The Unspeakable In Pursuit of the Unspeakable

Now, I know I shouldn't say this, but I'm afraid I was more than a little amused by the sight of the police laying into the pro-blood-sports protestors outside Parliament on Wednesday (for some of the BBC's coverage see Hunt demo complaints investigated). I think what caught me first was the look on the faces of many of the protestors as the police started whacking them: they were clearly utterly surprised that their boys in blue should decide to set upon them in this way. My interest piqued, I found myself looking on as the "tally-ho"-ing types reeled about as blows were rained down on them. I watched on as, bewildered, they staggered this way and that, with no idea of which way to turn as the coppers got to put all those hours of side-handled baton training into effect. There might even have been a quickening of my pulse at the sight of blood. It was then that it struck me, maybe these people are right - there is some pleasure to be found in seeing a baying pack set about a dumb animal ... they just picked the wrong animal: we should ditch hunting foxes and start hunting foxhunters immediately. In fact, now I think about it, it's only a pity that the police failed to send in any of their mounted divisions: then our protestors could have got a real idea of how the fox feels.