The type of comment or abuse directed at you as an active sab tends to be of a similar ilk. You’re generally classed as a workshy layabout who’s generally high on some sort of narcotic and the last time you had a wash was when you fell in the river due to excessive refreshment all funded by the hunters hard earned tax pounds. However last weekend I witnessed a new one. On our arrival at the meet location we were asked if any of us spoke English.

Well I may not be Shakespeare but I’m fairly confident my grasp of our native tongue is enough not to be considered to be from foreign shores. Who did they expect? Perhaps this is a UKIP stronghold? I found this a very strange comment to say the least but then I find the idea of chasing an animal to exhaustion before being ripped apart by dogs or, if it’s lucky a single gun shot to the head a rather unpleasant way to spend a day in the countryside. Of course in due course the usual insults of “you’re all parasites” and “maggots” got the standard airing, hardly any imagination shown there at all and I’m pretty sure in their shoes I could come up with something much more artistic. The irony of all their stereotyping and narrow minded opinions is clear to see in the pictures and videos. If you wanted to create a stereotypical landowning hunter/follower they would all fall neatly into the demographic with little in the way of variation whereas the sabs I’ve met have covered a vast and varied section of society.

Insert your own caption, I have no words.

Insert your own caption, I have no words.

I wonder how many hunters spewing forth their verbal bile in my direction would believe I’m a 40 something professional who’s almost paid off his mortgage through hard work and long hours and an education likely to exceed many of those doing the insulting? Anyway, I digress.

Several sabs groups once again joined forces and decided it was the turn of the Northants Mink Hounds to get a visit. We chased them from their intended hunting ground back to the meet where they boxed up the hounds and called the police. The police had little idea what to do (apart from discuss the variations in combat trousers) even though the hunt tried to encourage them to arrest us for all manner of offences including carry acid in our bottles. The fact they had personnel carrying firearms and spades was clearly overlooked and I didn’t realise such equipment was necessary when exercising a pack of hounds. Dangerous place you know this countryside of ours. Anyway after a standoff they admitted defeat and went for a picnic but we kept our eyes on them just in case, all under the usual torrent of monosyllabic abuse.

Just for fun I made a little video of the day, a collection of scenes which you may find interesting. Enjoy!

 

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Comments
  1. Interesting piece, yet I cant help steriotyping hooray Henry types, as soon as I hear the snorting braying laugh, cant help it, we have this class system, divide. Its that sense of entitlement that exists to do say act exactly as they please that has to go , one can dream.

    • This particular group certainly were the type you mention however it’s certainly not always the case although I have to concede it’s more often the case than not. I think part of the whole is one of “control” over the countryside and seeing it as nothing more than their plaything to do with what they wish and no-one should be allowed to get in their way regardless of the laws of the land.

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