As an occasional shooting and foxhunting man – see my forthcoming book Mister Delingpole’s Sporting Tour – I have been filled with envy on reading the RSPB’s spectacular game book as revealed by its conservation director Martin Happer. (H/T @shotfox)
What particularly impress me are the number of foxes this impeccably right-on, rampantly green, bunny-hugging charity managed to despatch last year: 146 brace, no less.
I doubt there’s a hunt in the land – not the Quorn, not the Beaufort, not the Ledbury, nor either of my splendid local hunts the Pytchley and the Grafton – which managed to bag half so many Charlies last season. Not, of course, that they would have done, foxhunting being illegal and all that, and any foxes killed being entirely accidental.
Even so, I’m filled with awe at the RSPB’s magnificent kill rate. Do they have distinctive facings on their coats? What day of the week is their most exciting country? Is their Master as glamorous as Otis Ferry?
I’m seriously thinking of joining…