I was given a brace of pheasants at a shoot the other day. Apparently you are not a proper country man until you have given a back, sack and crack to some dead game birds.
I turned the radio on and began the plucking proceedings, not knowing what the hell I was doing.
Pinky was enjoying eating and choking on the odd feather, the same cannot be said for me.
Halfway through and I had torn one bird to bits, filled up a plastic bag with feathers, a head and some feet, and made a mess of the kitchen. One more to go.
Having plucked, decapitated and made legless the second bird I had to shove my hand up their backsides and scoop out all the stuff inside - of which there was way more than I thought there would be. Retchety retch!!
I had to singe off the remaining feathers and hairs but having no blowtorch, I went to buy some meths from the petrol station but they didnt have any. I then tried to get some cognac from the local off licence and the girl didnt know what it was and I couldnt see any so that was no good. In the end I held them over our living room fire for as long as my hands could bear and LL could hold Pinky back.
Looking good(ish). Then into the freezer they went. Will make sure they get munched soon. In all it took me a few hours including excursions.
I am a pheasant plucker, not a pheasant pluckers son. And I'll pluck another pheasant when I'm finished with this one.
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