It can happen anytime time between the hours of eight in the morning to eight at night. It starts with an eerie low bass note and builds to a shrieking crescendo of earth moving, body piercing cacophony of sound, like something crawling from the depths of hell, with a serious headache, indigestion and a major root canal problem.

Over the last couple of years, I have read with great interest the political machinations regarding hunting in the UK. I am afraid from a PC point of view I have no real opinion either way on the subject, other than I liked the idea of the Stirrup Cup before the off, but I suppose they haven't banned that yet.

Well the best "Liste" won, but I lost out by just a few votes, which was a little disappointing, but hey, all's fair in love and politics.

 So why was I sitting in a freezing cold hunting lodge, -8°C outside, at 10-O-Clock in the evening with 18 other very chilled people, a real log fire with pretend heat (-°C inside), some fairly grotty cooking wine and a pizza, well dear reader the answer is "La Liste".

I have never actually understood whom the estate agent works for in France other than himself.  I know that the Notaire works for both parties