Oh fuck, this reminds me of another.
1991 I think it was, and me and another mate went off to the Druid's Temple at Masham (a folly from the 1820s). We'd have a bit bairn around, he'd have a few spliffs and we'd then go off for a pint. No harm done.

Except this was mating season for pheasants, and one of them ran in front of my (t)rusty v-reg Datsun Cherry. Spang! I stop.

We walked back to the thing which was flailing away in the undergrowth. We looked at each other and it was obvious what was going to happen - except the thing was still alive.

My mate: "Well, go on, wring it's neck".
Me: "How?"
"You sort of pull and give a half-twist. Should kill it straight off."
"OK, here goes". I give it a sort of half-hearted pull and nothing happens. I try again with a bit more force to no noticeable effect. My mate gets impatient.
"Give it here you fucking wuss," or something to that effect. I gladly comply. He gives it a stretch to about the same effect as mine.
Realising that someone would be along sooner or later, we put the thing in the boot of the car. It expired around Scotch Corner, no doubt in abject terror.

It didn't taste all that good, and I didn't see what all the fuss is about. But if you're wanting to poach pheasants, I'd certainly recommend the 1981 Datsun Cherry.
(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_ =o.o=, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 16:35, Reply)