The drive to Bath was pleasant, swift and without any real incident, if my colourful swearing at a particularly idiotic car driver wasn’t counted. The entire journey was enjoyed with the roof open and the sun beating warmly down on my uncovered head. You see, months before this day I had received an invitation to stay and participate in the annual grouse shoot from an old army and university friend of mine, which, due to unforeseen circumstances at my end, I was delighted to accept. In fact, on the surface I thought it to be rather fortuitous. But, I’m guessing you as well as I know only too well what trouble can be found in thoughts.
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I had enjoyed a great late July, early August, spent almost entirely away from Harrogate Hall, the ancestral home at the heart of the family estate i
