A fitting finale

Tessa Waugh relates the second part of her husband's final day hunting hounds, which looked to be a hip flask tasting session until the proverbial three o'clock offered one last hurrah

- Tessa Waugh

IT was Adam’s last day hunting hounds but so far, a disappointing lack of smell had rendered the occasion uneventful. It was already two o’clock and while the pack moved through a plantation on our home patch, a serious hunting wife would have been standing by hoping to provide some helpful information to help kick-start the day. Not me, I’m afraid.

As is often the case on a slow one, there was mutiny in the ranks. Jeremy, George and I had formed a row with a crew of Yorkshire visitors and flasks were being exchanged with alarming efficiency.

We umm-ed and ahh-ed as we sampled each one; a fruity sloe gin, sharp and pleasant, followed by something spicy and whisky-esque.

“That’s Glayva,” roared George, amping up his Scottish accent for effect.