IF you see people on horseback dressed in red coats careering through your town or village today, don't be surprised.

They may be committing an offence. Or not - as the case may be.

The Hunting Bill became law yesterday. That means foxes can no longer be chased up hill and down dale for several miles before being killed by dogs. That's the nub of it.

Ah yes, the hunters say. But if you see us out and about, how do you know we're actually chasing anything? We might just be out for a day's ride in the fresh air.

And they're absolutely right. After all, if you met a man wearing a beret, striped jersey, mask and carrying a bag marked "swag" you couldn't necessarily assume this person was a burglar, could you?

However, if people do go hunting today, they will indeed be breaking the law as enacted by a Parliament that is - despite our deeply flawed voting system - granted such authority by universal franchise.

It's one of life's little ironies that a government which has sent scores of British soldiers to their deaths in an illegal war should care so passionately about the welfare of a small relative of the domestic dog.

Indeed, future historians may even be amazed that a country still exercising Victorian gunboat diplomacy should be endowed with such compassion.

But New Labour is a strange hybrid, is it not? On the one hand, it stops the toffs and their followers from having a jolly jape pursuing Reynard.

And, on the other, wages war like any true port-faced soldier of the Queen.

Remember, Blair's been in five conflicts since 1997. That's even better than Sir Douglas Haig.

Mind you, it will be interesting to see how the sixth struggle - the Class War - will pan out.

The last major outbreak of civil naughtiness on this projected scale was back in 1984 during the ill-fated miners' strike.

Presumably, I am safe in assuming that all those huntsmen who will defying the laws of the land will also have once supported their horny-handed brothers' struggle against the Thatcher Government?