my friends Sean and Jo arrived as we were to meet other mates in a Nepalese restaurant later. They were returning from a walk in Lyme Park, a large country estate famous for the scene in the BBC adaptation of Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' where shirt soaked and hair astraggle Darcy rises from the lake. Sean gave me a present of venison they'd bought in the National Trust shop as a wee gift, disappointingly the meat wasn't from a deer chosen by them. For one moment I embrace the forlorn hope that maybe they'd been invited onto a nearby hill to point out a beast of their choice and then followed the crack of a rifle shot that echoed over the rich dark earth of a valley verdant with spring growth. In scattered flocks birds leap skyward and with wild panic the heaving groaning pushing herd stampede until the thunderous sound of pounding hooves fade into the distance and evening quiet returns once more. But no.
Still, if it's good enough for lobsters...
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