Last weekend we christened the youngest Englishette - Saturday night was spent preparing the house, surrounded by family with the Last Night of the Proms on in the background. I went to bed happy, full of good wine, food and love and the tunes of great traditional music still ringing in my ears.
On Sunday I walked out to see what the archaeologists were finding and seeing how people have lived and farmed here for at least three thousand years. Later the family gathered in the stone built church, some of it a thousand years old, to welcome my daughter into The Church of England, in the same font her sister and brothers, her cousins, her uncle and I were baptised. Her name joins ours on the wall beside the "Roll of Honour" and family monuments dating back through the centuries. More wine and laughter followed.
This morning rose bright and clear, the air cleansed by yesterday's rain. The hedgerows are rich with fruit, elderberries, blackberries, sloes, hips and damsons. The rich soil is being turned after harvest to be planted again. Nowhere is more beautiful. By I was depressed and saddened - I felt almost stateless.
I have never hunted and never wanted to. The Commons banning it came as no surprise; so why did it upset me so much? I think it was the final realisation that the traditional world my ancestors and I grew up in has been humiliated and destroyed for the sake of a short term political advantage by a bunch of shits.
I suddenly had a feeling that this was no longer my England, that the Vichy regime controlling us had stamped down on us just once too often. And that the point of the forthcoming protests is not about changing this particular law back; we want our country back, and if we can't have it - well fuck them, we will just enjoy the mayhem as revenge.