At the heart of it
Last week I bought some apple juice. Not an exciting event in and of itself, but the man who runs the stall was wearing a jumper with a woodcock embroidered across it. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed his attire. Three weeks earlier, when I’d been buying cider — hair of the dog — I’d noticed he had a partridge on his shirt. “Do you shoot a few woodcock?” I asked as I handed him the coins. His face changed — I imagine he thought I was about to rain fury down upon him. I explained my fondness for woodcock: eating them, shooting them and watching them flight out of the woods at night. After we’d worked out he was a lifelong Shooting Times reader, he admitted he no longer shoots…