DIARY
DEBORAH DEVONSHIRE Two foods which are prime examples of the capricious ways of Mother Nature are wild mushrooms, which taste so different from the tame kind, and grouse, which don't have a tame kind. They are both ,a conjuring trick — now you see them, now you don't. You can't make plans for them because they make their own rules. In one season, there can be plenty of grouse on one moor and pitifully few on another a few miles away, where the conditions in winter and spring — often blamed for a poor hatching and rearing time — have been identical. It is the same with mush- rooms. We are told if fertiliser is put on a grass field, or if it is ploughed and reseed- ed, there will be no mushrooms, Neither is true, but a mushroom field which is good one year and receives no different treat- ment the next can be barren. Why? We want rain for mushrooms, they say. The rain comes but the mushrooms don't. Then when they do appear they are so full of maggots they are inedible.
The unexplained ups and downs of the grouse population are part of their fascina- tion for anyone who is interested in what is now called 'Wild Life'. Salmon used to have the same mystique, but now they are 'farmed' and found in every restaurant in the country — cheaper than cod, they have lost the mystery of Williamson's Solar. But grouse are still truly wild and no attempt to 'farm' them has been successful. Even the gamekeepers, whose lives are spent on the moors, cannot always explain the swing in the numbers of grouse: from feast to famine and back to feast. The graph looks like a cardiogram of a desperately ill heart patient. After a record year when too many birds are left on the ground, disease strikes and few survive. Such is their power of recovery that they can increase in number again in next to no time. I am glad that the ways of grouse and mushrooms remain unexplained. There are lots of books on mushrooms (but few on grouse) and the vast number of fungi we used to lump together and call toadstools. Experts arrange forays which you can join to learn about which kinds are edible and which will do you in immediately. Look out — the dif- ferences are not always as obvious as you might think.
Anew treat for us is puffballs — the bigger the better — super-delicious when sliced and fried. Luckily, few English peo- ple fancy them. In the same way that our fishermen throw away pike, puffballs are kicked to bits by disappointed mush-
roomers — to the dismay of any French- man for whom both are a delicacy. When you are tired of blackberrying and get bold- er in the search for free food, try 'Chicken of the Woods'. They are those whitish growths on the bole of an oak which look like enormous plates. You will have to carry a heavy and offensive weapon to dis- lodge them from their host, but it is worth the trouble when they are cooked and you discover not only a new taste but a new consistency.
The pullets arrived early this year. The old hens were moved into one house to make room for the young ones, so smart and neat to look at. All were shut in for two days to make sure they went back to the proper house at night. In spite of this time- honoured way of explaining to chickens where home is, several of the old girls went back to their original houses, only to find the pullets installed. They were not pleased. They looked as puzzled and annoyed as you and I would be if we returned to our bedroom to find it crammed full of strange teenagers. Some of these teenagers have started laying very small eggs of superb quality, which are not appreciated by housewives as they are a far cry from the big eggs we are told we must eat. To explain their lack of size, we put a notice in the farm shop saying: 'Pullets' eggs, half price', but this means nothing because no one knows what a pullet is. Oh dear!
The two best days of entertainment of the year took place here last weekend: the 15th Country Fair. It was enjoyed by 50,000 people, watching or taking part in every conceivable country sport, skill or pastime, from clay shooting, fly casting, catapults, falconry, archery, stunt aeroplanes — too frightening to watch — terrier racing and gun dog displays. Jemima Parry-Jones brought her birds of prey. On a still day, one of her peregrines rose higher and high- er till it was a speck in the sky. Jemima swung a lure of raw meat on a string round and round and the bird made a spectacular swoop, its wings folded so that it dived like an arrow at 100 miles an hour. The stars of the show were the King's Troop, which bring a lump to the throat when they gallop into the ring pulling their heavy gun car- riages and making the earth tremble. They perform an intricate dance, harnesses jan- gling and wheels missing each other by inches, at a furious pace till they thunder out of the ring still at the gallop. Mr Blobby marches with any band he can latch onto, followed like the Pied Piper by a crowd of children. The rows of shops here are nearer to home than Bond Street, the assistants are much more pleasant and a wardrobe against the Derbyshire winter was bought in no time. The music of the pipe bands goes through the head for days after the event. Desert Orchid was cheered and the ferret racing drew its own crowd of fans. I hope our Ed will have The Spectator's learn of ferrets trained to the minute through the Doughty Street drainpipes for next year's event. Perhaps he could organise a busload of readers to cheer them on. The best notice was a sign saying: 'Lurchers' carpark'. I don't know how many lurchers can read, let alone drive, but it looked pret- ty full and the occupants piled out of their cars and raced against each other all day.
Anew word which is used to describe anything from houses to holidays is 'afford- able'. Surely what Sir Andrew Lloyd Web- ber and an unemployed miner can afford are not the same, yet it is trotted out as equally applicable to all. I imagine it means cheap, so why not say so?
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