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Showing posts from November, 2023

Autumn berries and easy prey

This is one of my ‘start typing and see where I end up’ blogs. It ain’t pretty but it does the business. I’ll start with one of those, ‘has anyone else thought of that’ moments. Hubby and I were walking round and about in the crisp autumnal air yesterday morning, most of the autumnal leaves having dropped to the ground, revealing loads-a autumnal red berries still clinging to the branches. The birds don’t need to be fed by us, I mused. Look at all these berries, literally ripe for their picking. Hubby was pretty sure the birds would be following their instincts and only eat what was best for them. I disagreed. At this time of year, on a cold and frosty morning, Mother Nature intended them to gorge on vitamins. The nuts and seeds in our feeders were tastier, more filling, but full of protein, of which Mother Nature, in her wisdom, was depriving them. Therefore, by making protein available, we were messing with the birdies’ natural diets, most probably to their detriment somehow. You don

Remarkable

I went to see a friend today, probably for the last time. I wasn’t the only one. Three more people arrived as I was leaving. “They’re all coming to say goodbye, you see,” explained his remarkable and remarkably calm wife. So had I.

Sacred Cow

No prizes for guessing what this refers to. No, not the BBC; that’s just a cow. I’m talking about the NHS. If it’s not the elderly being discharged prematurely from hospital, it’s bereaved parents being lied to, sepsis sufferers being told to take paracetamol, paperwork filed incorrectly leading to precipitous prognoses, or the vulnerable being butchered on the perverted altar of transgenderism. Whatever happened to First, Do No Harm? The NHS mantra is now: First, Cover Our Arse; or even First, Woke Our Outcomes.

The C word

C is for Covid, of Course. There’s also a C in the ongoing Public InCwirey. There are two C’s in Cowardly Cain and another in Mithering MaCnamara, the two uncivil servants who are blaming poor planning for and handling of the pandemic on something called macho-culture, diversity boxes not being ticked, BoJo being hospitalised and, yes folks you read it here first, BoJo Cracking jokes. They’re wailing that BoJo was too jovial. Ahem – some people rely on humour as a Coping strategy when the going gets tough. I should know because I do the same … why Cry when you can laugh?