My dear, what has happened to the landed gentry of today? In the fondly remembered past, word that a few damned hooligans, poachers or homosexualists were on the loose would bring forth his lordship, calling for his gun to sort the the perishers out pronto.
Sadly matters are not what they used to be, and now, it seems, the master of the gloriously, but alas no longer aptly named Shotover Estate is reduced to importuning local council taxpayers to erect fencing to make it harder to penetrate his … (that’s enough penetration, ed.)
Has the wretched man no aunts he can draft in?
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