That pure Cane Spirit since 1848.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Stroke my badger.

“Garn! Daisy durst haff a coff on ‘er as would rattle the delft ! She do!”
“Aye, ‘erin been French kissen’ them badgers I fancies”
“Nay, not my Daisy, her teats iss mine an mine alone!”
“Them badgers iss laffin at yew, I reckons”
“Well’in, we’ll sees whose laffin come spring whenen ol’ Maroon comes a’callin’”
“Marry nuncle”

The tongs oiled, train booked, all set and rarin’ to go! For it’s off to Gloucestershire for me in the new year.
I shall be participating in the Great Badger Kill. Shed no tears for them. They must be killed for their own good.
The whole county down there is awash with bovine tuberculosis and while the transfer mechanism is a little hazy it must be them. Who else could it be?
We will pull the stripy devils coughing and wheezing from their lairs or “SETTS” using the aforementioned long-tong pincers (clamped to their snouts) and then humanely dispatch them with many kicks and punches. It’s a fair fight.
I know what you're thinking, it could be the feckless husbandry of the yokels. Well, £90 000 000 of our money in compensation, says no.

You townies just don’t understand; it’s The Country Way. Get over it

X-Ray Update: Just in, this from the radiographer. The little chap, Bertie Badger (6) above, has suffered a broken paw as can be seen from the x-ray plate below. His injuries were sustained when clumsy oaf Rolf Harris trod on him during filming. We wish him well, poor little feller.

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