Handkerchiefs at dawn

The Morris men have been dancing in Bampton for 600 years -- without a break. Not all of my surgery cases start like this, so my ears pricked up and my pen hovered eagerly over the notepad. In front of me sat a publican from the picturesque village of Bampton in my West Oxfordshire constituency, accompanied by his wife. What was all this about A complaint about the noise Or a simple case of exhaustion I couldnt wait for the next sentence.Now the government is going to put a stop to it. It sounds amazing, but its true. As part of the new licensing bill, which is supposed to be about deregulation, the government plans to scrap the so-called three in a bar rule, under which no entertainment licence is required if fewer than three musicians are playing in a pub or bar. The Morris men practise in the pubs of Bampton and are typically accompanied by two musicians. From now on, local pubs will need an entertainment licence from the council, with all the cost and red tape that such a procedure involves.Plainly this is bonkers. I am keen to question the secretary of state for culture in the Commons. Whether I will be able to finish a question that starts is the minister aware that Morris men have been dancing in Bampton for 600 years is a different matter, but I am determined to try.The Christmas recess, stretching just a short way into the new year, gives MPs the chance to listen to cases like these and spend time in the constituency. Some even role play by spending a day as a postman delivering the Christmas mail, or ride on the dust cart collecting the rubbish. Im all shoes in favour of this. As a former television executive, I cant help wondering whether perhaps reality politics could do the same for our popularity as reality TV has for peak-time ratings.In fact, Ive taken this approach a step further. To show my solidarity with the hunts in my constituency over the governments illiberal and bossy hunting bill, I climbed on board a horse and went out for a day with the Heythrop hunt.Nothing had prepared me for the sheer terror of a days hunting. I battled in vain to control my powerful steed and careered through trees and bushes completely out of control. Trying to hover at the back of the field, I ended up at the front as a fox broke cover from behind. A 15-minute gallop along narrow paths in a forest followed, during which I thought death for me at least would be a release. The fox escaped. Having survived two-and-a-half hours without being unseated, I dismounted and collapsed in a sweating heap on the ground. My horse had hardly broken a sweat. So how did we do on the governments planned twin tests of cruelty and utility As far as I could see, we didnt score particularly high on either count. In fact, I think we left the fox population pretty much as we found it.To me, this highlights the whole point about this wretched debate. The key issue for me is the freedom to do something that has taken place in the countryside for centuries. Wychwood forest, where I spent my day of terror, was the site of the first royal hunting lodge, established by Ethelred in the 11th century.The contention that this justifies badger-baiting is baloney, as the fox population has to be controlled and hunting does play some part in the process. As for the issue of cruelty, I have shot foxes with a farmer friend in Norfolk in an area where there are no hunts and even for a good shot, it is literally a hit and miss or hit and wound affair. At least with hunting, the fox either dies or escapes unharmed.Set against the cruelty of factory farming or coarse fishing, hunting hardly registers. So while I might listen to a lecture about the cruelty of the chase from a vegan wearing plastic shoes, the calls to ban hunting from meat-eating, leather-wearing, angling-enthusiast class warriors on the Labour benches make my blood boil.Listen to enough debates about hunting in the Commons and it becomes clear that the term class warrior is far from unfair. The cruelty arguments are hollow the passion flows when they reach the part of the speech about red coats and stirrup cups. Any concern about the jobs that would be lost if hunts were banned is met with cries of what about the miners. If hunt followers wore jackets with Rentokil on the back and drank federation ale, the whole issue might just melt away.But when you actually go hunting, you soon find that theyre not all toffs. In my constituency Ive met butchers, fishmongers and smallholders who all love riding to hounds. One of the reasons for this is a point barely mentioned in the whole debate. Hunting takes you to parts of the countryside that you are never normally allowed to see. You canter through woods, ride across open fields and ford streams far from any foot or bridle path. Once a landowner gives permission for the hunt to cross their land, you have, quite literally, the right to roam.So what should I line up for my next break from the goldfish bowl of Westminster Im looking for a beleaguered minority, trying to keep up a tradition, who are threatened by a bossy and interfering government. Theres nothing else for it. Its time to strap bells to my legs, tie a scarf round my knee and find a big white shirt.

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