How blessed

How blessed is he who leads a country life, devoid of a trouble, devoid of a strife. With such words from the metaphysical poets, recalling the glorious days of victorian Celibate Dons of Oxford, we can look down the valley here near Crick and summon up the life of a country clergyman, a life of hunting, shooting, fishing, and know that all such past-times nowadays are protected from too much adroit police interference by some fancy footwork among our lawyers on the right to privacy and the right not to be molested on one's own land. Christians arise - you have a right to bear arms in Magna Carta too you know - what is it with all this Dawkins police academy industry of persecution? And if such boys in blue rejoinder that there's is the crown prerogative, we can always ask them and their lady queen to pay the rents and mortgages if they are going to "get medieval on our ass", as the saying goes one believes around Hollywood this weather. Anyway, before a policeman issues a ticket to us, on our horses while foxhunting or in our landrovers while coursing, it is high time we made the point that all such ticketing is an invasion of privacy. After all, in our beloved renaissance Italy where we used to get all our inspirations for our mock campanile churches such as at Gliffaes in Crickhowell or Hoarwithy near Ross in the steamingly gorgeous georgian and victorian era, a policeman who sits in a motorist's car and without his hat on can be ticketed himself for breach of privacy. So there are a few little exceptive laws that can be applied with some fancy footwork from our no-win-no-fee lawyers - if only we had lawyers who could match the Italians. Auntie overseas told me that one. Rev Simon Godfrey over and out. Malta behind. Rutland and Oakham ahead.