HALF a dozen hazel sticks fill the back of my car. John has just returned from a trip to the farm on the moors where his bees spent their summer holidays. But this trip was not for his bees. They are tucked up for the winter close to home.

No the trip this afternoon, along with his brother Geoff, was to cut a number of sticks for John to carve. He is really into his sticks now and there is quite a demand for them. But the supply to friends is limited by the number of sticks he can find.

John’s signature carving style is of the head of a teal carved onto a hazel stick. I am not allowed to tell you exactly how he cuts the stick, on pain of withdrawal of my morning cup of tea being delivered to me while I am still in bed.

Once the shape of the head has been roughly carved, John models the exact shape of the teal from a number of birds we have in my freezer. Every now and then I get a shock as I investigate a mystery carrier bag stuffed in with the frozen vegetables and ice cream, only to be regarded by a cool, super cool that is, gaze from a rigid duck.

But with the shooting season now over for another year, those teal are in danger of being defrosted and cooked as the game in my freezer gets eaten. Mind you I think I would have to be desperate, the teal are still fully feathered and not even drawn.

And all around us on the roads, you can tell that game birds know that, until autumn, they are safe from the guns and that it is game on for the mating season. Even this morning, from my front window, I spotted a mallard in red hot pursuit of a potential mate. Head low to the ground, wings hunched above his body, this mallard drake had only one thought in its head and that was catching up with the enticing young duck just ahead of him. I averted my gaze when he did. Not into voyeurism.

Pheasants too must have noted the date. As I drove through some woodland, pheasant cocks seem to have abandoned all thoughts of road safety. The lengthening days and extra sunlight perhaps trigger the potential of finding a mate. Whatever, something was addling the birds bird brains. They almost seemed to wait until I was upon them to decide to dash across the road to check out that flighty young hen. I could have brought home as good a bag of birds as John does after a days shooting if I had wanted. And smashed my headlights too as well most like.