The Unspeakable In Pursuit Of The Inedible
Surreal scenes abounded yesterday on the floor of that mother of democracy, the House of Commons. Several well to do young men stormed the floor, the first unauthorised visitors to do so since Oliver Cromwell announced to the Rump Parliament "Let us have done with you! In the name of God, go!". The best the uninvited guests could muster yesterday was "It's totally unjust!". They were, of course, complaining about the governments bill to finally ban the hunting of foxes by letting specially trained dogs chase them down and rip them to pieces.
There had been a large, vociferous protest the whole day outside the House in Parliament Square where a large number of moderately wealthy to downright well off citizens had vented their spleen about how it was deuced unfair that they could longer practise this age old custom, how jobs would be lost and, anyway, none of the foxes had ever been heard to complain about it. One could argue that if fox hunting was all right maybe we should bring back bear baiting, cock fighting and the like but these "sports" were always the domain of the underclasses so nobody mentioned it. What was plainly obvious is that the theory of the old aristocratic practise of breeding to produce your offspring within your social strata does indeed produce certain mental processes that are not entirely healthy...

