Wouldn't it be a great world if hunters, instead of getting boozed up with their posh chums and ripping a fox apart with dogs, went down to Gloucestershire for a bit of Cheese Rolling.
Wouldn't the thrill of hurling themselves down a wet 1:1 slope after a wheel of fermented curd make up for the absence of frightened fox ? Also the sheer joy of using the word "truckle" must be a suitable alternative to smearing blood on your first-born's face and galloping through your neighbour's property.
Just a thought.