The four people and one exceptionally intelligent Labrador in Dunstable who read this blog will be relieved to learn that a suspected outbreak of hen mites here did not materialize. In fact, the birds are moulting. Why hens do this just as the weather turns colder, I know not. The first to begin this process, a large Orpington called Phoebe has now regained her former glory, but the oldest hen, a big bird of the Bluebell breed looks like she’s had a close encounter with a scatter gun. I’m sure they didn’t do this last year.
Meanwhile, still on things avian, I note that pheasant breeders – who raise pheasants for rich idiots to kill – are getting their tweed knickers in a twist about the activities of one of our rarest birds, the hen harrier, which kills pheasants- not many because there are only two breeding pairs in the whole country. Of course, like everything else, it all comes down to money. Pheasant breeders get paid by rich idiots so that rich idiots can blow pheasants to bits with guns. Hen harriers don’t have any money.
Speaking of money, I see that Dave is again at odds with the Faceless Ones in Europe whilst trying to cope with a projected £8billion black hole in the National Health budget. And all the time he has the myopic Hounds of Farage snapping at his heels. I now how he could save at least £50 billion. Scrap HS2. Seeemples.
And the Scots – well, some Scots – are at it again, this time with a Labour lady saying that the Scots Labour Party is not treated with the respect and deference it deserves. First, its LABOUR Party, not SCOTS Labour Party, and second, I’m sick to the back teeth of regionalism. Scots, Welsh, even[or especially] Cornish independence are all silly. Billy Connolly once observed that those singing about being back in Scotland or Wales or wherever and how wonderful those places are, probably don’t live there.