At least that's how it seemed yesterday when John passed two of the hunt leaders in their pink jackets; one hand on their reins, the other clasping a phone to their ear. Wonder if the same rules apply to phoning whilst riding as driving. Could be just as dangerous. Maybe they were receiving a frantic phone call from the missus to ask when they would be home for tea, but maybe its another incursion of communication technology into one of our oldest traditions. Not that we object to the hunt. Nor do we follow it. But it does move the foxes around and currently they are a real pest in our area. We do not have a single bantam left. The foxes have killed all of them. Our guinea fowl survive because they have the sense to perch either up in the barn or at the top of the highest trees in the apple orchard. We would be lost without the hunt kennels to take our fallen stock. The government dispersal scheme for fallen stock is prohibitively expensive and burying fallen stock banned. So the hunt kennels are vital to livestock farmers in our area. Normally you would expect a real town and country divide on the issue of hunting. So I was surprised at how supportive friends of ours, Sue and Paul from Liverpool, were to the idea of giving the foxes a run for their money. At Christmas, their elderly and much loved cat was torn to shreds by a fox in their back garden. "We always thought it was an urban myth until we saw the evidence of Spice being attacked," they said. Sue and Paul took to their farm weekend with gusto, although their Mercedes convertible is not the most practical vehicle for our muddy lanes. I'm afraid Sue's struggle to clamber out of the low slung sports model was as nothing when compared to her efforts to climb up into our ancient Landrover. "My knees. My knees," came the agonised squeal. "Get in" and a shove was her husband's less than sympathetic response. And no inhibitions either at joining John at pigeon shooting. Nor any qualms at tucking into a pre-selected Aylesbury duck for dinner. They had admired them in the paddock that morning, and eaten one roasted that night. "I must admit I felt rather reproachful about the duck" Paul said. "It's not often you get asked which duck you think is the best looking, and then end up with it on your plate." Mind you its fair to say that admitting a duck is attractive could end you up with some curious looks in town. Good job we did not ask which ewe Paul thought was the most appealing. Now that might be worrying.