A CLOSE friend recently found a young deer lying down on her farmland. Shot and unable to move, it was destined without help to die slowly and miserably, probably while having its eyes pecked out by crows.

She arranged for it to be put down. It's a wretched scene repeated in many parts of the country since Parliament banned hunting with dogs. In its place marksmen with rifles are finding it difficult to keep down a fast-expanding deer population. Something better is needed. But until the ban is repealed it won't be the hunting that went on for hundreds of years before New Labour took over. Perhaps our political leaders could organise gangs of unemployed people to carry out the necessary killing of unwanted animals in the countryside. The difference with this kind of hunt will be that on no account could the killers be seen to like what they're doing. Instead of riding healthy horses they would be given bad-tempered mules or even rusty old bicycles to ensure the process was as joyless as possible. They would almost certainly have to revert to using dogs, but not of course the efficient packs of hounds kept in country kennels. I suggest they hire pitbull terriers or Rottweilers from city homes to do the job, brutes capable of turning on their handlers now and again to ensure everyone knows what an awful time they're having. To avoid any charge of enjoyment in their work they would need to be miserable and go about their business with long faces, speaking only to apologise for their presence and for clubbing their prey to death with baseball bats. They would need to emphasise their guilt by lashing themselves now and again with whips. It couldn't possibly be called sport so the animals being chased would, on sensing danger, give up, lie down on their backs and wait patiently for the end. More unhappy people could be paid to gather up the carcasses in large, forbidding black 4X4s and burn them in huge pyres outside our major towns. A sad but effective solution all round. Preferable, some might think, to marksmen who can't or won't follow their target to check the job is done, and better, so we're told, than the method that served us for hundreds of years before the hunting ban. But let's face the truth. The ban is already being ridiculed, circumvented and sometimes ignored. It was created by Parliament five years ago not to improve animal welfare, but to prosecute envy and class hatred. The aim wasn't to care for our wild creatures but to civilise what a detached political elite considers barbarity by rich toffs and jolly horseriders. The legislators never understood that the red-coats, the horn and other hunting rituals are the means to declare openly that a difficult job is under way involving humans and animals, and that it's necessary for the sake of both. The result of the ban is that there are now too many deer scavenging the countryside being culled by bands of armed men, and possibly women, who have a patchy record in humane killing.

I SURMISE there might be some women among the shooters only because there isn't any sex discrimination in this country. And I noticed the other night a very welcome sight — doorwomen. By that I mean feminine bouncers — employed to supervise entry into Barnstaple's pubs and clubs and to ensure no one gets too drunk and runs riot once they're inside. It makes a change from the old image of bullet-headed men eager to show off their viciousness by provoking customers into an uneven fight. I'm sure there are heavies waiting in the wings in case a client won't listen to the doorwoman, but I suspect managers know how effective a few well chosen words from someone like your big sister can be when there's trouble brewing.

AND I hope there were plenty of door staff on duty for a Barnstaple re-launch last weekend. They were faced with a long queue on Queen Street of youngsters eager to see the latest makeover in North Devon's night life. I haven't been to view the new look at this particular club, but I've noticed that every time one has a revamp the other one in Barnstaple has to follow suit to avoid losing custom. It's a battle of the nightclub bosses that's become as much a tradition as the town fair. Another regular sight is the skimpiness of clothing on show among the customers. I was amazed at how little the women waiting in line in sub-zero temperatures were prepared to wear. Brave but barmy if you ask me.