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Jims day


jimdfish
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Picture it if you will, the Cheshire plain to the left with Jodrell bank in the distance, sunlight turning the planes taking off from manchester airport in to huge reflective birds blinding the onlooker momentarily as they soar skybound . To the right the rolling fields leading to the foothills of the penines, the hunting lodge of Lime park standing out clearly on the horizon, A sentinel, standing watch over the sleepy hamlet of manchester. In a field, sat on a drinking trough, out of view of the casual observer is Jim, A handsome chap, out for a days sport, shooting those most trying of birds, the woodpigeon. This field has not been the most productive for him, strange as it is 50 acres of Barley all of it now battered down by the unrelenting elements that have struck this tranquil glade and stopped the poor farmer from harvesting it. Our Hero, expecting it to be the same as normal, one shot and every winged foe flees and take what seems an age to return, resigns himself to another enjoyable but fruitless day, his spirits bouyed by the bag of rabbits he had shot earlier in the day. Whilst still reliving his earlier success a white striped bird of the quarry flew in and landed in the oak in which Jim was under. Before he had time to react, which in Jims case is hardly any time at all, another and the another flew into the tree. Strange thought he, It is all I can do to get a bird within 400 yards of the hide and now, here I am, In the open and have 3, no, another 2 have flown in, 5 birds above. With a cough Jim sent the birds skywards once more and dispatched two of them in quick order. He stayed where he was and bird after bird after bird kept flying into his tree, one of many in the field I should add. By the end of the day Jim had ran out of cartridges and had built himself a very tidy bag of woodies. He left the field, game bag heavy but heart light and he could be heard saying to himself as he made his way back to the trusty rascal, "What a terribly good day"

Dave

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