A man in breeches and a riding crop rocks back and forth on a small wooden horse. Ahead of him is a man dressed as fox who is submissively crouched down on all fours. The man on the horse is being interviewed by a man in a suit who has a microphone and masking tape over his mouth and never speaks.
RIDER: Naturally I have preferences. Lambs neck stuffed with apricots, duck liver, opera, Roger Federer’s backhand (he takes a clumsy swipe at the fox and misses) take that Nadal you Spanish tit, I do have a forehand you know! His father owns a restaurant for Gideons sake, laminate my soul in tradition and cast it into the clay abyss. (recovers) Yes, preferences. A putative democracy, a civilised society and so on. (there is a pause in which it is clear the interviewer is silently asking a question) A civilised society? One which has the politest ways to inform you to fuck off. (the interviewer asks another question) I’ve no idea whether they’re the same as his, ours isn’t really a verbal connection. (the interviewer asks another silent question) You’re right; isn’t a connection. (the interviewer moves to speak to the fox personally) Oh no don’t speak to him. Why? Because it’s clearly a fox you fool.
Nevertheless the interviewer does move forward and speaks to the fox who answers in a breaking voice.
FOX: When sparrows die in blizzards in this country, it has become customary to attribute the cause of death to the weakness of the sparrows rather than the severity of the blizzard.
The interviewer looks quizzically back to the rider.
RIDER: Does he look like a sparrow? (the interviewer shakes his head) Exactly. (He begins to gallop forward and beat the fox viciously) Take that, take that, take that, take that. I love a good exhibition of serving. Take that, take that.