As far as I’m concerned, holidays should consist of walking-up grouse in the Hebrides or casting a fly on a hill loch. Last week though, under duress, I went to France. Predictably, it was too hot and the beer was weak and, a little less predictably, I was put in charge of an aggressive Dalmatian.
One evening, while watching the sun go down, my host remarked: “We often have the chasse in these fields. They park in the courtyard and go where they please.” He added they had never given anyone permission, “it’s just what they’ve always done”.
I thought about how difficult it can be to get permission to shoot in the UK. In many ways, our culture of landownership has a lot going for it, particularly in terms…
