The Late Hardy Hogg-Marchmont, 6th Earl of Hogg Hall
It was tough for Hardy at Eton. He was a poor rugby player, an undiagnosed dyslexic and by all accounts, a bit of an all round arse.
“He had the smallest ears I’ve ever seen,” said his oldest friend Melton Thornaby, at Hardy’s funeral, and he went on, “I first met Hogg-Marchmont at a garden party at Buckingham Palace. He had gate crashed the event disguised as a member of the Household Cavalry and was flitting from table to table draining half-finished wine glasses that had been discarded by the guests.”
“We will never know,” continued Melton, “If the 6th Earl was, as he so frequently claimed, abducted by aliens in 1994, 1998 and again in 2004. It’s also unclear whether he genuinely reached the summit of Everest in 1981, or whether his brief friendship with Helena Bonham Carter was indeed as platonic as he claimed.”
“It was also never proved,” Melton went on, “That the 6th Earl murdered that chartered accountant in Market Harborough. Nor that he assaulted those two belly dancing teachers in Finsbury Park. We should remember him not for his high profile trials and legal battles, but for the kind, caring, loving man that he was.”
“Some men are more imperfect than others. Hardy may have been more imperfect than most men, but he was more perfect than many other men who were less perfect than he was.”
“All through his life, Hardy Hogg-Marchmont had a recurring dream. He dreamt that it was a snowy Christmas morning and that he was riding in the Potter’s Crotch Hunt. At the end of the chase, when the fox was cornered and the hounds were closing in for the kill, he would suddenly become aware that he was not a man. He, like his prey, was a four legged beast. But Hardy did not dream that he was a fox, he dreamt that he was a hog. A proud warthog seated on a thoroughbred horse and dressed in a bright, scarlet Fox Hunter’s jacket. When he awoke he would often wonder if he was, in reality, a hog, and that his whole life was a dream. A hog’s dream about being a man.”