Always the same isn’t it? The season ends, and what do I see as I go about my day in rural England?

Pheasants. Everywhere. Plump, bold, cock pheasants, on the A1 as I wind my way out of Stamford and up towards Nottinghamshire.

There are a number of estates which the dual carriage way cuts through, and, more often than not, when there is a dip in the road down towards a natural plain in the landscape, you’ll find the odd bird gliding across the road.

Now, obviously, I keep my eyes on the road at all times, but it’s hard not to catch them in my peripheral vision. It makes me smile.

They’ve been through some experiences during the season, these birds.  

They’ve have eaten like kings and queens for the past nine months and will be sunning themselves in the summer. If we get one.

It also says something for the keepering on the estates, given how high they get and how well they fly.

Unfortunately, accidents do happen, and as the summer months come around, I know that I’ll see more and more pheasants on the side of the road.
 
These will be experienced birds and those who are still learning to fly, trying to cross a gap that is just too much for them.

I often find myself encouraging pheasants over the roads when I see them glide across my eye line.

Even though I’m not looking at them, I can be heard shouting “Go on, go, on, get over, don’t look at me, get over……..yesssss!”

Ultimately, every time I see a cock bird, it always makes me think of the season just gone and the ocean of time left until the next one starts. I’m missing shooting something chronic.

Still, it looks like City will make the play offs, and that’s something.

Do you enjoy a spot of Come Dine With Me, screened every week on Channel 4? I know I do.

For the uninitiated, the programme follows the exploits of four total strangers brought together to host three-course dinner parties for each other over four days. Each of the hosts is marked for their food, hospitality and general provision of a good dining experience.

There is also the added incentive of a £1,000 cash prize for the person with the highest marks, and the winner is usually the one that hasn't been rude, burnt their guests food/pride or called in a juggler, stripper or magician to dazzle them.

Occasionally they do celebrity ones but they aren't as good. 

Anyway, I caught a re-run of the show on More 4 last night. My good lady and I sat down to watch the third of the four episodes of the week's serial, set that week in Bath. 

I was pleased to see that the chap hosting in the episode was serving game (roast pheasant on a bed of puy lentils), and better than that, they also showed him out shooting his quarry ready for the plate. The game was hung for five days - is that too long? 

The chap was even shown preparing the breasts in his kitchen. It was good to see the sport of shooting in full swing on a prime time programme, and the narrator didn't make any disparaging remarks about what was going on. He sometimes does but that's what makes the programme as good as it is. 

So are we turning a corner with the television coverage of shooting when food is involved? It's a start if nothing else. 

Happily, the thought of eating game went down well with most of the guests, even if the host's preparation wasn't quite up to Amy Willcock standards. Still, he was offering something new to his guests, and that's a good thing. Alas, he only scored 14 out of 30 and finished last.

I didn't see the last episode because my tea was ready, a piping hot chilli no less.

I was however still pining for game by the time I'd mopped up the last splodge of chilli sauce.

But all is not lost. I'm having venision burgers on Friday. Lovely.

This is unbearable. No more shooting or beating until the end of the summer. The spring has yet to show itself as I look out of our office window, meaning I have to get through another two seasons before I can even think about dusting off my cap and breeks and get out there and enjoy my sport. So, what to do with myself in this barren period?

I’ve decided it's time to build up my shooting wardrobe from scratch (literally too, since I also need to buy a wardrobe). It will comprise a new shooting coat (Barbour), Wellingtons (Aigle), breeks (Musto), red jumper (Ralph Lauren), gingham shirt (Barbour), and a tie, stockings and garters, all from a local outfitter in Stamford.

What’s the reason for this gluttonous display of spending I hear you ask? The reasons are two fold. Firstly, and about time, I’ve dropped a stone since the end of my last day on January 24, and secondly, shamefully, I might be mistaken for a Victorian gent if I carry on wearing my present garb. In other words, times have changed and it’s no good being out of style in this game.

More importantly, friends and family have said, now that the shooting season is over, that I should learn to appreciate other things in life than sport, like the colour of the sky and Welsh rugby team’s continued successes (the sky is blue and we’re doing okay, so that didn’t last long).

But they do have a point. I speak from personal experience of the recession. Life is too short not to do things that give you pleasure. Be it an evening meal out with the other half, telling someone you love them, a pint and a laugh with the boys on a Friday or just saying ‘stuff it’ when there is a bargain to be had; one of the only ways I'll get through the summer and beyond is with a smile on my face.