The gamekeeper drawing on his fag at the edge of the wood
If you’re out in the fields, ambling as you do, you might come across this chap, David, the gamekeeper, a fag in his mouth and a gun of some description in his paws for shooting at poachers. I don’t know no poachers, but they do exist. I have a book about them and I seen a program as well. But the gamekeeper knows where they’re at like. He waits at a certain fence, or at this opening to the woods or that and he keeps a look out, he listens, and he stands there for hours if he must do. There’s some lads driving down from Boro. They’re after the badgers or something. I don’t know. Maybe the rabbits.But the gamekeepers having none of it. He just stands there, drawing on his fag. Wouldn’t the poachers smell it How’m I supposed to know, but he does it, and if it’s a moonlit night, still and quiet, because it must be best for playing poachers and game keeping I expect, then he’s having the time of his life, drawing on his fag and not watching the news or flicking his phone.