East Kent Hunt Saboteurs

After our long holiday, courtesy of foot and mouth, we dragged our aching bones to the first meet of the season - The East Kent Foxhounds - on Boxing Day. After the usual hung-over demo, off they went, to break every rule in their DEFA licence - supporters wandering around the fields, not a drop of disinfectant to be seen etc. Police proved to be completely ignorant of the whole licencing system, going so far as asking our group to fax them details of "our understanding of the DEFRA rules". Well, I suppose we were a bit naive to think the hunts would actually care about anything except . . . hunting.<
The break had done the East Kent no favours, though, with the pack regularly taken from under the huntsman's nose with a flick of a Gizmo - out of practice, eh? - with the hunt operating in a much smaller area, often on Forestry Commission land. Such is the hunt's desire to shake us off that one supporter took us on amystery tour after a kennel watch . . . straight back to his house, where he became too scared to leave again. DOH! WE KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!
Another fun day was had when we met the owner of the land next door to an East Kent meet, who turned out to be an ex-sab who used to go out with the infamous Dave Wetton mob thirty years ago! It's strange where you find friends!
Sadly, with the West Kent group being subject to the attentions of Surrey police, the Ashford Valley/Tickham hunts had an undisturbed season - we haven't forgotten about you, though, boys, and, to be honest, the Tickham were a pathetic joke before F&M . . .
Policing was also an improvement on previous seasons, with officers telling us where hunts were and reporting poison dwarf, Nigel Potter (master of East Kent) to the MFHA for pushing a sab! (Oh, how we wept with fear after that terrible incident!) and generally letting us get on with it . . . that is, of course, until March when they turned into zero-tolerance wankers, with the usual ridiculous searches, stalling tactics etc, even trying to follow us home at the end of the day, and lying in wait for us on various roads/meeting places of a Saturday morning - EVEN ON THE SATURDAY AFTER THE HUNT'S LAST MEET! Along with this, the East Kent redcoats started to get the arse at our constant success and started their tough-guy routines - always lamely backing down, though, when it came to it, and running snivelling back to their ever-loyal coppers . . .
The Wye no-College, no-Beagles, no-Balls, were out with their hastily gathered bumpkin pack, but no supporters - a dismal sight now they are no longer media superstars. On one occasion, two sabs packed them up - we wonder now if not turning up at all would be sufficient to sab them! (The next week, they went out three hours early . . .!) At their hunt ball, it was pointed out that one of them had a "metric conversion problem", ie, he had "lost a foot", allegedly blown off with his own gun accidentally whilst indulging in God knows what sordid activity - pack it in, eh, you're becoming an embarrassment!
A group of ferreters also met us one afternoon and tried to explain to us about the "balance" of nature - killing rabbits as a pest, but killing foxes too, even though, of course, they eat rabbits. Us stopping them seemed to get the police a bit excited, as "it was nothing to do with hunting"! So we were carted off the land under threat of arrest for Aggravated Trespass, with the tune of Deliverance blowing across the fields . . . The strangest thing was, the landowner couldn't recall the name of his own farm, but this did not deter the police from believing his every word, and, in fact, calling for reinforcements . . .!