Now, indeed. So, here we are then, one lightly-buttered social worker later and eagerly ready for whatever the rest of this splendid evening can bring. I find there is nothing like an early slight deviation - or kink - for setting off the evening before the full-bloodied orgy begins later in the village hall. A chaser – as it were.
Consequently, chasing, hunting a lightly-buttered naked social worker as she evades the hunting pack of villagers down the alleys, sidings, paths and so on that can turn what seems like a simple village into a maze, is both bracing and invigorating, both for the hunted and the hunters. Let no hunter saboteur deny it, the hunt is as invigorating for the pursued as for those doing the pursuing.
Of course, in this day and age, it is a fully-consensual act, with the social worker freely, and fully, involved and very willing to play the part of the pursued. Unfortunately, in days of yore, this was never always the case. In those less enlightened times a hunt would pursue a lightly-buttered fugitive for all manner of reasons, without the willing consent of the aforesaid chasee. It seems the origins of the act lie with other such old or ancient community punishments such as the stocks, ducking stool, or the enforced endurance of plainsong, which were used to prevent, or punish transgressions. A form of – often, rough – justice from within the community itself and by the community itself.
Therefore, not only was justice (of a sort) done, and seen to be done, all members of the village community could each experience that glow of smug self-congratulation, and that warm feeling of self-righteousness, that comes from inflicting all manner of unpleasantness on someone else in the name of a good cause.