Few issues in public life are as incendiary as fox hunting.

Even such a supremely accomplished operator as Tony Blair was reluctant to get involved in banning the sport and later admitted he had made a mistake in doing so.

Of course, the reason why people get so wound up about hunting is not the fate of foxes but all the class trappings that go with it.

All those red jackets, horns, rituals and centuries of aristocratic mystique present an irresistible target for a certain kind of mentality.

In fact anyone who watches the news closely will find that it is often only when an element of ‘class’ is injected into a story that it achieves lift-off. For example, we never tire of tales of working class young women being humiliated in interviews by snooty, male Oxbridge dons.

Now the SNP, in a fantastically cynical move, have backtracked on their commitment not to get embroiled in English issues and forced David Cameron to abandon a vote on weakening the fox hunting ban which was finally made into law back in 2004.

The Prime Minister’s idea for relaxing the ban, which currently limits hunting for pest control to only two dogs was promised in the Conservative manifesto.

The changes would have brought the Hunting Act in line with Scotland, where an unlimited number of dogs can be used to “flush out” a fox to be shot, compared to just two in England and Wales.

As a fairly squeamish person I don’t much care for killing any kind of animal let alone pursuing foxes as a means of sport. On the other hand there’s a good rule of thumb that means we don’t ban things just because we disapprove of them and I like all the picturesque ritual of the hunt – the dressing up, horses and hounds, part of British history etc. And there’s the irony that foxes are the most ruthless of killers themselves. But I was once struck by reading a compelling account of an exhausted fox realising its time was up and it could run no more before it was ripped to pieces. So, yes, keep the ban for me.