Somerset Scrumpy and Hungry Hippos

Having spent the past week in a beautiful village in Somerset, with the other half's family, I am now back in London. We rented a large cottage and time was divided between playing Hungry Hippos with the two nieces (aged two and a half) and drinking large amounts of Somerset Scrumpy down at the local. It's clear that country folk regard Blair's hunting and smoking bans as 'London laws' and treat them with the contempt that they deserve. After 11pm, the lock-in starts, the cigarettes, cigars and pipes come out and conversations about how the hunting ban has been a complete farce flourish. Rather unwisely, some then drive home in the early hours. Public, though, transport isn't an option - nor is hiring a taxi (they are few and far between and hugely expensive). The village pub is THE centre of village life and plays a central part in everyone's social life.

The metropolitan-based liberal elite are ignorant of the rural way of life and its hard-fought traditions. As I said to a local yokel, tolerance is a two-way thing. Us liberals shouldn't forget that.

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