FARMERS once accused me of being a dirty socialist hellbent on crushing their way of life. It was 2002 and a 300,000-strong Tweed Army had hit the capital in their tax-deductible Range Rovers for a Liberty and Livelihood march to scream persecution over Labour’s plans to outlaw hunting. Three Prince Harry clones cornered me and demanded to know which newspaper I was from. And when they learnt it was the Mirror, they called me a Berkeley Hunt and accused me of being part of a class war against