A divine punctuation
It’s the sight we all wait for on a wet and cold shooting day. The welcome vision of a vehicle with its tailgate up, packed with flasks, food and the odd bottle of sloe gin, ready to restore weary Guns midway through the morning’s shooting. Some call it ‘elevenses’ — a lovely word reminiscent of my school days — others call it by what ever might be in the hamper. When my husband ran a family shoot in Dorset, we called it ‘soup’.
And for anyone who had set out early that morning, driving from far
