Time to fight back

Right, that’s it. On the morning of the 87th anniversary of the first day of the Battle of the Somme I’m lying in bed listening to a news ‘update’ on our local commercial radio station. Last night, apparently, our latest batch of MPs voted, in an overwhelming fit of moronic vindictiveness, to ban all hunting with dogs, full stop. And if the Lords reject the Bill, it is likely to be railroaded through Parliament, apparently using something called the Parliament Act.

I’m stunned. I really can’t believe it has finally come to this. Who are these fuckwits? (Am I missing something?) What do they want? If it’s an ideological class-war thing motivating them, don’t they even realise that your caricature toffs constitute an insignificant minority of the total number of people out hunting with dogs? And if it’s a pseudo-ethical concern, they’ve no business trying to make me good by police coercion. I’m English: I don’t recognise these fundamentalists. Nor does my brother, who is one of the big incorruptible policemen they’ll send to arrest me when the time comes. It’s time, I reckon, chaps, that we raised a volunteer army in memory of the 1 July 1916 boys and started shooting.

To this end, I pass the cap round in the pub that evening. For donations to finance an armed struggle to rid ourselves of this alien government, I say. It’s a bit of a druggie pub, my local; the response is mixed. For a start, by ‘alien government’ many suppose I’m suggesting there’s been a coup by creatures from outer space. (‘Wicked, man!’) The initial circulation of my cap nets £1.60 in loose change, a small quantity of ‘green’ (hydroponically cultivated marijuana), a First Direct cheque for £10 million, and a lighter.