I am (supposed to be) very busy at the moment organising a show of my paintings which is opening this Saturday. As sometimes happens with life all sorts of other things are happening too and I have some big decisions to make. Which doesn’t explain why I am faffing around doing sketches of the local pheasant. The most likely explanation is that something in my overheated mind has short circuited and, like Wallanders father in Henning Mankells crime series who paints only grouse, I will churn out pictures of pheasants for the forseeable future.
I keep seeing this guy crossing the field at the back of my house. I am usually alerted by his crowing. He struts across the grass in that curious bowing manner that pheasants have. Sometimes he can sense me watching and he freezes and then crouches down into the grass to ‘hide’ but I can still see his big fat head sticking up. He puts me in mind of Mr. Collins in Jane Austens Pride and Prejudice.
Eventually he moves on, hurrying a little towards the road where he wanders around until he is startled by a passing car which causes him to leap over the hedge or scurry through a gateway and into the undergrowth. He looks over dressed for the countryside and unprepared for the dangers that lurk in the fields and on the road.
I am sure he would be happier in a drawing-room having ludicrous conversations or a in parsonage making up bombastic sermons and looking at fossils stopping only for tea and scones and to chivvy the housekeeper. Yes, my mind has definitely short-circuited. Again.
SEE ALSO: PHEASANT!!HOW TO APPROACH WILDLIFE