Come and hit a deer, boy; have a cigar.

Come on, I have to get marks for ingenuity?  Maybe the title of the blog is not an accurate representation of a Floyd lyric, but it is one of the well known “misheard lyrics”.  If you can do better trying to find a lyric relevant to deer then please let me know, because I was (almost) stumped.

Having got that out of the way; before I managed to get Bordeaux completely out of my system, I had the chance of a guided tour of Bradgate Park in Leicestershire from one of my daughter’s friends.  I say a chance, but it could be I gave her no option but to offer. Either way – mission accomplished. For someone that is used to trawling around Wollaton Park after deer, Bradgate is HUGE. And hilly. And the deer are very good at hiding.

The intention was to try and get some autumn colours as well as some rutting shots. Sadly, the colours were not that good on the trees just yet, and although we did not see any deer fighting or standing off to each other, we did get some shots of them roaring.  That also helped to locate them.

Since my wife now seems to be paranoid that I am fat, lazy, and about to drop dead of a heart attack, I guess some frequent visits to Wollaton Park to try and get some action and colour are on the cards.  Not today though, it is raining.  Today I will eat cream cakes and lard sandwiches, and drink beer whilst I listen to my arteries clog up with fatty deposits.  Live life on the edge. Freedom for Tooting, Wolfie!

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