I'm Not The Pheasant Plucker, ....

I'm the pheasant plucker's wife,
And when we pluck together
It's a pheasant plucking life!

MrQ heard this song on the radio when our children were small, we got the record and our whole family loves it. :)

I went with my daughter to buy a car that my grandson can drive when he is seventeen in the new year. She's going to put her S in the garage and use the VW Fox over the winter. We both love visiting car sales places, the banter is such a buzz. :)

By the time I got to Amwell nature reserve the light was fading. I visited the James hide and found a pretty, very well-groomed, young woman inside nursing an OS map. She had left south-east London by train on a whim, wanting to spend time in a log-cabin in the woods. She couldn't afford that so a local B&B and the James hide in borrowed wellies was the next best thing. I asked her what she was running away from and she said she had major life choices to make.

I then went to the White hide, or The Hilton as it is known. It's huge, I had it to myself. I wasn't expecting to see a pheasant. At least it's safe from the guns here. Strange that I'm sipping Georgian wine as I write this. The word pheasant is derived from the ancient town of Phasis, the predecessor of the modern port city of Poti in Western Georgia.

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