Boxing Day means different things to different folk – no longer a time for exchanging gifts after a day of prayer – and increasingly a time for manic shopping. (But never of course a time for organised fisticuffs, as some incorrectly conclude.)
But time was when (such an elegant phrase😑) the Upper Ten were wont to ride to hounds today, baying for blood, pink in coat and red in claw.
And regrettably the blood lust persists in these northern latitudes, in the pc guise of population control – of the hunted, that is. What the hunting fraternity do is ‘protect’ the deer against poachers and natural migrations, feed them and then send in posses of gunmen to shoot them down for sport. They claim to be trained marksmen but their prey occasionally survive and limp painfully towards a silent, hungry death. How we laugh!
Even though fox hunting with dogs in England is almost dead, stalking deer is alive and well in many countries. But who dares to rob the rich and famous (or the not-so-rich and bloodthirsty) these days? Robin Hood joined Labour and became a preacher.
Have a nice day, y’all!