Dave's Diary: Good game, good game
It must have been the Somerset air but on Tuesday, February 19th, I, David Andrew Ord, ate two game pies.
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Not at the same sitting, that would have been madness. No, six hours apart I chose the same thing from two separate pub menus.
In my defence at the first of the establishments there were only three options. A beef lasagne, some vegetarian nonsense, or tender chunks of rabbit and pheasant underneath a fluffy pastry hat. It was a no brainer. And very nice too.
However at 1923 GMT on the Somerset coast in the small town of Kilve, I really should have known better. The menu was extensive, two of my dining partners ate rib eye steak, the third duck.
I was all set to take on the gammon - until it transpired it was in fact Somerset ham, served cold. No I couldn't have that. So what did the landlord recommend?
"Game pie sir, we've had rave reviews for it - it's absolutely fantastic". And with a content nod and in blissful ignorance of the fact I'd ate the very same thing only a few hours previously I bellowed "that will do for me."
By the time I realised the error of my ways it was too late, the order had been processed.
There was schoolboy sniggering from others around the table who really should have known better as I asked "what harm can two game pies in a day do?"
I had my answer at 4am with stifling stomach cramps which I believe must be the closest a man can come to the pain of child birth.
I tried walking it off, stroking my now distressed stomach as you would an ailing dog, and in the end resorted to watching early morning television in the foetal position whimpering uncontrollably.
Still I'd recovered in time to take on the full cooked breakfast in my Shepton Mallet bolthole but I'd learned a very valuable lesson. Never underestimate the richness of pheasant.
A few hours later and I was all the wiser about team Nicholls for the Cheltenham Fez. The handler admitted himself this was a season of transition but was sweet on Dodging Bullets, Silviniaco Conti, Zarkandar and Sam Winner.
He was almost envious of the firepower Messrs Henderson and Mullins had but added "you have to make every bullet count at Cheltenham." He's still in there scrapping.
No, the star names may be missing but Paul Nicholls will be back at the top of the tree soon, bigger and stronger than ever.
You can't keep a good man down - as I myself am currently proving in a KFC restaurant just north of Wincanton.
I'm safe here, even the Colonel has yet to stick breadcrumbs on a pheasant.