To Parrox Hall for a fabulous weekend with Harold, Rebecca and a host of other interesting people. This bit of Lancashire has a windswept beauty of big skies, black soil and ancient villages. Parrox, Harold's ancestral home, is an unspoilt house complete with its Jacobean furniture, panelling and flags. Even the country house uber-snob Hugh Massingbeard praised its intactness. One or other of the four poster bed, damson gin or the Parrox ghosts delivered me to some of the best sleep I have had in ages. Much needed.
The weekend passed with roaring fires, a little roaring drunken-ness, good dinners, a bracing shoot and fine company. Apart from an unfortunate duck, the wildlife of North Lancashire remained relatively unscathed by my gun. Honour was served all round.
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