The trouble with weekends – and Wednesday – is that you share the magic mornings with the hunters.
As I walked up to the village of Serres this morning, I was suddenly overtaken by three 4x4s and vans – a positive traffic jam by local standards. I realised that the sanglier (wild boar) must have shifted on the hillside above, and some of the hunters were rushing from one end of the valley to the other.
I was right: as I returned down from Serres I heard some very loud bangs. And then silence.