Mrs Down's Diary

As she was being closely followed into the house by Pappa I thought I had better play along with the game, although the angel halo effect of downy feathers around her head rather gave the game away. Plus the fact that Pappa was carrying a handful of plucked game birds.

Apparently she had taken to the task with gusto, displaying a lot more enthusiasm for the job than I do. I will pluck when necessary, but I never make as good a job of it as John does, frequently tear the skin on the pheasants and leave the ducks looking almost as feathery as they were when on the wing.

Plus the place John chooses to pluck in is just about the most godforsaken, cold and draughty spot on the farm.

There is no heating, no door and an accumulation of 'not to be thrown away as it is bound to come in useful' rubbish. Seating is represented by a couple of up-ended feed buckets and atmosphere enhanced by the ghosts of hundreds, if not thousands, of pheasants, ducks and geese that have been denuded of their feathers over the years.

Spooky, but Jessica loves it. "It's mine and Pappa's special place," she says. "Pappa says Mamma won't find us here." You are not kidding. Mamma steers very clear and busies herself with making warming cups of tea and coffee for the workers.

For full feature see West Sussex Gazette January 16