h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

We Children of the Motherland should jolly well use our Journals to mourn the passing of the Great British Institutions, many of which are dropping like flies even as we speak.

I count myself among the Dwindling Few who remember that England used to play rugby.

This week, we have our last opportunity to observe another once-great sporting tradition. New and contentious bloodsports laws mean that, after Friday, we shall no longer enjoy the glorious sight of hunt saboteurs striding out across our fields.

Their erstwhile quarry is a contrary creature. Some would call him noble, and he certainly looks magnificent in full flight, his coat resplendent and his teeth bared. Some would call him vermin. Some would call him Your Lordship, or Your Honour, or Chief Constable, which suggests that prosecution of the new laws might prove a little vexatious.

There will undoubtedly be economic damage as a result of the ban. A traditional way of life, one that has endured for months, will come to an end. Heavens knows what all those nice suburban folk are going to do with their spare time. Dozens of 2CVs may face the knacker’s yard. Up and down the country, the future is uncertain for hundreds of packs of Silk Cut.

As for the mobile phone companies, they may as well call in the receivers tomorrow.

The timing of the ban seems Machiavellian. The government is slipping effortlessly from not governing the country because it’s forcing through fox-hunting legislation to not governing the country because it’s conducting an election campaign.

At least it’s good to know that Signor Machiavelli has Britain’s interests at heart.

classic.