Advertisement
By Jeremy Round
Published 1988
Just as grouse and snipe were beginning to think we only wanted them for their minds, they learn that it was their bodies we desired all along. The ‘glorious twelfth’ has, over the last few years, attracted as much rah-rah ballyhoo as the Beaujolais race. Helicopters descend to the lawns of Home County hostelries full of ruddy-cheeked chaps bearing braces still warm from the moors. London restaurants search freezers for last year’s cryogenised survivors.
