Rambling free

One reads in the broadsheets that under the governments 'Right to roam' drive, huge tracts of land have been opened for the hoi-polloi to wander about willy-nilly. Damn well had one choking into ones scrambled porridge this morning. Parties of the great unwashed traipsing around ones estate. Probably find that they will be demanding that guard rails be fitted around the lake in case someone falls in and that the memsahib is kept securely locked away and unable to get to the gun cabinet...although the latter would be a damn fine idea, save on bribes to keep wounded servants from going to the tabloids.

Although, this may have its advantages. After all, the chaps in office have stopped us landed gentry chasing cute, fuzzy little foxy fellahs but nothing has been said about chasing less cute rambler types across the countryside. Clackthorpe is positively ecstatic at the idea. After all, those day-glo anoraks they wear means they are easier to spot when they go to ground in the big wood. Less likely to escape than foxes and much more sporting than just giving the bounders both barrels of ones Purdey. One can just imagine the splendour of the Fortescue hounds charging across the lower meadow, the blare of horns, riders in hunting pink, faces all ruddy from the exhilaration and a hot toddy, chasing down some common oik who dared sully the hallowed turf of the formal gardens. What's more it saves us having to cover Blenkinsop in Aniseed and set him off for the hounds to follow. What with his wooden leg one doubts he would make it as far as the gates and one fears the sport would not last for long unless he was released at least a week beforehand.

Tally ho!