down a gillie’s gullet. I hate clay rabbits, especially when they’re slow and close. They’ve buggered up my scores in the past and will continue to do so as they appear
