PostingShooting times

Further excerpts from New Town Mum's diary

Some time during 'the season'



This weekend my husband Angus is taking a party of Dutch 'guns' out to to Inverarrig, the family pile in Perthshire. They are to pay him for the privilege, though not as much as Angus would like.

Angus says vet bills for his dog Sambo, who is all but immortal as far as I can see, alimony payments to his ex-wife Kate and my interior design 'aspirations' don't come cheap. Even I knew this was plainly not the time to mention that table I plan to take at the Queen Mother Memorial's Scottish Countrywomen annual fund-raising dance at the Balmoral Hotel.

"Tight bastards," said Angus, propping his feet up on our new tartan footstool. I might almost have felt sorry for him, except he was still sporting his filthy green Chasseur wellies that he wears everywhere. As mummy would say, some men simply can't be house-trained.

I couldn't help noticing his blue eyes were popping as he spoke, emphasising his florid face. "Some of them are coming round here for a drink this evening, before we head off tomorrow. You don't mind, do you?" he said glumly.

I did think he might have given me more warning. But the evening with Willem, Jan, Kees, Roland and Hendrik was unexpectedly good fun, especially as I turned out to be the only girl there. And they were so tall, as well!

Even Angus didn't upset me as he normally would. "I think you'll find Inverarrig provides a full range of challenges for able shooters like yourselves, gentlemen," Angus informed us, nodding at me in his abrupt way as if I were a honourary gentleman. Sometimes I fear the only way Angus can live with a woman is by pretending to himself she's really a man. "Wonderful natural contours," he continued. "Means the birds can gather height and pace as they make for the woods. Before we shoot them down, that is."

The poor Dutch chaps said it was thin pickings for them back home in Holland. Turns out they're only allowed to shoot five game species: pheasant, mallard, pigeon, hare and rabbit. You need a special licence to shoot fox and deer. And they have a complete ban on the release of gamebirds. Imagine!

Willem took me to one side as the others were inspecting Angus' collection of Holland & Holland guns in the vestibule. "For us, Britain is the land of freedom," he said. "It is why we guns are here to shoot dead your Scottish birds. And of course, we are happy to do what we can to help you preserve your rights by supporting your countryside and shooting associations."

As he mentioned countryside associations a vision came to me. It was me, little old me - but a more radiant, beautiful version - clad in taffeta, perhaps accessorised with crystal tiara, hostess of a large table at the Queen Mother Memorial's Scottish Countrywomen annual function to be held six weeks' hence. No way, no way would I allow Angus to disguise my rucked-up bosoms in any of his tartan plaids. But I was getting ahead of myself. Back to the task in hand.

I smiled. Cast my eyes down. Held them there. Traversed back up, taking in seven foot of lanky Dutchman as I did so. Blinked bravely into his eyes. "It so happens, Willem, that you might be able to help us on that front...."