Aug 29, 2026 · 2 hr 3 min · 23 segments
We nearly finish Danny the Champion of the World, talk pancakes and have a long What am i? game! Thanks to the wonderful NZ Maritime Museum - Hui te Ananui a Tangaroa - for sponsoring the show!…
Nico and JimmyHostHow's it going? Chapter
17.
The Taxi Two minutes later, we were safely inside the taxi and cruising slowly down the bumpy track towards the road.
My father was bursting with pride and excitement.
He kept leaning forward and tapping Charlie Kinch on the shoulder and saying, How about it, Charlie? How about this for a haul? And Charlie kept glancing back, pop-eyed at the huge bulging sacks.
Cripes, man, he kept saying.
How did you do it? Danny did it, my father said proudly.
My son Danny is the champion of the world.
Then Charlie said, I reckon pheasants is going to be a bit scarce up at Mr. Victor Hazel's opening day shoot tomorrow, eh, Willem? I imagine they are, Charlie, my father said.
I imagine they are.
All those fancy folk, old Charlie said, driving in from miles around in their big, shyly cars, and there won't be a blinking
bird anywhere for them to shoot.
Charlie Kinch started chuckling and chortling so much, he nearly drove off the track.
Dad, I said, what on earth are you going to do with all these pheasants? Share them out among our friends, my father said.
There's a dozen of them for Charlie here to start with.
All right, Charlie.
That suits me, Charlie said.
Then there'll be a dozen for Doc Spencer and another dozen for Enoch Samways.
You don't mean Sergeant Samways, I gasped.
Of course, my father said.
Enoch Samways is one of my very oldest friends.
Enoch's a good boy, Charlie Kinch said.
He's a lovely lad.
Sergeant Enoch Samways, as I knew very well, was the village policeman.
He was a huge, plump man with a bristly black moustache, and he strode up and down our high street with the proud and measured tread of a man who knows he is in charge.
How's it going? Chapter
17.
The Taxi Two minutes later, we were safely inside the taxi and cruising slowly down the bumpy track towards the road.
My father was bursting with pride and excitement.
He kept leaning forward and tapping Charlie Kinch on the shoulder and saying, How about it, Charlie? How about this for a haul? And Charlie kept glancing back, pop-eyed at the huge bulging sacks.
Cripes, man, he kept saying.
How did you do it? Danny did it, my father said proudly.
My son Danny is the champion of the world.
Then Charlie said, I reckon pheasants is going to be a bit scarce up at Mr. Victor Hazel's opening day shoot tomorrow, eh, Willem? I imagine they are, Charlie, my father said.
I imagine they are.
All those fancy folk, old Charlie said, driving in from miles around in their big, shyly cars, and there won't be a blinking
bird anywhere for them to shoot.
Charlie Kinch started chuckling and chortling so much, he nearly drove off the track.
Dad, I said, what on earth are you going to do with all these pheasants? Share them out among our friends, my father said.
There's a dozen of them for Charlie here to start with.
All right, Charlie.
That suits me, Charlie said.
Then there'll be a dozen for Doc Spencer and another dozen for Enoch Samways.
You don't mean Sergeant Samways, I gasped.
Of course, my father said.
Enoch Samways is one of my very oldest friends.
Enoch's a good boy, Charlie Kinch said.
He's a lovely lad.
Sergeant Enoch Samways, as I knew very well, was the village policeman.
He was a huge, plump man with a bristly black moustache, and he strode up and down our high street with the proud and measured tread of a man who knows he is in charge.
The rest of this transcript — segmented and speaker-labeled, so you land on the exact moment something was said
Search every transcript — by keyword, by phrase, or by meaning, across every show Radar indexes
Trends — what is surging across podcasts, measured against its own baseline
Alerts — when a name you follow appears in a newly indexed episode
No account is needed to search Radar.