Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Wednesday, 3 September 2014
Season of Mists... oh, never mind
Bags I the first 'Season of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness' post.
Well it certainly is fruitful. The tree at the bottom of the road where I park my car is laden with little, sourish plums, and the left-wing looney woman who normally guards it with a gun (she used to work for Ken Livingstone) has even begged me to pick as many of them as I can to relieve the weight on the straining boughs.
All that rain followed by all that sun has covered the trees and bushes with fruit, and it won't be long before my first mushroom foray. I picked up a small handful of imported Ceps when in London, and they tasted almost as good as the ones you find yourself. I'm glad about that, because four of them cost me £4.75.
We are sliding into the almost perfect Autumn, and a thin mist hangs over the hills around Bath, promising some bright sunshine in the hours to come. Pretty soon it will be time for the first 'Winter of Discontent' post, followed quickly by the first person to crack under the strain and mention Christmas. Oops - I just have.
To live in the moment and savour it, it is best to look forward future moments and try to ignore some aspects of the impinging present.
For instance, I am well aware of the meeting in a huge Welsh hotel not far from here, where a load of NATO big-wigs are discussing the best way of starting WW3 in Europe by getting involved in a Cold-War style stand-off between Putin and themselves, and accusing Obama of being a lilly-livered, hesitant procrastinator who is scared of pressing the button. Fucking hell - for once, George Galloway has a valid point.
I am also aware that the South London rapper with the 8 inch knife has taken the head off another American, and is just about to do the same to a Brit, if he hasn't done so already. The notion that he decapitated all three at the same time and is just releasing the videos one by one, is a good one if you want to justify not paying a ransom on the grounds that there would be no returns on it. In any event, if he really did want money, then he would have asked for a more reasonable £1 million, not the 80 that he is supposed to have demanded.
The bloke on the supermarket roof with the Harris Hawk seems to have lost track of the seasons as well. He is up there as I write this, pretending to scare the Gulls, but the Gulls are taking no notice of Harry the Hawk (who is even less hawkish than Barak Obama) at all, for the simple reason that most of them are out in the countryside, picking up worms behind the ploughs that are ripping up the remaining 10% of wild-flower meadows which are being destroyed before the EU can legislate to protect them.
The farmers heard a rumour that Britain's scarce (90% have been lost since 1945) flower-meadows were about to be protected, you see, so they thought they would make the first move. These are the 'custodians' of the English countryside. Yeah, right.
Harry the Hawk is supposed to stop the Gulls from nesting on the rooftops (but doesn't) so what he is doing up there in September is a mystery.
I guess that he has a contract that runs the whole year - signed by gullible townies from the supermarket - so goes up to fulfil his duties to the letter. Well, it pays for his keep, I suppose.