The Farm That Wasn't.

[smokingboot]

Tests returned; bloods clear though they have booked me in for an appointment with a health care person. Something about general health. Note from the doctor suggests discussion of cholesterol levels. If this is about high cholesterol, I'll do my best but refuse to worry about it. As far as I can make out, high cholesterol is caused by being alive.

A friend of mine has sold her farm. I am sorry that she couldn't take it in the direction she wanted and salute her hopes for a new future. The place has gone to people she trusts.

A part of me wishes we had put in an offer. Not that I would want to farm a farm! But in my dreams, I could turn it into a mini conservation area, difficult but no harder than farming itself. A season's view of Clarkson's Farm made the problems eminently clear. I don't know how these people stay in business, for sure in such a precarious industry I'd no more give up EU subsidies than set fire to my barns. But apparently it is bad form to remind them of these things.

Clarkson's Farm was interesting; the host's brash persona works just as it used to do in Top Gear. I don't like him but he's fun to watch. That's quite a gift. I feel nothing for him when he's mournful over the sheep he sends to slaughter; Dry your eyes and eat your buddy-stuffed moussaka, mate, buzzes my inner killer wasp, human beings are often unpleasant to the world around them, but many avoid killing and eating those they love. It's not a high bar.

Having said that, my inner killer wasp's more interested in stinging me: Knock off the dairy, idiot! More cheese, seriously? You having cream with that?