The fields of yellow ragwort are making me grumpy. Ragwort kills livestock and there is a law demanding that it is pulled up-surely a useful job for young offenders. Perhaps it’s my age, but this year there seems more than ever.
For the first time, I felt old at the Game Fair. I have camped at the great event for the past decade, but listening to lover’s tiffs at 3am and discovering the tent filling up with water tipped me into booking a hotel for next year. The final straw was a labrador cocking its leg on the tent’s entrance.
Nevertheless, the fair at Blenheim Palace was a great success. There is something truly wonderful about 150,000-odd countrymen and women gathering in a vast park full of tents with flags flying and, with the harvest already starting in the southern counties and the next shooting season beginning with the grouse in only three weeks time, there was plenty to discuss and to mull over.
I just need more sleep and a more comfortable bed in the future to make the whole experience perfect.
