No, no, no. You need white coats...
...lab technicians, chemicals, and
genetically modified everything. That'll never work.
Won't it?
In the poorest corner of India, using
less seed, less chemicals, no herbicide, less water, no GM, a farmer
is producing world record rice harvests. That wants looking at again.
It isn't a case of not using all that stuff ICI and their lapdog
ministers tell us we'd be starving without and doing okay, not even
doing just as well, but producing with the best efficiency in the
world.
Those lessons won't be taken on board.
Not in my lifetime.
Fox bites baby? Cull the urban foxes.
That's the answer. Boris Johnson as Mr Punch. “That's the way to do
it.” For every fox produced baby injury there's got to be any
number of cat scratches. End the urban moggy menace? No votes in
that.
Bovine TB? Kill the badgers.
You might as well try to ban motorised
transport when the next motorway multi-car pile-up claims some lives.
Front page: Boris says: “No car, no carnage.”
We're losing species hand over fist and
still ruled by nuke 'em politicians. We have a climate change denier
energy secretary. Did Greyfriars ever put Billy Bunter in charge of
the tuck shop?
The Walking Dead catch up
It starts tonight. That should actually
be 'the The Walking Dead catch up' but that's too pedantic and
doesn't work so well. I'm hoping for at least two episodes of
post-zombie-apocalypse fun and frolics, splatter, blood and gore, and
preferably three. That leaves Monday, Wednesday and Thursday (one
episode each) and I'm up to speed for Friday. Football on Tuesday
night. The horror, gloom and despondency might get too much for me.
If it does I'll just have to turn off the Arsenal v Bayern Munich
game and go back to The Walking Dead.
We went to the garden centre
today...
...a lovely, small, independent,
friendly place. I'm like a vegetarian in the butchers in those
places. What I don't know about gardening could fill several books. I
don't actually know my aster from the hole in the ground to plant it
in. BLISS has more knowledge and enthusiasm than me.
In a lot of places, pitching up without
a scrap of knowledge or any idea of what's going on can be made an
uncomfortable experience. Often, if it's not uncomfortable, it's
because they've worked out early that it's going to be dead easy to
royally rip you off. Not here though. We bought six small tree things
for the front hedge to plant between the existing small tree things
that haven't grown much. We were assisted in the six for twenty quid
(£3.95 each, three for a tenner, obviously our price-label reading
isn't so good either) bargain on offer, and then handed clearly (with
the aid of a trained eye (not something I'm equipped with)) the best
six specimens on display. Their sort of brown with bark, thinning out
at the pointy bits, with green leaves on. They are not: buddleia,
leylandii, or Japanese knotweed. Nor are they willow, yew or oak, or
bay. That, sadly, is as far as it goes without referring to the
Observer book of small tree-like things.
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