It was around News Years, we were on a shoot. We were strategically placed down wind of the beaters as they cleared the woods of pheasants, partridge and the odd rabbit. I myself had an exceptional mornings shooting, having bagged three pheasants and one rabbit. It was going exceptionally well until the Vicar appeared, bursting out of the woods to our left, shouting about a wedding or some such nonsense. He was met, I'm afraid to say, by a volley of shoots.
Some of the wounds were superficial others less so. Had it been one of the farm hands, it would have been of little consequence, but I received a somewhat irate letter from the Archbishop of Canterbury demanding a formal apology and a voluntary contribution to the Church of England and my attendance at Sunday mass. Fortunately for the Vicar he delivered mass from a standing position as I am told he had many problems assuming a seated position with any degree of comfort for many months thereafter.
The Colonel
No comments:
Post a Comment