HELP, I'm confused. For the past week, in fact ever since thousands of people took to the streets to battle for the legal right to hunt down and kill wildlife, I have heard more than a few damning remarks against a certain section of the population.

No, we're not talking racism or sexism here.

We're talking townism, or, I suppose a better word would be urbanism.

How so-called "townies" don't understand country ways, how New Labour are all a bunch of townies, how townies are all a bunch of animal-loving vegetarians who see country life through rose-coloured glasses.

I agree to some extent with the latter, having done some work experience at a popular country lifestyle magazine based, bizarrely, in the centre of London, among staff who rarely ventured beyond the M25 and who thought a Friesian was a flower.

But back to confusion - I feel this coming on when I try to place myself.

Brought up in a country village, I then spent eight years living in London and for the past 13 years have lived in a town.

By rights - because we all tend to stay loyal to our roots - I should qualify as a country girl.

Yet the evidence is such to throw this into doubt.

The points against are that I:

Have never owned a Barbour jacket or a pair of green wellies.

Hate tweeds.

Never liked the Wurzels, even in their heyday.

Have, out of choice - not that I've been inundated with offers you understand - never dated a farmer.

Despise fox hunting as inhumane and only ever considered going to the hunt ball to stage a protest.

Prefer small, economical cars to gas-guzzling four-wheel drives.

Would rather frequent a 24-hour supermarket with a good range of economy goods to a village store that charges £15.90 for a box of cornflakes and closes on Wednesday afternoons and Sundays.

The points FOR are that I:

Know to always shut gates behind me.

Prefer a walk in the country to a stroll into town.

Know the difference between a bantam and a guinea fowl and a ewe from a tup (and one end of a sheep from the other).

Have served my time on potato harvesters, have plucked shedfulls of pheasants for Christmas and waded through wheat fields to pull out wildoats.

Am certainly not vegetarian and am particularly partial to rabbit pie (so long as it has not been hunted with dogs).

Don't mind getting my hands dirty, even if it's pig muck.

Prefer the sound of cockerels at five in the morning to car alarms and police sirens.

As you can see it's a tough one.

But I think I've cracked it.

I can't say I'll always take sides but, all things considered, I know that when I visit my parents and am told by the farmers in the local pub "We showed them townies!"

I would not hesitate in replying "Showed us what?"