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Margot, get your gun!

shooting ground

The shooting ground!

Well, dear Reader, I got my hands on a gun…..or a 20 bore Beretta to be more precise!  The day arrived when I finally made it to a fabulous day of clays and cake with the even more fabulous Chelsea Bun Club girls.  A lovely group of ladies who enjoy shooting  more than shopping and who can bake cakes that would put Mary Berry into serious baking retirement!

I arrived nervous and sure that I wouldn’t hit a thing.  For moral support, I decided to persuade a lovely new friend from the village to come along.  However, I quickly realised that it was possible that with all her years of country experience, she might well be the best beginner shot!  Having listened to the safety briefing, picked up my hat, ear plugs (oh the glamour!) and a box of canary yellow cartridges, I made my way with our group to the shooting ground.  I was in shooting awe of the smart ladies with elegant looking black cartridges.  Wonderful to see all the gents look twice as 60 ladies emerged out of the club heading towards the shooting ground.  Be warned chaps – lady guns and plenty of them.  Surely the ultimate in countryside girl power!

Determined that I was not going to hit anything, I opted to go last in the group.  Rob, our first instructor was brilliant – his catchphrase for where to place your hand on the gun “Wood is good” had me in fits of giggles….  Poor Rob, he did blush rather profusely!  The dear new village friend was predictably good and we all whooped and cheered for every clay hit.  The ladies in our group were jolly good fun and not at all the sort of stuffy shooting set I had been dreading an encounter with.  My moment of truth arrived as I uttered for the millionth time that I wasn’t going to hit a thing before holding the gun and shouting “Pull”.  To my surprise, I hit not just my first one but the four subsequent clays too!  Rob rescued my virgin cartridge as a prized souvenir and then said that I was clearly telling fibs.

Get your ammo girls!

Get your ammo girls!

I promise, dear Reader, I really had never shot anything until that moment.  Thrilling!  The morning continued and we had a chance to try out plenty of other clay shooting thingies (very technical shooting term, I will have you know, dear Reader), firing every which way at you and some bouncing along the ground like rabbits.  All the instructors were brilliant and I managed a rather respectable 16 out of 30 on the score card.  Onwards to tea and cake  – a welcome end to the day.  My feet and hands had just about turned to ice standing around in the cold.

Clays and cake- what a marvellous combination!

Clays and cake- what a marvellous combination!

Might have to persuade Jerry to invest in a new set of Le Chameau boots for me in order to ward off the cold next time?!  That’s right, dear Reader, there will be most certainly be a next time and a time after that!!  I am truly bitten by the shooting bug and cannot wait to book another day with the charming Chelsea Bun Club ladies.  I am so very glad they convinced me to come along.  Let me loose with a shotgun and a load of clays any day.  Countryside beware – Margot wants a gun!

virgin cartridge

My first cartridge of the day – first ever smashed clay!

Getting in the mood…

panettone

Delicious Christmas goodies…we wanted to buy them all!

I have to say, dear Reader, that I have been really suffering from Christmas malaise this year.  Our first countryside Christmas and I am not quite ready to be Christmassy just yet!  I AM excited but there just seems so much to get through before the 25th that pretty soon, I shall be ready to flop by the fire with a bottle of sloe gin and not surface until New Year’s eve!

Desperately trying to be organised, I did manage to get to our local farm shop’s ‘Christmas Fayre’ and it didn’t disappoint!  Hung turkeys, oodles of Christmas gifts, mulled wine and mince pies…..Christmas on a platter!  Newlyns Farm Shop did a jolly good job of twisting my Christmas arm and I stocked up on the essentials: meat, wine, panettone and Gentleman’s Relish!  There were gifts a plenty to buy too so no family member will be without something foodie in their stocking this year.   A wonderful way to start the festive season.  Jerry and I enjoyed being plied with mulled wine and mince pies immensely!  The Christmas feast on the day itself has its festive centrepiece as Jerry and I finally persuaded Primrose that Christmas goose is much like ‘posh chicken’.  (She stills remembers me tricking her into eating Jemima Puddleduck).  Rather nonchalantly, she did ask if we would be slaughtering one of our own chickens for lunch – frightening how she has become more ‘countrified’ than the rest of us so quickly!  So with Primrose’s help, I shall trek over to the farm shop on Christmas Eve to pick up our bird and try to hide it from Monty’s ravenous jaws when I get home.

No turkey for us this year!

AMAZING to see all these oven ready birdies on show!

Don’t worry, Monty certainly won’t be going without – thanks to the lovely farm shop butchers!  He will have his own Christmas gnawfest with this little number…

Fit for a Great Dane!

Fit for a Great Dane!

With festive fayre in the bag so to speak, I could turn my attentions to the buying of presents.  Don’t tell anyone, dear Reader but I am afraid that I might not be able to give some of the presents I have bought to their intended recipients as they are simply too fabulous to give away.  I know, I know……Christmas is ALL about the giving of presents and not the receiving part.  However, I might have to sneak this little kindling set at the very back under the tree and hope that no one notices it.  I would so dearly like to keep it!

Might just forget to wrap this one!

Ever so tempting to forget to wrap this one! (Garden Trading)

With a huge dent made into the long list of preparations, surely dear Reader, it wouldn’t be amiss to treat myself to an early festive tipple or two?!  I have been a good Margot after all…..promise.

A little Christmas punch, anyone?

A little Christmas punch, anyone?

(The lovely Countrywives have very kindly invited me into their country coven and I shall be adding my favourite Christmas recipes over on their website each week – do come over and take a look if you have a mo)

Clucky cluck

Our feathered ladies and their hen chalet!

Our feathered ladies and their hen chalet!

With all the excitement of not having power for three days following the storm, I completely forgot to tell you about the latest additions to Margot’s brood, dear Reader.  Our first foray into feathers…….CHICKENS!!!!

Having bulldozed Jerry into the idea, aided and abetted by Primrose and Poppy, we somehow managed to find four little hens looking for a ‘good life’ too!  So off I popped in the car for the five mile drive to Alison, the ‘chicken lady’, who was a delight to meet and managed to show us all her cockerels and hens, despite suffering from a dreadful harvest injury having fallen from a ladder whilst picking apples.  Only in the countryside dear Reader…!  Primrose was fascinated by all the different sorts of chickens especially the Legbars and their blue eggs but most of all wanted to see Alison’s pony.  With the mention of vintage tractors too, I thought that Primrose might well adopt Alison and give her own mother the heave-ho!  Chickens, ponies, AND vintage tractors…….Primrose was in seventh heaven!  The whole ‘putting the chickens into a box’ malarkey was hilarious and we nearly lost the four of them in the wind when Primrose opened the crate and attempted to pick one up!  Finally in their cardboard box, I had visions of them escaping in the back of the Lanny as we made our way home along the country lanes….thankfully all was well and the Hampshire feathered four clucked away merrily,

SO without further ado dear Reader, I introduce to you our four clucky hybrid girls:

Primrose's plucky Pru

Primrose’s plucky Pru

Prudence (Pru for short) is Primrose’s hen and she is a Magpie.  The biggest hen by far and quite feisty too!  She was the first to lay on their second day with us and has already given us some beautiful double-yolked eggs.  A rather wonderful treat indeed!

Our little brown girl

Our little brown girl

Henny Penny (Poppy’s girl) is a very friendly little Columbian BlackTail and comes from the same breeder who breeds hens for Prince Charles’ Highgrove estate and Waitrose!  She is a poppet and really doesn’t mind the fact that she has to make do with our more rustic setting when all her little brown henny friends have gone to far grander surroundings.

Our green dotted lady

Dotty, my little hen, (a very nervous Cuckoo Speckledy) seems to be the primary escape artist and can often be found sitting on the roof of the hen house.  Dot evades all human touch for now but I am intent on winning her round with mealworms!

Our rock chick!

Our rock chick!

Finally, Layla, Jerry’s chicken (spot the attempt at a comedy name from Jerry) a beautiful looking Light Sussex.  So far she seems very shy and only ventures out when she spies a handful of corn being scattered.  She loves to cosy up in the nesting box.

With the hens settled and exploring their new surroundings, Jerry set about erecting the electric fence.  A much bigger job than Jerry and I expected.  I’m afraid that Jerry spent most of an afternoon in the rain cursing me for persuading him into an adventure with livestock.  To be fair to Jerry, I had tangled most of the netting and he spent an hour getting soaked to keep the hens safe at night from Mr Foxy Loxy.  To add to the drama, Monty got a little too acquainted with the fence at one point and has since given it and the chickens a very wide berth!!!

Look at those beauties!!!

Look at those beauties!!!

Two weeks in and the excitement of peeping into the nest box hasn’t waned.  Each day, Primrose, Poppy and I tiptoe to the coop to see if our feathered friends have left us any eggy offerings.  I have to say that even the hen’sceptic’ Jerry is mildly won over by the abundance of brown eggs!  Two a day so far and some HUGE eggs have appeared considering the hens are only 24 weeks old.  It is miraculous how they manage it!  Happy to report that I am now completely hen obsessed and spend most mornings (at the crack of dawn standing in the chicken run in my pyjamas, coat and wellies) trying to work out who has given us an egg and who is top of the pecking order.  I have also developed a rather serious habit for buying chicken paraphernalia……..well, would you expect anything less, dear Reader?  In fact, I am off to buy an egg run from my favourite haunt, Garden Trading, right this minute to display our ‘egg’cellent haul in the kitchen for all to see.

Our very first boiled eggs from our own hens! Perfect!

Our very first boiled egg from our own hens! Perfect!

Plunged into darkness

(Posted after almost 72hrs without heating, hot water, electricity…….welcome to country living!!!)

Our kitchen light

Our kitchen light

I sit here, dear Reader, writing this plunged in darkness and with the last of my computer’s feeble battery.  The St Jude storm predicted to be a replica of the Great Storm of 1987 hit our little hamlet hard.  Fancy naming a storm after the patron saint of lost causes?!  Bound to be a corker with a name like that!  I can say quite categorically that it has definitely left us feeling a bit bereft and bewildered!  Although, there was no major damage to houses in the village from the fallen trees, we have no power.  Yes NO ELECTRICITY…….  No heating, hot water or means of cooking.  The great whoosing of wind work the four of us at 04:30am and terrified that overhanging nearby trees would hit the house, we all retreated downstairs to light candles and sit it out.  So when it arrived, daylight was a welcome sight despite the fact that Primrose and Poppy found the whole episode quite thrilling to be honest!  Realising that power might be some time in coming back, Primrose announced that it would be like the ‘old-fashioned days’ and we set to work digging out the candles, thinking of how we would manage without the very thing which we take for granted.  Jerry in his jolly green Lanny giant left for the station, only to find that there would no trains until much later in the day.  Just when I thought that the entire day was going to be a write off, our dear neighbours, the Worthingtons, arrived on the doorstep with flasks of hot water for that most basic of needs…..a morning cup of cha!  I was so excited that I think I made rather a silly of myself, kissing Mrs Worthington with considerable drama and exclaiming that she had saved the day (well I had been up since the wee small hours of the morning)!  Turns out that their oil-fuelled Aga can be used manually whereas our oily boiler only works with the electric timers etc.  Rather natty those Agas!!  Mr Worthington did say that the last power outage lasted for a week……not such great news.  Still, the girls and I ploughed on with our day and Jerry managed to get to the Big Smoke.  Books were read, toys played with, paintings painted and quite a lot of stamping was achieved too.  It was truly wonderful not to have the television on blaring Mr Tumble out from the sitting room but I really did miss my daily dose of Radio 4 if I am honest.

Walking round the village later in the day, we spied the many trees which had come down in the night and I gave a little nod to the old chap upstairs for sparing our little garden and old cottage.  However, I was not impressed with the torrential rain which hit the girls, pup and I as we negotiated fallen branches along the bridleway.  At one point, we had to crawl through a small gap in the leafy debris and gnarly bits of tree trunk in order to carry on to the house.  As I took off the backpack which Poppy was firmly strapped into and squeezed both girls through and then myself, I did think that perhaps I had been a little barmy to try to carry out such an expedition with two small children and a wayward puppy.  Thank goodness, Monty had decided to behave himself and not run away with the lead.  Primrose was fabulously chirpy for once and announced that we were country girls and “This is what country girls have to do!”  I marvelled that our new found country existence had changed our rather risk adverse townie tot into an intrepid explorer.  “How killing!” as a ninety two year old in the village would say!

Our village is abundant with dear souls who have rallied round with flasks of hot water, offers of heating meals on their Agas and who have come to check on those who are at the mercy of the electricity engineers!  Bath time was a hoot in the dark and luckily, we still had enough hot water in the tank for Poppy and Primrose to warm up after a soaking wet walk.  I even managed to convince my little darlings to go to bed at 5:45pm as it was so dark here.  Thankfully, my dear Mamma arrives with a camping stove in the morning and I will no doubt have to take the girls on a long drive to charge up my mobile phone as the battery is on its last legs.  Keeping my fingers crossed that Jerry makes it back from London without too much difficulty too.

Still, sitting here with the log fire on and surrounded by candlelight, it has to be said that there is a kind of romance to being in deepest darkest countryside with nothing but a meagre ration pack of candles, batteries and a good book to while away the hours.  I am not sure I will be saying that in another 24 hours when we still have no power but for now, dear Reader, I am enjoying the beauty of the ‘old-fashioned life’ as Primrose put it earlier.  Better sign off now as looks like I need to find some more candles to keep us going this evening!

blackout

Shot for the Pot week

 

Shot_for_the_Pot_Logo_02_RGB_688The Countryside Alliance’s Shot for the Pot campaign is a marvellous way to induct new ‘gamers’ and invigorate longstanding lovers with ideas on how to eat, prepare and cook those all things gamey.  Having embraced a countryside lifestyle and very much been at the heart of a huntin’, shootin’, fishin’ way of living in recent months, I jumped at the chance to write for Shot for the Pot week and set about creating a recipe in homage to a delicious and free range source of meat.

Knowing relatively little about shooting and game birds before Jerry and I took the plunge to move from town to country, I have found myself learning an awful lot about pens, pegs, ‘pheasies’ and mostly how not to enrage local gamekeepers as the owner of a lively working cocker spaniel puppy.  The weekly pop pop pop of gunshot in the air and the Range Rovers driven by men in their tweedy best are a source of wonder to me and I am always on the lookout for their spoils picked up and sold on by local game dealers.  A sight I shan’t forget in a hurry this autumn is one of a gamekeeper’s Gator with a vast number of partridge hung under the canvas in the back en route to the table of the local landowner.  In fact, it reminds me still of my first encounter with a gamebird up close and personal….a bird in the hand one could say, dear Reader.

On an early morning walk along our bridleway, Monty, our cocker pup, spied a wee little partridge sitting under a tree and not moving.  An injured bird is sadly rather a sitting duck (excuse the pun) for an untrained gundog puppy and I am ashamed to admit that before I even had the chance to get in there first, Monty picked it and wouldn’t let me have it.  Spaniel well and truly chastised, I wrestled the poor bird from his jaws and naively, was hoping to send it on its merry way after a quick once over.  However, the terrified little thing took one look at me and promptly breathed its last in my hand.  I was then faced with a dilemma which only a townie would have deliberated over…..what ought I to do with the bird?  It was past a trip to the vet and I couldn’t take it home as my girls would have cried at the sight of the dead bird and been appalled at the thought of it being hung in the laundry room in readiness for the pot.  So I placed it down gently at the edge of the first field I came to, knowing full well that our local pair of red kites would probably spy it and have a good luncheon.  Guilt remained with me for the rest of the walk but on my return back towards the bridleway, the red legged chap had disappeared.  Terrified that I was going to be in serious trouble with the gamekeepers who have a fierce attitude towards the local villagers and their dogs, I was grateful to the kites for clearing up the scene of the crime.

The poor little chap

The poor little chap

It would seem that I am not the only one who has a few teething problems with gundogs and gamebirds.  The very next day I set out with Monty on our daily romp towards the woods when I was greeted by the head gamekeeper and his dogs.  He was checking the pegs for the day’s shooting and had his two Labradors trotting in tow.  I called out to him to ask if I was alright to carry on my walk and he yelled back his morning greeting and said that all was well.  With Monty firmly on his lead (I am proud to say that I never flout the rule of dogs on leads on the shooting estate as it seems so unreasonable to do so when so much effort seems to go into prepping for a shoot), I continued.  As I narrowed the gap between us and the gamekeeper with his excitable black bruisers, I caught sight of his dogs flushing out a young male pheasant and then with the bird firmly between nashers, chasing off towards their boss!  Monty watched with considerable excitement and started barking rather loudly!  Gripping Monty’s lead firmly, I greeted a rather embarrassed gamekeeper who had promptly snatched hold of said dog with pheasant clamped to his jaws.  He then proceeded to hold an entirely brief conversation with me with the bird pointlessly hidden behind his back, desperate for me not to have noticed.  I’m afraid I couldn’t resist cracking a joke about swapping his ‘well behaved’ dogs for my jaunty spaniel pup!  He was puce with embarrassment and then mumbled something about going back to his car for something he had forgotten.  We said our goodbyes……me giggling to myself all the way to the woods!  In fact, it raises a smile even now!

A brace! - hurrah!

A brace – hurrah!

So in homage to you, dear Mr Head Gamekeeper and for all your hard work with pens, partridge, pheasant and pesky gundogs, I present my little recipe offering for the Countryside Alliance’s Shot for the Pot week:

RSome of autumn at its best!oast Partridge with Quince and Bacon (Serves 2 hungry countrymen or women!)

  • 2 partridge, plucked, hung and ready for the pot
  • 2 ripe quince, diced (pear would work well too)
  • 4 rashers of smoked streaky bacon, diced
  • a good dash of Somerset Pomona, a cider brandy (Pineau or Calvados would also be good)
  • half a glass of white wine
  • a teaspoon of Dijon mustard
  • a tablespoon of double cream
  • butter
  • olive oil

Heat a skillet or deep pan, adding a lump of butter and a splash of olive oil.  When the butter has started to sizzle, then add the partridge to the pan, spooning over the butter.  Fry until the outsides are golden in colour.  Place on a plate to one side to rest whilst you prepare the other ingredients.

Set your oven to temperature 200 degrees centigrade for an electric/fan oven, gas mark  or be ready to add to the hot oven of your Aga, Rayburn or Everhot. 

Into the pan, add the diced quince and bacon along with a tiny knob of butter to prevent them sticking to the bottom of the pan.  Fry until the quince has taken on a good colour and the bacon is on its way to being crispy.  Then deglaze the pan with the Pomona and set alight with a match to burn off the alcohol.  Do watch hair and eyebrows with this one!  Once the liquid has had a good sizzle and the flames have died down, add the partridge back to the pan along with the white wine. 

Place the pan into the oven and roast for 10 minutes – any longer and the partridge has a tendency to be as tough as old boots I think.  Once the 10 minutes are up, lift the partridge out of the pan and place on a plate, under a blanket of foil.  The birds need to rest and you can then crack on with finishing the sauce in the meantime.

Heat the liquid in the pan and allow to simmer gently, adding the mustard and cream.  Cook down for a minute or two until the sauce has thickened a touch.  I like to wilt a little spinach into the sauce but feel free to omit or cook some greenery to serve as an accompaniment. 

Place the birds back into the pan and spoon a little of the sauce over them to coat them in mustardy, creamy quince and bacon goodness. 

Jerry and I snaffled these with a good hunk of bread to mop up the sauce but you could easily serve with mashed potato or indeed, a healthy portion of polenta. 

Gamey deliciousness!

Gamey deliciousness!

Easy as pie so do give gamebirds a go and make sure you have a look at all the wonderful recipes and ‘how to’ guides on the Shot for the Pot website too.  I’m off to track down some venison next as Jerry has a hankering for a good game pie.  Wonder if I could have a word with the gamekeeper’s labs to see if they could bag me a deer…..?!