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I had a lovely meal not long ago in Strathpeffer, there were about thirty of us, and the guy sitting opposite me was eating duck (I was eating chicken, by the way, with sausage stuffing) and this reminded me of a lovely bit of duck (‘Canard a l’Orange’) I had in a London restaurant twenty five years ago near Covent Garden at the Hogs Trotters, the Beefcake Pothouse, something like that, and very tasty it was too apart from the embedded lead shot that had been used to shoot it (you don’t get any of that culinary palavering in the ‘Strath’, you know: no, a top notch and unleaded cooked duck there), so we complained politely and were given free brandies for the remainder of the evening, after which I recall very little.

My duck-eating companion at the time was a guy called John who, that very morning in his role as Social Work Assistant with the London Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, had been chased down Portobello Road by a man wielding a brick under the false impression that improper advances had been made towards his wife on discovering them both rummaging in the bedroom cupboard, when in fact John had simply popped by to offer his advice on the home decorating front and the bedroom cupboard just happened to be where the paint pots were stored. Easy mistake to make, eh?

John’s keen analytical brain summarized the situation in an instant, concluded that rational explanation was futile and legged it down the road (as any self respecting cupboard rummager would do under the circumstances) with the ‘brick-wielding’ man in hot pursuit.

Needless to say he survived to tell the tale, and with aching legs and an indignant tone of voice recounted the events to me that evening over brandy and ‘Canard a l’Orange’ in the Hogs Trotters, the Beefcake Pothouse or whatever the place was called. Sympathetic as always, my laughter could be heard reverberating outside in the street.

As an aside, John is now a highly respected University Lecturer (Dr John, actually) in Philosophy and Religious Education at a well-known Scottish University and undoubtedly stresses the importance of the following maxim to his students during his well-attended seminars on Ethical Dilemmas: “never rummage in a cupboard with a married woman (unless the married woman is the woman to whom you are married), lest you be chased down the street by a brick-wielding maniac intent on making contact with your head” or something along those lines anyway. “‘I think therefore I am” (Descartes, circa 1640) is all very well in most situations, of course, but sometimes “I must run faster than thee so I am not hit about the head with a brick” (Vickery, circa 2008) is the more fundamental concept to grasp. It’s as simple as that.

But enough of such havering and back to my meal in the ‘Strath’.  Personally I won’t eat duck these days, you know, no matter what you call it, because we have a pet duck called Hamish (four years old now), a rejected egg, who spent his formative weeks living in a shoe box in the house: the first image imprinted upon his brain was that of our eldest daughter who from that moment on became mother duck as far as Hamish was concerned, following her around the house, watching television with her (often perched on her shoulder), listening to the latest musical offerings, splashing about in the washing up bowl and occasionally – when he felt like it – pecking the dogs, fantastic, although eventually we had to repatriated him to the garden pond (house training ducks is nigh impossible, you know) where he continues to live happily ever after in the company of his brothers and sisters. A fairy tale ending with no hint of orange sauce.

 ‘Hamish a l’Orange’?  No, that would be unthinkable, wouldn’t it?

Copyright Patrick Vickery
(Published in the Ross-shire Journal  April 4th 2008)

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Patrick Vickery

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