Charlie Flindt: Carrot-based confessions of an accidental stag-whisperer
© Mike/Adobe Stock Almost five years ago to the day, I did a “Flindt on Friday” column about the new Grenadier, listing what we farmers really wanted from any new 4×4.
The team at Ineos somehow spotted the column, and it lead to a long, boozy lunch with Neighbour Robert and one of the firm’s bigwigs in the Flowerpots.
We put down pints and he put down copious notes of the many features his new machine should and shouldn’t have.
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It also lead to an invite to the two-day launch in the snowy Cairngorms in January, which was nice.
(My motoring column in another country magazine might have prompted the invite, too, but I like to think that the Pots lunch was the prime reason.)
The other journalists were all A-list motoring writers, and while they were charming and welcoming, they seemed a bit bemused by a farmer in their midst who was obviously out for a bit of a giggle, doing Fast Show impersonations (“Gripped!” “Sorted!”) while playing with multiple diff locks, and writing “bum” in the mud on the rear door.
Early on the second day of the trip we were tucking into a monster breakfast in a hotel in Glencoe, enjoying the majestic view straight out of O-level geography.
Suddenly, several hundred yards away, two red deer stags emerged from the trees and put on a serious display of butting.
There was a rush to the huge hotel windows to get pictures.
Not me, though. I tiptoed out the hotel front door, and sneaked across the lawn to get a bit closer.
The two stags spotted me, stopped butting each other, and headed my way. I got some pictures, took a short video, and then had a bit of a panic.
These animals were big, looking very purposeful, and both had a formidable selection of sharp, pointy bits on their heads – definitely not the same as Hazel’s dopey store cattle.
Meanwhile, on the inside of the hotel’s huge window, a couple of dozen faces – and cameras – were waiting to see what would happen next.
And as much as I would have loved to turn and make a mad dash for the door, I had an image to keep up.
By now, the stags were only yards away, still heading straight for me.
As casually as I could, I turned round and “led” them towards the hotel door, where they paused for pictures before heading back down the hotel drive.
Among my fellow guests, I was now the “deer whisperer”, a figure of awe, humbly shrugging off compliments at my instinctive animal-handlings skills.
“But I’m just a farmer,” I insisted, hoping my heart rate would drop soon.
I had to miss the last part of the launch (off-roading above Loch Lomond) as I had a shoot to get home for.
Ineos laid on a capped chauffeur in a huge black Mercedes to take me to Glasgow airport for my flight back to Southampton.
He was keen to know what the event was about, where we’d been, where we’d stayed – all that sort of stuff. I mentioned the hotel in Glencoe.
“I hope you had some carrots for the pet stags,” he laughed.
I hastily denied all knowledge of stags – pet or otherwise. After all, I’ve got an image to keep up.